Love Is Always Write Volume 4

of the tortuous game, he was alarmed that Jory planned to turn over the code. It could have serious repercussions if what Snyder had said about Jory's father was true. Bob wondered if Jory had stolen from his father's company. He wished he knew more about Jory, but going by instinct alone he simply could not believe Jory was a bad person.
    "Untie him, Mal," Snyder said to the new man. "Takara might be an asshole, but he always tells the truth. He'll be here."
    Mal shrugged and knelt to untie Bob's feet, keeping to the sides of the chair, likely to avoid a swift kick should Bob decide to retaliate. "Sorry 'bout the game," Mal muttered, low enough that Snyder would not hear. Snyder was poking away at his cell phone. Bob looked at Mal in surprise, but the man only shrugged and worked on the knots near Bob's wrists.
    Bob flexed his hands as soon as his arms were freed. He stayed in the chair, unwilling to give Snyder the satisfaction of seeing him leap away from it the way he would have liked. "Where is my wallet and my phone?" Bob asked and fixed Snyder with an even stare.
    Snyder seemed to evaluate him for a moment and then he waved a hand. "Give his things back. If you're smart, Bobby, you will run back to your predictable life and stay far away from Jordan Takara."
    Bob frowned and wondered if Snyder's warning was prompted by jealousy. Was there more than a competitive rivalry between them?
    "I'll take it under advisement," Bob said dryly and accepted his belongings from Grind. He slipped his phone and wallet into his jeans pockets. "You owe me a shirt."
    Snyder chuckled. "You have moxy, Bobby, I'll give you that. Let's go wait for Takara."
    Bob followed him into a huge living room that bordered a parquet-floored foyer. Tropical plants, dark wood, and expensive-looking antiques abounded. It felt like opulence and old-world money. The main door opened, and Jory stepped inside, accompanied by the man who had tied up Bob. Jory looked long and hard at Bob, as if evaluating his condition. Bob forced a smile.
    "You shouldn't have come," Bob said, hoping his expression made it clear that he was very glad Jory was there, despite his words.
    "Had to," Jory replied.
    "Where is my code?" Snyder demanded.
    "In my pocket," Jory replied with a sneer. "Want to dig for it?"
    "You wish!" Snyder said. "Hand it over."
    Jory shrugged and opened his coat. All eyes were fixed on him, and Bob had a sudden, completely crazy, idea. He shoved Mal, hard, knocking him over the back of the nearby sofa. Mal yelped, and Bob leaped forward to grab Jory's hand.
    "Let's go!" he yelled and bolted for the door, lashing out at the other man with a fist. That's for tying me up, asshole , he thought vindictively as his fist connected. Bob's knuckles stung, but he yanked open the door and leaped down the steps he had nearly fallen over on his way in.
    Jory kept pace with him, not releasing his hand, and he whooped as they jumped over a low hedge of decorative flowers and crossed the manicured lawn. At the end of the long driveway, an iron-barred gate stood open.
    "Hurry!" Jory yelled as it began to close.
    The wheeled gate moved too slowly to box them in. They slipped through the opening and onto the street with inches to spare and Snyder's shout of rage following them.
    "Which way?" Bob yelled as they pelted down a curving, downhill grade. He had no idea where they were, only that the neighborhood was filled with fancy homes enclosed with brick walls and iron fences.
    "I don't know, but we'd better find somewhere to hide fast! Snyder will be out for blood."
    Bob risked a glance back and thought he caught sight of Grind chasing them. The road curved, and Bob spotted a pristine lawn with no fence and what looked to be untamed forest beyond. "This way!"
    They ran across the lawn and dove past a hedge of native plants. A sharp incline led downward to a small rock-lined stream edged in brambles and ferns. Bob let go of Jory's hand to keep his balance. They jumped across the flowing water. A stray bramble snagged on Bob's chest, tearing a long scratch. He winced.
    Jory grabbed his hand again. "Look, a path!"
    A small track cut through the thick undergrowth. They were forced to slow in order to duck under branches and hop over moss-covered fallen logs, but the path eventually led upward through the trees to a large, open field.
    "It's a park!" They stopped to catch their breath, alert for any sign of pursuit, but no one followed. They had hopefully lost Grind