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“You tell anyone you found me?”
Bob gave derisive snort. “Course not. I don’t want every yahoo and pilgrim taking my kill.”
Yahoo and pilgrim? This guy think he was John Wayne?
McAlister shrugged. “Just thought you might’ve sent out an anonymous brag.”
“I don’t brag till the job’s done.”
McAlister huffed out a frustrated puff of air, and with an almost imperceptible nod at Sean, he said, “Then I’m real sorry about this.”
The guy tensed and raised his gun, anticipating a threat from McAlister. He never heard or saw Sean before the knife slid across his throat, slicing his neck from ear to ear. McAlister kicked the gun out of the man’s hand as he dropped to the floor, released a garbled gurgle of sound, and went silent.
“Looks like we’re even, Donavan.”
Doing everything he could not to pass out and join Bob on the floor, Sean leaned against the wall and asked, “Who was he?”
“Just another killer.” His gaze dropped to Sean’s leg. “You good for another car ride?”
“Don’t think I have a choice.” As Sean hobbled back to the front door, he heard McAlister make a call.
“It’s me. I need another place and a cleaner. Yeah. I know. And this stays between us. Swenson’s on the take.” He was silent for a moment and said, “No, don’t worry. I’ll handle it when I get back.” Another pause and then, “Roger that.”
Nausea building to a crescendo, Sean leaned against the open door and swallowed hard. The car looked about ten miles farther away than it had before. Just when he was considering crawling to get there, McAlister brushed by him. “Need help?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Within minutes, Sean found himself in the back seat of the car again. Once McAlister got behind the wheel and back on the road, he sent a quick text and dropped his phone on the seat beside him.
“I texted Drake. He’ll meet us at the new location.”
“How far is that?”
“About an hour.” McAlister threw a look over his shoulder. “You need something for the pain?”
“No, I’m good.”
The look he sent Sean acknowledged the lie. Didn’t matter. Taking something that would dull his brain was the last thing he needed. He might not be able to kick anyone’s ass right now, but staying alert was his best chance at being alive when Ash and Liam finally joined them.
Hoping to keep himself from passing out, he said, “So Jazz finally found you?”
“Something like that,” McAlister said with a grunt.
“How’d that happen?”
“Short version? I had a job to do. Didn’t know OZ would be there. Jazz recognized me.”
Sean could only imagine that reunion. He remembered one of the first conversations he’d had with Jazz, not long after they met, about her need to find her long-lost stepbrother. McAlister had looked so familiar to Sean because Jazz had shown him a photograph of her family numerous times.
Apparently wanting to change the subject, McAlister asked, “How long were you held?”
“Six…eight weeks. Time kind of got lost.”
“You learn anything?”
That was a loaded question if he’d ever heard one. And, yeah, he’d learned a lot, but he didn’t know this man. Just because he was Jazz’s stepbrother didn’t mean he could be trusted. He had saved his life, so he owed him, but McAlister had also confessed that he was an assassin. Until he knew more, any intel he gave would be given only to his OZ teammates. If Ash chose to share anything with McAlister, Sean would trust his judgment.
“I’d rather speak with Ash about it.”
