Bodyguard SEAL (SEALs of Coronado Book 8) by Paige Tyler (best classic literature txt) 📗

“Not yet.” Dwayne snorted. “As I suspected, the guy lawyered up immediately. But it looks like they’re ready to make a deal. I was about to go talk to them. You still want to listen in, right?”

“Definitely.”

Noah was interested in knowing what the asshole who tried to kidnap Peyton thought he might have to offer up for a deal, but he guessed he was about to find out.

“It goes without saying, but you were never officially here,” Dwayne murmured as he led the way down a long narrow hallway. “You’re here to observe only. Understood?”

“Hooyah,” Noah said.

Stopping, Dwayne motioned him into a dimly lit room with a two-way mirror that allowed him to see into the interrogation room. The man Noah had tangled with last night was already sitting at a table, along with a second man who must have been his partner in crime. In between them sat a gray-haired guy in a suit whom Noah assumed was their lawyer. All three men sat up a little straighter when Dwayne walked in and took a seat opposite them.

“I understand your clients have something they want to tell me, Mr. Carpenter,” Dwayne said to the gray-haired man.

Carpenter nodded. “In return for a deal, yes.”

“You know how this works,” Dwayne said. “Your clients talk and if I think the information is worth anything, the appropriate recommendations will be filed with the ADA. But it all depends on what they have to say.”

Carpenter hesitated, then nodded at the two men.

The one who’d grabbed Peyton and dragged her into the van took a deep breath. Without the ski mask, he didn’t look nearly as tough. “We were only trying to kidnap that writer because someone hired us to do it. We were never gonna hurt her. We were told to get an external hard drive from her, but she had a death grip on that frigging purse of hers.”

Noah tensed. If someone had hired these two idiots, that person was still out there and would almost certainly go after Peyton and her book again.

“Who hired you?” Dwayne asked.

“Two men,” the driver of the van said. “The one in charge—a dark-haired foreign-looking guy—never said a word. He just stood in the background and listened. The second one did all the talking. He had a New York accent and liked to talk loud, like he thought he was tough or something.”

Dwayne frowned. “That doesn’t really narrow it down. If you want a deal, you’re going to have to do better than some foreign guy and a loud talker from New York. I need a name.”

“They never used names,” Getaway Driver said. “And before you ask, New Yorker paid up front in cash. Five thousand in cash—each. We thought at first there were some kind of military or industrial secrets on the hard drive, but New Yorker said it was a damn romance book if you can you believe that.”

Dwayne ignored the meaningless commentary and stuck to the point. “Well, if you can’t give me a name, how about a description?”

“New Yorker was white. Maybe five-ten in height. Blond hair,” the second kidnapper answered. “The other one was older, maybe early fifties with dark black hair. Really expensive suit, though. Worth more than my car.”

Noah clenched his jaw. Getaway Driver’s description was about useless. They’d never be able to find anybody with information like that.

“Anything else you can remember about them?” Dwayne asked. “Tattoos or distinguishing characteristics?”

Both men were silent for a few moments before the first guy spoke again.

“It’s not really a distinguishing characteristic, but New Yorker had this irritating habit of twirling a damn pen between his fingers all the time. It was distracting as crap.”

Noah’s gut clenched.

Shit.

He rapped on the one-way glass with his knuckles to get Dwayne’s attention, then walked out of the room, hoping his friend got the message. Fortunately, he had.

“What’s up?” Dwayne asked as he met Noah in the hallway.

“I know the son of a bitch who hired those guys,” Noah told him. “The one they called New Yorker. It’s one of the editors at her publisher by the name of Scott Moore. He’s staying at the hotel where they had the release party last night.”

“You sure it’s him?”

“I’m sure. The description was dead on. He’s one of the few people that knew she kept the book on a hard drive in her purse and he spent the whole night twirling his pen between his fingers,” Noah said. “I’m going home to Peyton. Call me when you pick up Moore for questioning. I have no doubt your two suspects in there will ID him in a split second.”

As he raced down the stairs, Noah pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial for Peyton. It rang four times, then went to voice mail.

Dammit.

“Peyton, it’s me. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but Scott Moore hired those two guys who tried to kidnap you. He’s working with another man, but I don’t know who. Don’t open the door for anyone but me. I’m on my way.”

Noah cranked his SUV and squealed out of the parking lot, only realizing he was in front of a police station at the last second. He forced himself to ease off the accelerator. He wouldn’t do Peyton any good if the cops pulled him over. But the twenty minutes it took to get back to his apartment was pure agony. He called Peyton half a dozen more times, only to get her voice mail every time. In desperation he gave Sam a call, simply telling him that Peyton was in trouble and to get over to his apartment.

By the time he slid to a stop in the driveway of his apartment complex, Noah was close to losing his mind.

The door to his place was ajar, like someone had left in a hurry and hadn’t bothered to make sure it was closed. Noah’s heart froze and dread began to settle in the pit of his stomach even as