Page 14 of Sins of Leo

He ducked under it before it fully lifted and barked, “We’re inside. Close it.”

The door halted its ascent and descended.

Ruth was confused. Was Leo actually conversing with someone? Someone who could remotely access the garage controls? That seemed like something out of a spy movie. Whothe heckwasLeo? Because he certainly wasn’t a police officer. They didn’t have that kind of coordination and access to private businesses.

“Where’s your car?” he asked.

“Level C, slot 14.” It didn’t even occur to her to lie.

He followed the signs, not once slowing, nor breathing hard. Impressive. She got winded going up her own stairs.

Only once they reached her SUV—in its soothing cactus-gray color—did he set Ruth on her feet.

“No keys, I take it?” he muttered, trying the handle on the driver’s side.

“No. How did you get the garage open?”

He didn’t spare a glance or a reply but rather spoke to whoever Aquarius was again. “Hey, I’ve got a 2024 Ford Bronco Sport in front of me. I need access.” He canted his head. “Hold on a second. I’ll send you an image.”

He whipped out a phone and took a picture of the VIN number visible through her windshield.

It occurred to Ruth that his distraction might be a good time to flee.

She took one sneaky step, only to hear, “Don’t you dare run. I’m not in the mood to chase.”

“And I’m not in the mood to be kidnapped,” she snapped in reply.

He turned a glower on her. “I am trying to save you, so fucking cooperate.”

“Save me from what?”

“The people after your father’s journal and image.”

“Why would anyone want them? They’re decades old!” she shouted back, losing her composure.

“Because they contain a clue to find something valuable.”

“They do?” A reply wreathed in confusion. “How do you know that?”

“Because a seer told me.”

Yup. He was definitely crazy—with connections.

Her Bronco suddenly unlocked, and the engine roared to life as he said, “Thanks, bro. Talk to you in a bit.”

He pointed to the SUV. “Get in.”

“You’ve got what you wanted. You don’t need me.”

“Get. In.”

The bullet that whipped past and struck the cement column, sending shards flying, made the decision for her.

Ruth dove into the passenger seat and, at his barked, “Duck into the footwell. You’ll be harder to hit,” obeyed. She also closed her eyes and prayed to a god she didn’t believe in.

Please don’t let me die.

Because she had so many questions.

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