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Definitely magic.
He curled an arm around my waist, cupped my cheek, and then kissed me long and slow. “Liam is making a few calls. Then he’ll make you pancakes.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Is that what you two were talking about? Pancakes? Or my shitty cooking?”
“Aye. Both. Among other things.” He grinned again, and the pressure in my lungs receded. “I’ll be home in time for your therapy appointment.”
I lifted my chin and gave him my most confident smile. “I’ll be waiting.”
Neither of us was ready for this forced separation, but nothing else could pull the Band-Aid off your codependence like the FBI requesting a face-to-face.
After ten minutes of reluctant goodbyes, Lucifer was finally out the door.
I returned to the newspaper while I waited for Liam.
Politics . . . flip . . . Weather . . . flip . . .
My stomach growled. Pancakes sounded amazing.
Local news . . .
The headline on the next page caught my eye: “FBI Takes Down Human Trafficking Ring.”
I scanned the article reporting on the Albanians and Pier 19.
Officials say the fifty-eight women were being held in shipping containers bound for Uzbekistan.
Uzbekistan . . .
The blood in my veins turned to ice.
“By the time Lucifer realizes what’s happened, you’ll be packed in a shippin’ container headed for Uzbekistan and this place will be nothin’ but ash and rubble—but first, I’m gonna have myself a bit of fun.”
Cillian wasn’t planning to kill me.
He wanted to rape me and then hand me over to the Albanians so they could sell me to the Uzbeks.
The Brennans and the Albanians were both seeking revenge.
And if they couldn’t get to me ...
I pushed off the counter, staring at the newspaper as though it were a grenade and I’d just pulled out the pin.
Front door. Lucifer.
I moved like I’d been possessed. I needed to catch up with Lucifer. Tell him what I’d remembered. He’d know what to do.
Sunshine kissed my face. I raised my hand to my brow, but it did little to block the blinding light of the outdoors. The scent of spring daffodils and magnolia trees tickled my nose. A blue van drove slowly down the street. The rumble of a street sweeper gathering the remnants of another New England winter grated in my ears.
I saw him standing on the sidewalk. My breaths came a little easier.
The van stopped.
“Lucifer,” I managed to say, but my tongue felt too big for my mouth.
He turned around and his malachite eyes locked on me. His expression was confused—worried. “Willa? Sweetheart?”
The van’s side door slid open. Gunshots rang out.
