The man is more annoying than the headache he’s giving me.
I tell myself I shouldn’t open the door. But his persistence, that training-driven resolve—he sees me as a target, clueless about my past, but he’s right about the danger.
“It’ll take me less than fifteen seconds to get inside, Allie.”
I close my eyes. The man is insufferable.
“I’m coming in, one way or another.”
There’s no reason not to believe him. He’s probably every bit as adept at locks as I am. And this door is not the strongest on the planet. Probably take him one good shoulder-shove to break it down.
Against every instinct, I holster my gun then release the lock.
He doesn’t wait for an invite. Instead, he pushes in.
Quickly he scans my surroundings again. Then he strides to the window to nudge the blinds aside. “You’ve got company.” Though his tone is calm, it’s edged with urgency.
My heart racing, I move to stand next to him.
Outside, near a lamppost across the street, is my attacker from the park, massive and hooded, conferring with another man. He is dressed sharper, in a suit, making me think he’s the brains to the brawn.
They’re watching my building. Waiting.
Damn it to hell and back. The hunt isn’t over. Instead, the danger is closing in.
“We need to move.” Stryker’s voice is deadly calm.
I blink. “We?”
Chapter Four
Lyra
“There is no we, Stryker. I handle my own messes.” My voice is steady, but inside, my heart’s slamming like a trapped animal.
On an endless loop, my dad’s warnings about Hawkeye scream in my head. Stryker is an enemy I have to watch out for.
And yet here he is, standing in my trashed apartment like he owns the damn place.
I look again, and this time, I notice a third figure—Gray Hoodie Guy—slouched in a parked car across the street. The vehicle’s engine is idling, and exhaust curls like a warning.
They’re boxing me in, and suddenly the locket against my chest feels like a noose that’s tightening.
Stryker’s voice cuts through my low-grade anxiety. His voice is steady and calm, showing he’s no stranger to this kind of situation.
“My condo isn’t far.”
I shouldn’t consider his invitation. But right now, it may be my best hope.
“Your choice.”
His dark eyes lock on mine, unyielding, and I hate how they see too much—how they make my pulse stutter, and not just from fear.
There’s a pull in those enigmatic depths, dangerous and unwanted, like a riptide. I’m too smart to swim in that direction.
Aren’t I?
I should tell him to go to hell. To take his Hawkeye bullshit and his hero complex and leave me to my shadows. After all, I’ve been on my own since my father’s death.
