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“I think you have an opening,” Nik says. “If it was my call to make, I’d get your woman and your babies to wherever they can get the best care.”
“It’s not your call to make,” I snap. Then I sigh and relent. “But it’s still really fucking nice to hear your perspective.”
“Miss me more than you expected?” he says with a laugh and a waggle of his brows.
“Something like that.” I head for the door. “I’ll get to the safehouse and see how she’s doing. I’ll make the final call when I get there.”
Nik nods. “Text me when you decide. I’ll arrange safe transport.”
I get into my car and practically fly to the safehouse. I’ve had to stop myself every day for weeks from driving there on sheer instinct. The desire to be close to Luna is almost a compulsion at this point.
It feels good to let myself give in after so much restraint.
Still, even as I swerve around traffic and slam the gas pedal to the floor, I check my mirrors. I look to make sure I’m not being followed. I take a few random exits as a red herring for anyone who might be trying to tail me. By the time I pull up down the block from the safehouse an hour later, I’m confident I wasn’t followed.
Which is why I don’t see the first shot coming.
I’m two steps away from my car when a bullet whizzes past my shoulder. The sound echoes off the houses, making it hard to tell exactly where the gunman is shooting from. So I drop to the ground while I pull my gun from the holster.
Another bullet buries itself in the dirt a few feet ahead of me. I track the line back to a row of shrubs across the street and fire.
Instantly, two men fly out of the foliage, scrambling for a nondescript van parked in a driveway down the street. The cowards laid in wait and are now trying to retreat.
I don’t fucking think so.
I army crawl forward and lunge to my feet, chasing after the men. I don’t recognize either of them. They’re young, wearing dark clothes and hoods.
I fire again, hitting one of the men in the ankle. He screams as his leg buckles, but he keeps going, dragging it along behind him.
His friend isn’t so lucky. I hit him in the back of his left shoulder. He stumbles forward and my second shot catches him in the neck. He manages a few more steps before he collapses face-first into the ground.
The limping man sees his friend fall and runs faster. He doesn’t even consider going back to help him, not that it would do any good. It was a guaranteed kill shot.
The last remaining gunman limps away, firing a few wild shots over his shoulder, but they all go way wide. I hear glass shattering behind me. Hopefully, the asshole didn’t take out an innocent bystander firing blindly like that.
I leap over the dead man in the grass and land on one knee. I bring my gun up and take aim at the runner. But the asshole still on his feet dodges to the right. I hit him, but it’s a thigh shot on the same leg I already hit. He cries out again, but he keeps moving. Then he leaps into the van, drags his ruined leg in the door behind him, and tears off down the road.
My shots ping off the van like pebbles, so I know it’s armored. I don’t need to catch the license plate as it speeds out of the neighborhood to know who I have to thank for that surprise.
Pavel knows about the safehouse.
As soon as the van is out of sight, I turn and sprint for the house. I need to get to Luna.
I just hope no one else beat me to her.
45
YAKOV
I clear the first floor with a pathological focus. I don’t respond as Vera and Usev fire questions at me in Russian, asking about the gunshots and who is outside. I don’t acknowledge Dr. Jenkins, either, who raises both his hands in the air as I stride, gun first, into his borrowed room.
No, I make sure the house is empty and then I move to the basement stairs.
She’s safe. If she wasn’t, Usev and Vera would know. Dr. Jenkins would know.
Luna and Mariya are okay.
I repeat the words to myself again and again, but I don’t believe them until I throw the door open and see Luna sitting on the couch.
