Capitol Threat

54

Loving stared at the gun Pretty Boy held at point-blank range. Had he made it so far, suffered so much, only to come to this? He had put up with Renny’s torture, had seared his own flesh to get free, only to be drilled by this ignoramus?

“Now, wait, Pretty—er, Wilhelm. I don’t think you wanna do this.”

“Really? Because I am pretty sure that I do. Paying this debt will give me enormous pleasure.”

“Well, yeah, you, sure. But I’m not so sure I’m gonna enjoy it.”

“I am rather certain you will not.” He readjusted his aim, pointing the gun at a somewhat lower part of Loving’s anatomy. “I will make the first six or seven shots nonlethal, yet highly painful. I will cripple you. I will eliminate your manhood. I will let you bleed. Then at long last, I will kill you.”

“Gosh, Wilhelm, I can see you still bear a grudge, but this seems like a bad way to work it out. Perhaps we could just arm wrestle?”

“I do not think so.” Pretty Boy extended his gun arm.

Loving swallowed hard. So this was it, this was really, truly it. There was nothing he could do, no place he could run. His bag of tricks was empty. Nothing left but getting drilled by this Eurotrash moron.

Pretty Boy’s trigger finger tightened. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Loving.”

“Sweet dreams to you, sucker,” said a voice in the darkness. And a second later, Pretty Boy tumbled downward in a heap on the floor.

Loving’s eyes fairly bulged. “What in the—”

Trudy stepped into the light. Holding a baseball bat. “How do you like my swing, slugger?”

Loving was so astonished—and relieved—he could barely speak. “I think you’re so incredible I could—”

Trudy’s eyelashes fluttered. “Yes?”

Loving pulled Trudy close and delivered a kiss right on the lips.

“My, my,” Trudy said when it was over. “Has my big handsome gotten over his teeny-weeny difficulty?”

“Not likely. But a debt is a debt.” He grinned. “Thanks for showin’ up and savin’ my bacon.”

“I just wish I’d gotten here sooner, sugar. You’re a mess.”

“Don’t worry. I clean up pretty good. What are you doin’ here?”

“Did you really think I was going to leave my boyfriend all by himself?”

“Trudy—”

“After we split, I kept a low profile but hung around the club to see what, or who, emerged. When Renny returned to his private lounge without you, but with traces of blood on his hands, I knew something was up. I saw him whisper something to this lug down on the carpet, who got a great big grin on his face I didn’t like at all. So I followed him.”

“And the baseball bat?”

“I keep it in my car. A girl has to protect herself.”

Loving wiped blood from his brow. “Remind me not to tangle with you.”

More eyelash batting. “You’re welcome to tangle with me anytime, lover boy.”

“Later. Any idea where Renny is?”

“Uh-huh. He just took his bedtime downer and headed for his upstairs apartment. There are guards.”

“There always are. Lead the way, Trudy.”

“Sure you’re up to it?”

“No choice, really.”

She smiled at him, then puckered up. “Another kiss? For luck?”

Loving returned the smile. “Sorry. Not on the first date.”

Renny had just snuggled into the satin sheets of his huge bed, prepared to sleep the sleep of the content, a good day’s work complete. He liked to keep his sleeping quarters private. There were plenty of places downstairs for indulging in the pleasures of the women who drifted in and out of the club. This was his sanctuary, his fortress of solitude, a place where he could be alone with his thoughts. No women were allowed, nor anyone else for that matter. The boys on the landing made sure he wasn’t disturbed.

At least, that was how it was supposed to work.

His eyes had barely closed when he felt a hand wrap around his throat.

Renny tried to sit up, but the strong hand pinned him to his pillow.

“Don’t bother strugglin’,” Loving whispered. “You couldn’t outmuscle me even if you weren’t doped to the gills. And you are.”

Renny tried to speak, but the hand crushing his windpipe made it difficult. “What—where—”

“Your guards? Lying in a heap on the plush shag carpet, which by the way may be hot stuff in Europe, but here in the United States is totally passé. Very 1970.” He tightened his grip. “Don’t bother callin’ for them. They’re likely to be immobile for some time. Apparently they don’t play baseball back in whatever country you recruited them from.”

Renny’s legs and arms thrashed back and forth. Loving barely twitched.

“Here’s the deal,” Loving said. “I know you understand how quickly a person with a collapsed trachea can die, since you were briefing me on exactly that subject earlier. So I’ll give you one chance to tell me what I want to know. One chance. You will tell me why Victoria went to the Roush press conference. You will tell me about this political favor Victoria did earlier in the year. You will tell me about the Boston museum job. You will tell me everything else I want to know—anything that might be of interest to me. And in exchange, I will let you live to see the authorities clean up this den of sex and stolen art. You will serve a long prison sentence. But you will be alive. If you tell me what I want to hear. Are we clear on this?”

Loving continued choking Renny for a few more seconds, just to make sure he got his point across. When he finally released the man, he sat upright, coughing and sputtering, massaging his sore neck. His eyes watered with pain. He coughed up blood. He hyperventilated. Then he fell back against the bed, utterly exhausted.

“All right,” he said, his voice feeble and cracked, “where shall I begin?”