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“You’ve done this before in your agent days, but this is all new to me, so I’m going freak out.”
He grinned.
“Come back to me,” she whispered.
“Always.”
As much as he hated it, he stepped back when Brock approached. Her eyes turned to him, before she stepped into him and hugged him hard. “Be safe,” she whispered.
Brock’s focus turned to Killian as he held Cedar close. “Will do.”
Killian was a patient man, but he was losing his patience. Brock touched her cheek, grinned then walked away. She watched Brock before she turned back to Killian. He saw the tears in her eyes. She stepped into him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Her lips lingered against his. “I love you, Sheriff.”
He kissed her again, longer, harder and deeper. “Love you, too.”
Then he walked away, right out the door. They needed to get this shit done because he had plans for that woman.
There was silence as they drove through Midtown. They parked in the shadows, and moved through them to the back door, leading to the maintenance halls. Two figures stood in the shadows. Killian had seen enough drug deals to know what they were doing, but it worked in their favor, because those two wouldn’t report suspicious activity without shining a light on their own, being where they shouldn’t be. The elevator opened, Mic was the last in, putting the cone in front of it, before the door closed. A musical version ofIslands in the Streamplayed as fifteen men in black rode to the top. Mic pulled the card from the elevator to disable it. They climbed up the shaft to the top floor, entering through the maintenance hatch. Damian signaled to Razor and Mic, who moved soundlessly to the security box. A few minutes later, Razor’s voice came over the radio. “Secure.”
Mic pulled the body from the monitoring station and took the chair. Razor kept guard. “Got two monitors down, looks like the one for the front hall and the elevator. They know we’re coming, probably waiting to ambush at the elevators,” Mic warned then said, “Got two in the kitchen. Another two in the living room.”
“You got one coming around the corner, Brock.” Brock, pressed up against the wall, grabbed the guard around the neck and ran his blade across his throat. He then moved into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle on the counter and knocked one over the head, and threw his knife, catching the other in the chest.
Killian took the guard closest to the door in the living room, putting him in a chokehold until he passed out. Anton followed behind him, taking his blade to the second guard.
Who had warned them?
They moved through the penthouse, picking off the guards, making their way to the front hall. Damian signaled. They took positions and then all hell broke loose.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cedar
My stomach hadn’tstopped churning. I tried to sketch, tried to play with the kids, but I couldn’t focus. I paced the living room, working my lower lip, holding my phone, waiting for Killian to call.
“What’s your story?” Piper asked.
I turned to find the other women looking at me.
“Your sheriff reminds me of Damian,” Kimber said. “But I saw how that biker was looking at you.”
“Leave her alone, girls,” Rosalie, Thea’s mom, said, and she reminded me a bit of my mom. She arrived earlier with coffee and cake. She was sitting next to Thea, holding a sleeping Annabeth, while Thea braided Edie’s hair. It was a beautiful sight. My eyes burned because it was something I wished so much I could have shared with my own mom. I didn’t let myself linger on that or I’d start to cry, so I settled on the footstool and shared my story to distract myself.
“Brock and I were childhood friends.”
“Who turned into sweethearts,” Ryder guessed.
“Yeah. We had plans, so ready to start our lives together, but life had other plans. We went down different paths.”
“But those paths have converged again,” Rosalie said.
They had, and maybe we could find a way back, but he and Killian…
My stomach churned again; bile rushed up my throat. I jumped from the stool and ran to the bathroom. I emptied my stomach. Someone came up behind me, held my hair. It was Thea.
“Are you okay?”
“My stomach won’t settle.”
