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My mouth parts, but all questions flee my mind as the other two men yank Mason up and haul him out of the elevator. Mason is coherent enough to realize he isn’t being apprehended by the police.
From over his shoulder, Mason glances at Chase. “You son of a—” But his words are cut short by a punch to his stomach. Then the men drag him toward the doors of the building.
As terrified as I was upstairs with Mason, as horrified as I was the moment I saw Mason raise the gun toward Chase…I’m now petrified.
“Is she yours?” the man asks Chase.
He pulls me tighter to him. “Yes,” he says, letting the guy see the gun he sets on his knee.
The man holds up a hand defensively. “I assure you, there’s no need for that, sir.” He gives me a smile that’s neither forced nor genuine. “Miss, can you please explain what transpired between you and Caleb Mason?”
Unsure, I seek Chase’s eyes. He nods, his gaze steady on the man in the black suit. “It’s all right. These men represent a member of The Firm,” Chase says.
The man nods, appreciation brightening his sharp features. “That’s correct, sir. And I’m sure you can appreciate that our employer wishes to remain anonymous.”
“Of course,” Chase says.
With Chase still holding me, I relay the facts the best I can, while still trying to keep the details of Malcolm’s case confidential. “Mason had planned to use another client for my…death,” I say, wishing I could spare Chase the final element of Mason’s unhinged plan.
I can feel the anger thrumming through Chase, his muscles corded tight. I wince at the pain it causes my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I say, realizing he’s apologizing for a multitude of things—things he couldn’t have controlled.
After the sordid details are exposed, the man says, “Thank you, ma’am.” Then to Chase, “Sir, I expect you’ll take good care of her.” A slight smile tilts his thin lips. “And we’ll take care of your partner.”
“I’d rather see to that personally,” Chase says.
“Trust, Mister Larking. I assure you, he’ll be dealt with.” He nods once before turning away and leaving the building.
“Who did you call?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“The captain of the police.” Chase arranges me on his lap so the woman can have access to my wounded shoulder.
I bite my lip as she inspects the gash. “The police captain sent those men?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “I think the call was intercepted. Wexler doesn’t have that kind of power.”
The medic raises her eyes to us for a moment, then precedes to cleanse my wound. “You’re lucky,” she says, bringing a clear packet out of her medical bag. “You only need a few stiches. Do you want a local anesthetic for the pain?”
I shake my head. “Pain doesn’t bother me.” I want this over. Just over.
Chase frees the band from my hair, then runs his fingers through gingerly, relaxing me as the medic stitches the gash in my shoulder.
My gaze locates the bullet hole in the metal wall.
Chase must follow my gaze, because he says, “You moved right in his path.”
I want to ease his worry. I want to tell him that I knew what I was doing—that I purposely knocked my shoulder into the barrel to direct the bullet away…away from both of us. But he’d hear the lie in my voice.
“I just knew I had to,” I say instead.
Once the medic is finished dressing my shoulder and packing her supplies, she glances between us. “I need to be able to tell my employer that the evidence will be handled.” She points toward the damaged wall that houses the bullet.
As Chase stands, lifting me in his arms, he says, “It will be handled.”
She picks up her bag and leaves, no more questions, no more directives, no more answers. Exhaustion finally claims me, and I lay my head against Chase, letting him carry me into the lobby.
“Do you know who intercepted your call?” I ask, letting his scent comfort me, now that we’re alone.
