guard.” Tracy’s hands trembled suddenly as she taped off the bandage, a tear leaking down her cheek.
“Wrong again,” Marshall sneered. “The security guard is dead. And now that Ms. Braxton is convinced that you’re not, why don’t we get back to the business at hand?”
He waved his gun at Tracy, and she pressed the last of her makeshift bandage into place before pushing back to her feet. Seth sat up, ignoring Henry’s renewed growl, as his gaze swept the room looking for something that might offer a way out. Tracy had moved back to the table, and was running her hands along the length of the dead man’s arm.
“So since I’m obviously the last one to the party,” Seth said, “does someone want to let me know what this is all about?”
Silence held for a moment and Tracy lifted her gaze from the body on the table to meet Marshall’s. The other man seemed to consider her unasked question and then, with an exasperated sigh, shrugged his approval.
“They’re looking for a microchip. Apparently, this man, Fitzpatrick, was supposed to be selling their boss some information. And he died before he could make delivery.”
“And you think the information is on the body,” Seth said, addressing the comment to Marshall.
“I know it is. It’s just a matter of finding it. But that’s turned out to be a little more difficult than we’d anticipated.”
“Which is where Tracy comes in, ” Seth said as she shot him a look, her gaze reflecting a hell of a lot more than just concern. His heart tightened. Perfect time for her to come around.
“Exactly.” Marshall nodded once and turned back to Tracy as she continued to search the body for the microchip. “Although if you can’t find it in the next few minutes we’ll have to move on to plan B. Which I might add doesn’t include either of you walking out of here alive.”
They weren’t walking out of here at all if Seth couldn’t think of something. And fast. He knew Tracy well enough to know that if the microchip was really there, she’d already found it. Her searching was merely a way to give them both a little extra time to make a play.
Best then that he give her every advantage. If he was out for the count, then both men were going to relax, and maybe there’d be an opening for—hell he didn’t know what—but at the moment it was all he could think to do.
He slumped back against the wall with an exaggerated sigh. Tracy’s head popped up, but Marshall shook his head, waving the Sig. “Keep working. You’ve got sixty seconds or your boyfriend’s dead.”
For just a moment, Seth allowed his gaze to lock with Tracy’s. Then with a sharp exhale, he let his head fall back, praying that she’d gotten the message.
“Oh my God,” Tracy said. “He’s passed out. His head wound must have been worse than I thought. He’s gone into ademic arrest.”
Seth fought against a smile. There was no such word as ademic. As long as they believed he was out—there was a chance. Tracy just had to find a way to deliver it.
“You have to let me help him,” she begged.
“Stay where you are,” Marshall ordered. “Find the goddamned chip.”
Seth shifted slightly so that he could see the assembled company without Marshall or Henry realizing he was still conscious.
Tracy twisted the dead man’s arm, palm facing up, and ran her finger along the muscle running from wrist to elbow. “I’ve got it. It’s here. But I’m going to need a scalpel to get it out.”
“Move out of the way,” Marshall said, reaching to his belt to produce a knife. “I’ll do it.”
“You take that knife to his arm and you’ll lose the chip forever. It’s about the size of a pea. You make the wrong cut and it’s lost in the resulting mutilation. If you want it, it’s going to take surgical precision. And to do that, I’m going to need a scalpel.”
Seth bit back a groan.
“Wrong again,” Marshall sneered. “The security guard is dead. And now that Ms. Braxton is convinced that you’re not, why don’t we get back to the business at hand?”
He waved his gun at Tracy, and she pressed the last of her makeshift bandage into place before pushing back to her feet. Seth sat up, ignoring Henry’s renewed growl, as his gaze swept the room looking for something that might offer a way out. Tracy had moved back to the table, and was running her hands along the length of the dead man’s arm.
“So since I’m obviously the last one to the party,” Seth said, “does someone want to let me know what this is all about?”
Silence held for a moment and Tracy lifted her gaze from the body on the table to meet Marshall’s. The other man seemed to consider her unasked question and then, with an exasperated sigh, shrugged his approval.
“They’re looking for a microchip. Apparently, this man, Fitzpatrick, was supposed to be selling their boss some information. And he died before he could make delivery.”
“And you think the information is on the body,” Seth said, addressing the comment to Marshall.
“I know it is. It’s just a matter of finding it. But that’s turned out to be a little more difficult than we’d anticipated.”
“Which is where Tracy comes in, ” Seth said as she shot him a look, her gaze reflecting a hell of a lot more than just concern. His heart tightened. Perfect time for her to come around.
“Exactly.” Marshall nodded once and turned back to Tracy as she continued to search the body for the microchip. “Although if you can’t find it in the next few minutes we’ll have to move on to plan B. Which I might add doesn’t include either of you walking out of here alive.”
They weren’t walking out of here at all if Seth couldn’t think of something. And fast. He knew Tracy well enough to know that if the microchip was really there, she’d already found it. Her searching was merely a way to give them both a little extra time to make a play.
Best then that he give her every advantage. If he was out for the count, then both men were going to relax, and maybe there’d be an opening for—hell he didn’t know what—but at the moment it was all he could think to do.
He slumped back against the wall with an exaggerated sigh. Tracy’s head popped up, but Marshall shook his head, waving the Sig. “Keep working. You’ve got sixty seconds or your boyfriend’s dead.”
For just a moment, Seth allowed his gaze to lock with Tracy’s. Then with a sharp exhale, he let his head fall back, praying that she’d gotten the message.
“Oh my God,” Tracy said. “He’s passed out. His head wound must have been worse than I thought. He’s gone into ademic arrest.”
Seth fought against a smile. There was no such word as ademic. As long as they believed he was out—there was a chance. Tracy just had to find a way to deliver it.
“You have to let me help him,” she begged.
“Stay where you are,” Marshall ordered. “Find the goddamned chip.”
Seth shifted slightly so that he could see the assembled company without Marshall or Henry realizing he was still conscious.
Tracy twisted the dead man’s arm, palm facing up, and ran her finger along the muscle running from wrist to elbow. “I’ve got it. It’s here. But I’m going to need a scalpel to get it out.”
“Move out of the way,” Marshall said, reaching to his belt to produce a knife. “I’ll do it.”
“You take that knife to his arm and you’ll lose the chip forever. It’s about the size of a pea. You make the wrong cut and it’s lost in the resulting mutilation. If you want it, it’s going to take surgical precision. And to do that, I’m going to need a scalpel.”
Seth bit back a groan.
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