Her Mating Scheme

Chapter 7

What was inside those?

The floor was some kind of laminate, that reminded her of her kitchen, and a rolling desk chair was strapped to the back door

For the first time it was coming home to Diane that Tryson might not have left her just because he wanted to. That he might not have left to go live a normal life somewhere else.

That he might be dangerous—even to her.

"Tryson —"

"Just stay quiet, Sash," he muttered. "If we can get out of here without them knowing, we'll be safer. Then I can talk. Keep your head down and pray." The van lurched forward and he cursed, but then continued at a sedate pace, though he was looking high and low through the parking garage as he drove.

She held her breath.

There were men chasing them—him? Her? Both of them? Men who, presumably, also had vans with computers and…

"What are you involved in, Tryson ?" she murmured under her breath. She didn't think he would have been able to hear her over the roar of the van. But his shoulders tensed.

"I will explain, I promise. Just be patient."

She stared at the back of his head. Patient? She'd waited five years! But she swallowed the protest back. If these men were as dangerous as he said, she didn't want to distract him.

They rolled through the garage and up the winding ramp to the street level where there was a line of two cars waiting to get through the barrier to the street.

She didn't speak and neither did Tryson , though he scanned every inch of the parking garage—and checked her in the rearview mirror.

For a split-second their eyes locked again, and her breath whooshed out of her. There was pleading in his gaze. Pleading, and warning, and fear and… heat. The soft, warm heat she recognized, that he'd always had when he looked at her before.

That gaze hit her low in her belly, and made her heart race even faster. But he tore his eyes away and went back to scanning the dark garage around them. Then the car ahead of them went through the barrier arm and he pulled up to the little hut and rolled down his window, slinging his arm over the door casually and handing a ticket through it.

Diane looked back. There was no one waiting behind them.

"Hey," a male voice said out of Diane's sight.

Tryson tipped his head. "Where's Patrick?" he said, friendly, unthreatening. "He sick? He seemed fine yesterday?"

"Nah, his wife's having a baby," the guy responded.

"Oh?" Then Diane felt it, that strange tension, pressure in the air—power. Just like back at the apartment, something emanated off of Tryson that made her squirm in her seat. He still had his arm over the open window of the van, but she saw the muscles at the back of his jaw twitch. "Patrick doesn't have a wife. He's gay."

There was a cold second where Diane's heart leaped into her throat, then all hell broke loose.

He was so fast. So incredibly fast. And strong.

Impossibly strong.

Tryson flowed through the window and half out of the van, a guttural snarl erupting from his throat. The guy shouted something and Tryson 's body jolted, then, impossibly, he was pulling back into the car, his shoulders barely straining as he dragged the top half of the guy with him, leaving the stranger's legs still in the kiosk, his body half-in and half-out of the van window, but pinned because the window was too small for him to do more than twist.

Fists flew, and the van shook. Diane tried to leap out of her seat, but was held in by the seatbelt. She unclipped it and scrambled forward.

"Get back!" Tryson snarled at her as he twisted the guy's neck up in his own shirt.

The strange noises were coming from the guy's throat and his face was beet-red, turning purple. He slammed fists into Tryson , or tried to, but in the tight confines of the van, he couldn't wind up—and apparently, given the way his face was swelling and veins were beginning to stand proud on his forehead, he couldn't breathe either.

The man began to wriggle like a fish, reaching for Tryson 's neck, his fingers digging into Tryson 's windpipe until he was forced to let go of the shirt he was using to strangle the man with one hand, to grab and twist the guy's wrist.

Diane heard a sickening snap.

~ Diane ~

The stranger's mouth opened and he made a tiny sucking noise. But even though his face looked like he was screaming, he couldn't seem to use his voice.

Tryson got both hands back on the shirt again a moment later and was growling. "Were you just called in, or were you posted here earlier? Blink once for a hot call, twice for a routine."

But the guy didn't blink at all. Diane watched as the twisted shirt seemed to sink into his skin and one of his eyes bloomed red as a blood vessel in it broke.

"Tryson , you're killing him!"

"It's him or you, Sash. He's here for you."

She gasped and stared at the man, whose eyes snapped back and forth between her and Tryson , his face swelling. Then he began to shake.

"Did Mark assign you? Blink once for yes, twice for no."

The guy's eyes closed, but never opened again. Diane watched, horrified, as he silently shuddered, over and over again, foam bubbling on his lips and Tryson mercilessly continued to strangle him.

"Tryson , stop! Stop! He's going to die!"

"If he doesn't, you will!"

But then a car came careening around the corner from the street and through the open barrier on the other side of the hut, the tires squealing and a quick pop, pop, pop sounded. Tryson swore and shoved the guy back out the window and into the staff hut. There was a massive thud as the man hit the ground inside, a deadweight. Leaning out the window and into the little hut, Tryson whacked at something on the countertop, then threw himself back into his seat as the barrier slowly began to rise.

"Hold on, Sash!" he snapped and threw the van into gear. It shot forward while the barrier was still only halfway up, cracking against the top of the windshield, then scraping up to the roof.

The van bounced in the dip between the sidewalk and the street, then lurched around the corner at speed, the tires whining.

Diane was thrown to the side, slamming against the locker.

"Get back in your seat! Now!" Tryson snarled and Diane, shaking and dizzy, crawled across the floor and into the seat, clicking herself back in, panting so hard she wheezed.

Shit. s**t. s**t. Who was this man? Was he even the Tryson she'd known? Or just some lookalike?

Her entire body trembled. This couldn't be him. It couldn't be the man she'd loved, the one who was so sweet and thoughtful. He'd always been over-protective, sure. But this?

"He wasn't dead," Tryson muttered a moment later as they sped down the street.

"Wh-what?"

"He wasn't dead. He'll live. He sucked in a breath when I dropped him."

Diane put a hand to her chest with relief. But knowing that the man had lived didn't ease the sick pit in her stomach. "You would have killed him, though," she said.

It wasn't a question, but he nodded. He took a corner at the yellow light at speed and she rocked in her seat. She felt sick to her stomach. She was going to throw up.

"He would have killed you, Diane. Or worse."

Worse? What could be worse? Then she met his eyes in the mirror again.

Oh.

"Why are they chasing you? And why would they care about me?" she asked faintly.

Tryson took three more corners in quick succession before he answered. Diane was beginning to feel faint, but determined to keep herself upright and focused. If these were her last minutes on earth, she was going to be present for them.

"They're chasing me because I know their secrets," he said dryly. "And they care about you because I care about you. They can… use you to get to me."

"You know their names?" she asked, incredulous.

"What?"

"You know their names. You asked that man if a specific person had put him there?"

Tryson sighed and weaved the van in and out of traffic. Diane refused to focus on anything but him. She knew if she looked out the windows to see the city flying by she would panic. Then he put his foot to the floor as the light ahead of them changed from green to yellow and she closed her eyes, swallowing hard again and again as her body threatened to revolt.

"I asked that man if my boss had assigned him earlier, or if he'd been placed there when we started running."

Her eyes flew open. "How would they get someone there so quickly?"

He snorted.. "You'll see," he said darkly.

~ Tryson ~

Before Diane could ask again, Tryson leaned forward and popped the glovebox, pulling a small, analog phone from its shadowed depths. Continuing to scan the road ahead and the mirrors behind for anyone that might be tracking them, Tryson got the old fashioned phone turned on and pressed the speed dial for Mark, his handler.

"Interesting night." The voice on the other end was deep and clipped, apparently unconcerned about Tryson 's rebellion.