Page 54 of Seduced By the Billionaire
They had to surround the strip without alerting Daniel—Juliette’s motel, too. Undercover officers needed to be briefed, and it would take at least two hours to get them mobilized. Right now, he had Paddy, five cars from the chief, and Charles’s security company.
Ronan opened another tab and fired off a new encrypted message to his brother. He could contact Pathguard himself, but Charles was spitting mad after realizing his security firm had nearly gotten Ronan killed. And it had taken no convincing for Charles to drop his phone’s encryptions for five minutes, listening while Ronan said this killer was too smart for him. The point had been to lull Daniel into complacency, feed his ego, but he was sure that Charles had enjoyed it.
Ronan frowned. Maybe he should just let this thing with his father go. Juliette had spent years running from a maniac, trying to keep her mother safe. He didn’t blame her for trying to kill Daniel. If Charles had killed their father to protect their own mother… was that really so different?
Plus, ever since he’d seen Daniel’s face, his mind had been flooded with violent fantasies—visions of strapping Daniel down and driving a blade into his chest, replicating every scar he’d inflicted on Juliette before letting him bleed out. If it came to it… he could hurt him. And he wouldn’t feel a single shred of remorse.
Ronan swallowed hard. No. He’d do this the legal way. It was worse to rot in jail, especially for a control freak like Daniel Graves. And while Ronan was his father’s son, he wouldn’t let that sadistic asshole’s genes get the best of him now.
The clacking of keys filled the room. Instructions. The names of the people they’d be working with.
We can do this, he thought on repeat in his head. We have to do this before that asshole leaves the state.
When he was finished, he closed the laptop and turned. Juliette was no longer watching him. The room was empty.
“Juliette?”
He pushed through the office door and into the hallway. She wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. Nor was she in the master bedroom. And… hadn’t his wallet been sitting on the end table?
The bathroom walls were still damp from her shower, but she wasn’t in there either. A chill crept up his back—nerves? But it wasn’t nerves ruffling his hair.
He turned slowly to the bedroom once more.
There were no operable windows in the bathroom, but there were three in the bedroom—floor-to-ceiling panes. All were closed. But as he approached, he could see that the sliding door had slipped open a crack, admitting the cold hiss of rain and chilly October breeze.
His hackles rose. He never left exterior doors unlocked, never even left his car unlocked—never.
He ran to the door and flung it wide. No, no, no. Where the hell had she gone? The motel? The club? Somewhere else entirely? She knew Daniel better than the rest of them, but she hadn’t shared anything that might be useful.
Fuck. He’d only wanted to protect her, but it seemed that she had no intention of letting him cut her out. With or without you.
Ronan raced out onto the back patio. He was soaked instantly, the heavy rain obscuring his vision, fogging the earth. But he could see the wooden fence at the back of the yard. The gate wasn’t open, but she’d likely gone out that way. Unless she’d backtracked around the front. There was no way to tell. Any footprints had already been washed away by the downpour.
If he were her, though… the back gate would be a fake-out. Too obvious.
He raced around the side of the house to the front gate and out onto the driveway, breath panting from his lungs. He knew before he made it to the sidewalk that she was gone. Whether she’d hailed a cab or ducked between the houses or even gone out the back way in a double-fake maneuver, Juliette was nowhere to be seen.
Those anguished eyes at his back might be the last time he saw her alive.
Chapter 25
Juliette
The Lyft dropped her in front of the rainy building. She’d waved the driver down on the street, offered twice what the ride was worth in cash. She’d gotten lucky.
Hopefully, her luck would hold.
Juliette knew Daniel’s tricks—after a decade of life-and-death maneuvers, she’d gotten pretty good at predicting his actions out of necessity. She had known what he was up to from the moment she’d seen that message come across Ronan’s laptop… at least she thought she did.
Twice—once in New Orleans, and again in Virginia—Daniel had committed crimes while wearing one of his stupidly distinctive coats, only to pass the jackets to people on the street in the aftermath. He’d worn a similarly brazen coat the night of Jason’s murder—he’d never wear it again.
Whoever those flatfoots had seen wasn’t Daniel. And if they’d seen that person leaving the club… maybe Daniel was still inside. Perhaps talking to Waylon about how to make her life more miserable. Or doing something terrible to Brittany.
Her mouth went dry, but she forced herself over the sidewalk, head ducked to avoid the downpour.
Are you really going to do this, Juliette?
Yes. She was.
