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“You should keep your distance then.” She’s telling me not to go after her, which goes against every fibre of my being. “Hopefully she’s feeling better soon.”
The cavalry is on the way. Max was informed that we were coming here tonight, so the team knows where to find us.
The thought of leaving Hannah feels wrong on every level. I know I shouldn’t go after her—and before this assignment I would have been a good soldier. Followed orders. But if anything were to happen...
The memories swirl again—identifying my family’s bodies. God, my little brother. Seeing them lying on those cold, silver trays almost killed me. It definitely killed something inside me. Something vital and precious. Something that would have let me live like a normal person.
If I lose Hannah...
I can’t even bear the thought of it. Tonight is a preview of what our life would be like if we were together. Hannah won’t stop being a cop, and I haven’t got it in me to sit at home and worry.
I can’t risk anything happening to her, even if it means putting myself on the line. I turn to the henchman and gesture to the door across the room. “Looks like my wife went ahead of me.”
I can’t live with the threat of the past repeating itself over and over. It will destroy me and, in turn, I’ll destroy her. So I’m going to get her out now and then I’m done. I’ll head back to New York, quit my job and figure out where to go next.
Clean start, no attachments.
“This way.” The henchman leads me to the back of the room, through a doorway and down a corridor. There are voices—crying. I strain to listen. It’s not Hannah.
“Doesn’t sound like the kind of bar I usually go to,” I say.
The henchman grunts. “This is a special bar. VIP service.”
There’s a sound of something hitting flesh, followed by a groan. “Very important prisoners, huh?”
He grins. He’s got a gold tooth, a shaved head and the kind of cold eyes that look like there’s nothing behind them. “You’re funny.”
He opens the door to an office. There’s a map on the wall with pins and Post-it notes, half of which are dangling by one corner, their glue strips long dried up. In the middle of the room, Matt sits in a chair. There’s blood on the floor and on his chin. He’s taken a few punches and he’s going to have another nasty shiner, but thankfully he’s breathing and conscious.
Hannah stands on the other side of the room, hands behind her back. Her face is a mask of fury, not fear. A rush of emotion overwhelms me, pride and terror and something warm and perfect and uncomfortable.
Love. It’s been so long I almost didn’t recognise it, but there’s a pounding in my blood that tells me I would take a bullet for this woman. I would stand in between her and hellfire. And judging by the look on Serge’s face...I might have to.
“What’s this all about?” I take the approach of playing dumb.
“This idiot thinks we’re trying to compete on his turf.” Hannah rolls her eyes, cutting in before Serge has the chance to speak. She’s trying to tell me not to blow our cover...he doesn’t know we’re cops. But he will, the second the SOG—special operations group—turns up.
“You clearly don’t know my wife very well,” I say. “She’s not exactly built for...working.”
“But you are, aren’t you?” Serge comes forward and I stand strong. The henchman is behind me, blocking the exit, and something cold and hard presses into my back. “You approachmypeople and ask questions about my fucking business.” He glances at Matt. Shit. I should have known he’d get scared and talk. “Andyour wife happens to stumble across a meeting, pretending to be drunk.”
If Hannah is shocked that he knew it was an act, she doesn’t show it.
“I was going to play it nice, let you off with a warning. Then you turn up tonight, showing offmyjewels.” He slams a palm against the wall and the sound vibrates in the cold concrete building. It feels miles from the plush gambling room. “I will not be disrespected in my own house.”
“What do you want, huh? We came to play cards, not to get into an argument.” I make myself sound as bored as possible.
“Matt told us everything. You said you could help him.” Serge comes forward, his eyes black like coal. He has a frantic energy about him, an aura of instability that has me on edge. “How do you intend to do that if you simply want to play cards?”
Fucking Matt. The guy had no idea what he was getting himself into—his gambling addiction made him weak, vulnerable to people like Sergio Benedetti.
“Look at him, you believe a word coming out of his mouth? A guy like that will say anything to get what he wants.” I gesture to the hunched-over man, as if he means nothing.
“But you just want to play cards, right?” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun. It’s small calibre, easily concealable. Probably has the serial number filed off so it won’t be traceable if they need to dump it. Now I have two guns on me—one in front, and one behind. I don’t say a word and mentally beg Hannah to do the same.
All I have to do is stall long enough that the SOG guys get here.
“Don’t! Please.” Hannah’s voice is wire-tight. “It was all my idea, not his.”
