Page 68 of Vicious Temptation

Her fingers still beneath mine as she slowly lifts her eyes. “I’m okay.”

I don’t believe her, but I don’t push.

For a few seconds, neither of us moves. The tension between us feels different now, stripped of its usual push-and-pull, and I find myself wondering what would happen if we stopped fighting it.

The soft chime of the front door buzzer cuts through the moment.

“Client’s here,” she murmurs.

I pull my hand away, and she heads for the lobby while I stay behind near the station.

“You must be Jaime,” I hear her say.

“Yeah. You Remi?”

Before I hear her answer, gunfire erupts inside the shop.

Nineteen

Thiago

As an officer, I’m trained to run toward danger and protect lives even at the expense of my own. I could tell myself that training is what sends me charging toward Remi without hesitation, but the fear ripping through my chest has nothing to do with the badge.

My feet can’t carry me fast enough as I sprint toward the lobby, desperate to see her and confirm she’s unharmed. I have no idea who fired or whether this is a random attack, but the possibility that she was the target sends my adrenaline spiking.

Remi is already crouched there with her gun in hand, and the second I see she’s okay, relief floods through me.

“Braga, are you armed?”

“Yeah. What the fuck is happening?”

“Just me and this son of a bitch exchanging a little friendly hello.” She yanks a spare magazine from her boot, slams it into her Glock, then rises just enough to fire several rounds at the shooter.

I pat my pockets, searching for my phone to call for backup, only to realize I left it in the truck after my conversation with Elena.

“Shit.”

I shove my keys into Remi’s hand. “Go out the back door, get in my truck, and use the radio to call for help.”

She looks at me like I’ve grown another head.

“Fuck that plan. I’m not leaving.”

For one stupid moment, I wait for her to add “without you,” and the fact that I want to hear it tells me exactly how fucked I am.

I draw my Sig and return fire. Remi rises beside me, and together we keep the shooter pinned until he exposes himself long enough for us to take the opening. He drops near the front door.

“He asked my name,” she says, breathing hard. “Then he pulled his weapon.”

“Do you know him?” I ask as I reload.

Shaking her head, she starts toward him, but I step in front of her, keeping my gun trained on the body.

“Stay down!” I bark. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

He doesn’t move, and the only sounds he makes are wet, choking gurgles.

“Remi, do you have your phone? I need to call this in.”