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with a gun until help arrives.
    I’m going to do it. My hand is trembling desperately as it holds the gun, but I’m determined to do it.
    My hostage-taker has managed to get the upper-hand on the scary guy, even though the other guy is bigger than him. He’s gotten to his feet and gives him a hard kick in the ribs. Then he swings his fist and knocks the second guy out without even appearing to make an effort.
    It’s pretty impressive—I have to admit.
    “Come on,” he mutters, reaching out for me.
    I raise the gun and point it at him.
    “It’s out of bullets,” he says matter-of-factly, walking toward me with no fear at all.
    I gasp in surprise and outrage and, just for the briefest of moments, glance down at the gun. It’s enough of a distraction for him to reach out and grab it out of my hand.
    The fucking asshole just took the gun out of my hand, and I’m evidently stupid enough to have let him.
    For a moment, I’m so angry I want to scream.
    He grabs my arm and drags me with him.
    “I’ll find you,” the scary guy says, trying to drag himself up off the floor. “There’s nowhere you can hide. I’ll find you and make you pay.”
    I guess they’re rather clichéd words, but they give me chills of fear anyway. This guy is scary enough to make your blood run cold, and he obviously hates my hostage-taker more than anything.
    Said hostage-taker just kicks the guy again, hard, right in the ribs, before he leans down and pulls keys out of the guys pocket and then drags me out of the room.
    There are a few cars parked in the motel lot, and one of them is a tricked-out, black Escalade.
    “Get in,” he says, hauling ass into the driver’s seat as the two guys we left in the room appear and start limping after us.
    I’d rather stay with this guy than be left with those scary guys, so I climb into the passenger seat as fast as I can.
    He’s out of the lot before I can even put my seatbelt on.
    We drive for a couple of miles, but then he pulls over into the large parking lot of a strip mall. “We can’t keep this car. He’ll be able to track it.”
    That makes sense to me, so I start to get out when he does.
    Then he’s patting himself all over, and I have no idea why until I see him pull a tiny device out of one of his pockets. “Fucking Deke put a tracker on me.”
    That must be how they found us so easily in the hotel.
    The guy drops the tracker into a nearby garbage can and grabs my arm again. “Remember, if you try to run away from me or say anything, I’ll hurt you.”
    “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it.”
    “Is that sass?” He gave me a stone-cold glare.
    I’ll have to work harder if I’m going to get him turned on again. That will have to be my strategy. “Sorry,” I say, dropping my eyes. “I’ll be good.”
    “You better be good,” he replies, in a slightly mollified tone. “What’s your name, by the way?”
    “Wren.”
    “What the hell kind of name is Wren?”
    “It’s like the bird. My mom named me because I was so tiny and delicate when I was born.”
    “You’re still tiny and delicate,” he mutters, pulling me along with him. I have no idea where he’s going, but he’s heading for the strip mall.
    “I’m not that delicate. I got the gun from that guy in the room.”
    “Yeah, you did.”
    I’m not sure, but I’m hoping there’s faint appreciation in his tone. Not that sexy arousal, though. That’s what I need to go for.
    “What’s your name?” I ask.
    “Code.”
    “And you were asking about my name? What kind of name is Code?”
    “It’s a name.”
    “Not one I’ve ever heard before.”
    “Okay, shut up for a minute and let me think. I’ve got the crew and the cops both after me, and I’m hauling you and a buttload of diamonds around. I’ve got to figure out what to do next.”
    I have to bite back a sarcastic response about how it’s obviously great effort for him to think at all. That’s not the way to get him thinking about sex again.
    It’s kind of