The blond bodyguard with the spiderweb neck tattoo appears in the doorway. He’s crouched low, weapon at the ready, finger on the trigger. I expect to feel a bullet rip through me somewhere, but movement from my right distracts me.
It’s Riley.
Jumping in front of me.
Screaming, “No!”
There’s a split second of confusion where I don’t understand what’s happening. What is she doing? Why isn’t she staying on the bed?
Then a shot rings out. Her body jerks. She slams back against me with a cry, then drops to the floor at my feet and lies there, unmoving.
The bodyguard crouched in the doorway stares at her in blank, white-faced horror.
The moment of confusion clears, and I understand what happened.
She just took the bullet meant for me.
Deliberately.
Howling rage burns through my soul. A roar of fury rips from my chest. I step over Riley, gun pointed at the guard’s head, but stop short when she groans.
“No, Mal. Please. Don’t hurt him.”
The guard is frozen in place. He can’t look away from Riley. He’s still holding his gun out, but his eyes are wide and unblinking, focused on her.
I’ve seen this before, this type of disbelief. It’s a kind of denial so powerful, it can shut down a man’s entire nervous system.
His brain is refusing to acknowledge what he’s done. His whole being has become non-operational. I could empty an entire magazine into his chest and he wouldn’t even blink.
“Mal. Please.”
It’s weak. The barest of whispers.
But hearing it, hearing the way she says my name, takes just enough edge off my murderous impulse to rip the guard to pieces with my bare hands.
I bludgeon him with my gun, instead.
He topples sideways with a grunt, blood pouring from his temple.
I turn around, pick Riley up, and cradle her motionless body against my chest as I walk out the door.
21
Declan
When I answer the phone, Spider is in such a state of distress, I can’t understand a word he’s saying. All I hear is a garbled mess of English and Gaelic, shouted at high speed.
“Calm down, mate. You’re not making any sense. What’s happened?”
He drags in great gulps of air, then produces a single word that raises all the hair on the back of my neck.
“Malek.”
Bloody hell.
From where I’m sitting in the leather chair in the living room of the safe house in Manhattan, I can see Sloane making herself a drink. Standing in the dining room pouring whiskey into a crystal highball glass, she looks preoccupied. Worried.
Knowing that overhearing this conversation will make that look worsen, I rise and walk quickly into the bedroom.
As soon as I’m out of earshot, I demand, “Tell me.”
After listening for less than thirty seconds, I’m so angry I could crush the phone in my fist.
Through clenched teeth, I say, “How the fuck did he get in?”
“I don’t know. We were locked down. None of the alarms went off. He’s a bloody ghost, that one.”
“Kieran?”
“Down. Shot three times. Still breathing, but it doesn’t look good.” He pauses to gulp more air. “There’s more. It’s bad.”
I brace myself for the worst, which is exactly what I get.
“Before that Russian bastard ran off with Riley…I…” His voice breaks. “I accidentally shot her. It was meant for him, but she got in the way.”
Breath rushes out of my lungs in an audible whoosh. My life flashes in front of my eyes.
When Sloane finds out about this, we’re all dead. Kieran, Spider, the entire crew.
Me included.
I manage to ask, “Is she alive?”
“I don’t know. It was dark. Fuck, boss, I’m so sorry. I’m killing myself over it.”
I can hear the truth of that in the absolute misery in his voice, but his guilt will have to wait for later. There are far more important matters to deal with first. I blow out a hard breath and snap into command mode.
“Get Kieran to the hospital. When he’s set, review the cameras. See if you can find out how that son of a bitch got in. Then clear out and burn it. Understood?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll call you in two hours. Don’t speak to anyone else until then.”
I disconnect just as Sloane is walking in. She takes one look at my face and says, “Oh, fuck.”
It’s both a blessing and a curse that she can read me so easily.
Slipping my cell into my pocket, I walk toward her slowly, holding her worried gaze. “What I’m going to tell you will be upsetting. You should sit down.”