“I—yes. You’re working for him?”
“I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. Now you have no one to blame but yourself.”
Her hand whipped out to lock around my tender wrist in an attempt to keep me in place as her other hand shot up to reveal a syringe.
I’d taken a self-defense class in college, but I’d never had to put it into real life practice. Until now.
My right foot came down to land on her shoe, but the dainty heel was no match for her heavy boot. I twisted my arm, forcing her to let go of my wrist. She hadn’t expected me to fight. Though she let out a startled sound of surprise, she didn’t waste any time coming after me again, the syringe in her grasp. I was at a disadvantage in my formal wear and there was no hope of outrunning her unless I took her out.
Now or never.
With a great deal of force, I upward thrust my palm into Chelsea’s nose. She cried out in pain as she dropped the syringe, her hands flying to her face.
I kicked off my shoes, hiked up my dress, and ran.
Chapter 30
Fear and adrenaline pulsed through my veins as I flung open the stairwell door. I took the stairs two at a time. My ankle throbbed, but I pushed forward, hoping I moved fast enough to lose my attacker.
Chelsea.
The woman who I’d once thought of as a friend.
She worked for Igor Dolinsky, head of the Russian mob, the man determined to take down Flynn. Dolinsky wanted to speak with me. About what? It didn’t matter—I was officially a target and on Dolinsky’s radar.
Out of breath and completely light-headed, I finally made it to the main floor where the Houston Charity Gala was being held. The speeches were over, and the silent auction had commenced. Barefoot and bedraggled, I elbowed my way through the throng of people. I found Flynn chatting with an elderly, white-haired couple.
Flynn laughed, and he took a sip of his drink. His eyes wandered to collide with mine. A look of confusion washed over his face—and then his gaze swept down my body and his confusion turned into a scowl. He approached me even as I rushed to him.
“What happened?” His Scottish brogue was gravelly, thicker now because he was moved by deep emotion. His hand latched onto mine, and he dragged me away from the main floor, away from the eyes that were starting to look at me.
“Chelsea,” I said. “Tried to grab me in the parking lot.”
Flynn’s hands moved up to grip my shoulders.
“She works for Dolinsky,” I rushed on. “Said he wanted to talk to me. She had a syringe, Flynn.”
His eyes went glacial. “How did you get—”
“I fought like hell and broke her nose,” I said, striving for levity. It was either lighten the mood or start screaming. I began to shake.
He pulled me into the large, solid wall of his chest and wrapped an arm around me. With his free hand, he reached in his tuxedo jacket pocket and took out his cell.
“Meet me at the side entrance in three minutes,” he commanded to our driver before hanging up. “What were you doing in the parking lot, Barrett?”
“I ran into Lana in the bathroom,” I explained. “We had an…interlude, if you will, and I just wasn’t up to returning to the party. I found a waiter—he was supposed to tell you that I was headed back to the hotel. I wanted to leave discreetly, so the paparazzi didn’t—”
“I never got the message,” he interrupted, his jaw tight. “Did Lana hurt you?”
The bitch had pulled my hair and squeezed my wrist until bones crunched. “Uh… Well, sort of.” I gestured to my free locks. “I did come to the party with my hair up.”
He shook his head. “Why did you go to the parking lot alone? I told you to be careful and on your guard.”
I didn’t like his tone. My ankle and wrist hurt, I’d been damn near kidnapped, and Flynn was lecturing me?
Hell. No.
“Can we do this later? I feel awful.”
