Bad Boys With Expensive Toys by Nancy Warren

Author:Nancy Warren [Warren, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Anthologies, Erotic, Adult
ISBN: 9780758205865
Google: SUSSuig5fdYC
Amazon: 0758205864
Barnesnoble: 0758205864
Goodreads: 615942
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2004-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

Five

Dr. Dyson was creeping ahead of her, which was silly because he was making as much noise as an elephant in the brush. Tara walked behind him, lugging the gorgeous, stupid roses.

“Okay,” he whispered, “here’s what we’re going to—”

“Anybody home?” Tara asked loudly.

“Ack! Don’t do that. Stay behind me,” he ordered, clutching his cell phone. “I’ll take out anybody who tries something.”

“Sure you will.” Tara could see the body, which looked exactly like a huddled bunch of bloody rags, beneath one of the tables on the west side of the room. “Thataway, Dr. Dyson.”

“Ben, Ben, do I have to write it on my chin?”

“That could be fun,” she commented.

“Hey,” he said, spotting the body, “somebody’s in trouble.”

“Okay, you can go with that theory.” Me, I’m thinking along the lines of good riddance.

Before she could stop him (sigh), he raced over to the body and flipped it on its back. An excellent way to get shot in the face if the body wasn’t really a body.

But this time, it was. Or damn near.

“It’s Webber,” she commented, surprised. The worst of them all, shot and left for dead. Wonders never ceased.

“Webber?” Ben whispered.

She decided to make a long story short. “Bad bad bad bad bad bad man.”

The body opened its eyes, which were so bloodshot the whites weren’t visible at all. Kaarl Webber tried to grin up at her, and failed.

“Marx,” he wheezed.

“Kaarl,” she said politely. Then, casting about for a way to continue the conversation (she sucked at small talk), she added, “Head shot, huh?”

“Stupid.”

“Bound to happen,” she commented.

“Lie still,” Dyson said, flipping his cell open and tapping buttons. “I’m calling for help.”

Tara promptly kicked the phone out of his hand, and he watched in amazement as it skidded across the cement floor.

“Thanks,” Webber wheezed.

“No problem,” she replied.

“What the hell?” Dyson snapped.

They ignored him. In truth, she didn’t feel terribly sorry for Webber, who liked to trade heroin for the nightly use of little boys, but it was pathetic to watch him cling so desperately to life. A head shot, a chest shot, and it looked as if he’d been kneecapped, too. Not a nice way to die, and she wished he’d get on with it.

“Stupid,” he was gasping. “Never thought they’d have the nerve. Double-cross me.”

“Try not to talk,” Dyson begged.

“Where are they going?” she asked.

“Tara, what did I just say?”

“The Mayo,” Webber whispered.

“Why?”

Ben said, “I think he wants us to take him to the Mayo Clinic, which frankly is an excellent idea given the circumstances.”

Webber ignored him. “Cure ... for some kind of... cancer .. . steal... charge billions ... to give back ...”

“Sneaky,” Tara said approvingly.

Webber didn’t reply; he had died.

“He’ll be avenged,” Dyson vowed.

“For God’s sake,” Tara said. “This guy totally got what was coming to him.” Hell, I was thinking of doing him in myself.

“Nobody has this coming,” Dyson said, examining the head wound. “Christ. How he hung on long enough to have a conversation is a complete mystery.”

Not really. Villains are really good at the whole cling-to-life-to-burn-ex-partners thing.

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