Free Deep by Skye Warren - Deep Page A

long,” I said, my voice shaking. I doubted they would have lingered at the front desk once they flashed their badges and got my room number. They were probably already on the elevators. “You’ve got to get out of here. Take the fire escape.”
    “They’re waiting for me.”
    “The cops?”
    “Worse. They’re waiting for us to go out that way.” He gave me a resigned look. “We’ll have to take our chances with the cops.”
    Relief filled me. “Thank God. I’m sure if we just explain what happened—”
    A surprised laugh. There was something like tenderness in his eyes. “You’re adorable, kitten.”
    “I’m starting to think the kitten thing is condescending.”
    One eyebrow rose. “Do you want me to stop?”
    No. “What I want is for you to be safe.”
    “Good,” he said, opening the door.
    In one smooth move he pulled me into the hallway. I stumbled in surprise—and would have fallen, except he hauled me up against him, my back to his chest. His arm was a thick band across my shoulders. I didn’t understand why he was holding me this way.
    At the end of the hallway there was a ding, and then the elevator doors opened.
    Something hard and small pressed against the side of my head. A gun.
    Suddenly I did understand why he was holding me this way. My heart pounded against my ribs, fighting to be free. The rest of my body went completely, unnaturally still.
    “Philip?” I whispered.
    His voice was soft. “Try to act scared.”
    Act scared? He had a gun pointed at my head. I was terrified. “That won’t be hard.”
    A low laugh. “Good kitten.”
    Then we were moving. He propelled me forward, which was handy because I didn’t think I could move. My gaze was on the cops—they pulled their weapons and shouted threats to stand down—but the rest of me was focused on the metal barrel pressing against my hair. Would he really shoot me? God, even holding the gun to my head was a risk. What if his finger slipped?
    I shouldn’t have let him into my room. I never should have trusted him.
    “Hello, boys,” Philip said as casually and confidently as if he were meeting men for business across a conference table. “What brings you here?”
    “Give it up, Murphy,” one of them said. He looked like he was in charge, a scowl etched into his face and hatred burning in his eyes. His skin was brown and weathered, his hair white at the tips. It was a rough-hewn appearance, as if he’d been hunting us through the woods instead of up an elevator. “Let her go.”
    “Somehow I don’t think that’s in my self-interest. Come to think of it, I don’t think a pretty little coed getting killed on your watch is in your self-interest.”
    I gasped in outrage even as a small, horrible part of me liked being called pretty. “How dare you. Let me go.”
    Both men ignored me.
    The cop’s eyes were threaded with red veins as if he hadn’t slept in days, weeks. Maybe he hadn’t. Those eyes narrowed, completely focused on Philip. “Hostages aren’t your style, Murphy. Getting desperate?”
    A soft laugh—this one somehow completely different from the one he’d given me a minute ago. That one had been genuine amusement. This was hollow—a mocking sound but somehow weary. “Detective Barnes, do you really think you’re going to nail something on me that I can’t shake off?”
    “It’s only a matter of time.” He nodded toward Philip’s side, the wound there. “There will be DNA evidence—”
    “Oh, that. I had the unfortunate luck to be mugged. So you might find my blood in the room. I don’t think CPD is in the habit of arresting victims of crimes, but maybe you’ve changed some things since you took over the shop from Daddy.”
    “I will catch you,” Barnes said coldly, nostrils flaring. “And you better pray there are people around when I do.”
    Even the other cops looked a little shocked at his words.
    “Until then,” Philip said, sounding unconcerned. He gestured with the gun to the side,