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“Where the hell does Damian find dead bodies?” Leon asks.
“At the morgue. Apparently, he sent two of his men to falsely identify bodies no one had claimed. They signed out the corpses with the pretense of burying their dead relatives.”
“He sounds like Franken-fucking-stein.” Leon rolls his shoulders. “Who’s going to claim responsibility for the attack? There will be a witch hunt.”
“Some fanatic suicide bomber who was a fighter for justice,” Ian says. “Damian had a masked man make a recording claiming responsibility for the attack and sent it to the media. The man claimed to have orchestrated my escape to execute me since the State no longer gives murderers the death sentence they deserve. Seeing that he died in the explosion, there’s no one to hunt.”
“Nice and clean.” Leon’s tone is wry. “All the loose ends tied up. What now? You’re just dead?”
Ian grins. “I want a nice funeral, flowers and all. Purple ones. It’s become my favorite color.”
“Fuck you,” Leon says, spitting on the ground.
“Thanks for having my back. I owe you one.” Ian holds a hand toward me. “We better go.”
Life returns to my limbs as the worst of the shock wears off. Advancing on Ian, I throw back my arm and plant my fist on his jaw.
Ouch! Dammit.
That hurts. Pain pulses in my knuckles while he hasn’t moved an inch.
Moving his jaw from side to side, he gives me a narrow-eyed look. “What the hell was that for?”
“For making me die ten times over in the last few minutes.”
He rubs a palm over his jaw. “I wasn’t privy to your or Damian’s plans, remember?”
No, the punch should’ve been aimed at Damian, but it still makes me feel better.
Ian puts an arm around me. Irrationally, I’m livid with him. I want to shove him away, but relief washes away the anger and with the anger my strength. My legs cave as my knees go wobbly.
He kisses the shell of my ear. “It’s all right. We’re fine.”
He offers Leon a hand. “Truce?”
“I’ll get back at Damian for this,” Leon says. “I swear it.”
Ian drops his hand. “You can come back to Zim with us.”
Something flickers in Leon’s eyes. It’s minute, but it looks a lot like intent. It looks a lot like the determination I’ve come to recognize in Ian’s eyes. There’s a word for that kind of determination. It’s called obsession. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Leon met someone. A female someone.
“Nah,” Leon says. “I’ve got a good gig going here.”
Ian nods. “You know where to find us if the city gets too much.”
“Take care of yourself, motherfucker.” Leon punches Ian on the shoulder. “You too, Cas.”
“Thanks for your help.” I lean against Ian, letting his warmth soothe me. “I know I asked a lot of you.”
The corner of Leon’s mouth tilts. “What else is family for?”
“If you change your mind—” Ian starts.
“I’ll know where to find you,” Leon says.
Ian guides me to the helicopter, throws my backpack on the backseat, and helps me inside. He gives Leon a last look as he comes around and takes his place next to me. He straps me in and fits a pair of headphones for me while the pilot starts spinning the blades.
After donning his headphones, we lift into the air. Leon stands on the roof, his face tilted up as we take off. With his dark features, tanned complexion, and black hair blowing in all directions, he looks more devil than man. Put in certain circumstances, all the Hart brothers do.
We gain altitude until Leon’s features are no longer discernable. The helicopter dips and turns north. The landscape of city lights shrinks. The landmark towers of Johannesburg are replaced by the newer skyscrapers of Sandton and then the highway and the suburbs of Midrand before the fields turn dark.
A warm hand folding around mine draws my attention. I look at Ian’s face. He appears ten years older, but not any less invincible.
The set of his mouth is strained as he says to the pilot, “Privacy, please.”
The pilot flicks a switch, presumably cutting himself out of the loop of our headphones.
Ian rubs a thumb over my pulse, his gaze drilling into mine. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again…”
“Then what?” I challenge.
Possession sparks in his brown eyes. “Try it and see what happens.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You could’ve been killed.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Cas—”
“How did you get the diamonds to Damian?”
He drags his thumb in circles over my palm. “It was just a safety precaution.”
I all but melt when he caresses the pressure point between my thumb and forefinger.
“In case I got caught,” I say.
“I didn’t want anyone finding those diamonds on you. I knew I could trust Damian to get them to you in case—” He hesitates. “In case things didn’t go as planned.”
