Page 128 of Stolen By the Billionaire
Sarah had a flashback to The Wizard of Oz because this guy looked too much like he worked in the Emerald City, like a caricature of one of the Wizard’s minions.
Wait, green?
Last night, the bellhop that had escorted them up the elevator and to their room had been wearing a gold uniform a few shades lighter than the elevator’s brass rail.
But another image also flashed the retinas inside her head, that of the men who’d grabbed her on the farm, shoved her into a big black SUV, and then casually discussed shooting Charlie, her horse.
That man dressed as a bellhop was Benny, the smarter guy in charge.
As she rocked back on her heels and started to turn away, intending to run back into the hotel, Blaze was already stepping in front of her with his hands inside his coat, drawing guns hidden under his jacket on the man standing with the car.
People screamed and dove behind the cement planters like a swarm of fish parting and the halves darting away.
Sarah hadn’t quite turned back, so she saw Benny begin to reach for his waist.
Blaze called out to him, “Raise your hands. Step away from the car.”
In the distance, police sirens wailed.
Benny began to obey, but his shrewd pale eyes tracked the muzzles of the guns in Blaze’s hands.
Blaze said, “Move. Now.”
Benny slunk sideways, his hands in the air.
Blaze pointed downward with one of the guns he held. “On the ground.”
As Benny lowered himself to the sidewalk, Sarah waited behind Blaze, watching.
Blaze said, “Sarah, take my key fob, check the luggage area for someone hiding in there, and get in your side of the car.”
The Aston Martin’s key fob did indeed dangle from one of his blunt pinkie fingers otherwise wrapped tightly around the stocks of the guns, so Sarah threaded it off before she skirted Benny and trotted around the car.
The trunk held their two stuffed duffels, already placed there by the real hotel staff, one of whom was hopefully knocked out in the parking garage and not dead somewhere.
“Clear!” Sarah called to him and checked the small crawl space behind the car’s two seats before climbing in. She watched through the other windows, praying Blaze would be okay.
If anyone could be okay, Blaze would be.
Blaze trained the guns on Benny, still lying flat on the sidewalk. He half-stepped into the car, still torquing himself and keeping one weapon aimed back there.
Sarah heard him say, “I need you to put the car in gear and drive with the steering wheel. Tell me when to accelerate.”
Sarah manhandled the gearshift, moving it to Drive, and craned her neck to ensure no traffic was coming at them on the downtown side street in the early morning before office hours or the museum’s opening time. “Okay, go.”
The car rolled forward, and Sarah moved the steering wheel to guide it away from the curb and keep it between the lines.
Blaze dropped his handgun in her lap, spun around, and slammed the door, grabbing the wheel.
The car shot forward, screaming with speed that jammed Sarah into her seat. A headache formed between her eyes as the acceleration shoved her nasal cavities upward.
Outside her window, the world smeared like wet oil paint.
“Holy carp!” Sarah yelled and felt guilty about cursing. “What the heckers was Benny doing there?”
“Benny?” Blaze asked. “You know him?”
“Benny and Igor were the two guys who threw me into the SUV at my farm and were talking about shooting my horse. I heard them say each other’s names.”
