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She stared at him for a heartbeat.

Then she threw aside the sheets and lurched to her feet. “They’ll never be safe.” The words tore from her throat. “My sister. Jack.” Her voice broke. “He’ll come for them, Ronan.”

Hysteria chased the words as she stumbled toward the table, her movements still sluggish from the sedative. She fumbled with the pieces, her fingers clumsy as she tried to fit them together. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I have to stop him.”

“He’s dead.”

A piece slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the table. “What?”

Ronan glanced at the watch on his wrist. “About two and a half hours ago, Vasily Liminov was assassinated.”

Felicity stared at him. Blinking. Uncomprehending.

As if the words had been spoken in a language she didn’t understand.

“It’s over. He can’t hurt another person.”

She dropped onto the bed. “He’s dead?”

“Yes.”

*

For several seconds, Felicity simply sat there, the fight draining out of her, replaced by stunned disbelief.

Dead.

The word seemed to echo through the room.

Vasily was dead.

Her gaze slowly lifted to Ronan.

Something tightened in her chest.

He wasn’t relieved. He wasn’t surprised. He looked …

As if he’d been expecting this moment.

As if he’d known.

The realization hit her with enough force to steal her breath.

Drugging her.

The dismantled weapon.

The timing.

“Oh my God.”

Ronan’s jaw flexed.

“Did you do it?”

He shook his head. “Been here the whole time.”

Felicity stared at him.