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“You say you’re a smart guy.” I sucked in a ragged breath before I could keep going. “Why can’t you get free of Jimmy?”
“Enough,” he shouted. The gun waved dangerously. “Take off all the jewels. I am getting paid for this extra trouble.”
I reached my arms up to fumble with the necklace’s clasp. Fear made my fingers dumb, and I was crying with frustration. My mind filled with thoughts of Derek finding me lying in a pool of blood. Like Tony. Like Charles De Wispelaere.
I came apart, torn asunder by huge gasping, hopeless sobs. We’d been so close to happiness.
Derek
Lee’s cries cut through me like a dagger, one louder than the next. As painful as the tears were to hear, they also provided an opportunity. Cover for me to get closer.
I was crouched by the pool house door, my gun drawn. I eased the door lever down millimeter by millimeter, Lee’s sobs obscuring any small sound the latch made as it turned. The hinges were nearly silent as I pushed the door open a few inches.
“Shut up, bitch.” Franklin raised his gun, threatening to strike Lee across the face with the butt.
It was an opportunity; I had a split second to take it. I lurched to my feet, aimed high and right to avoid Lee, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was painfully loud in the small space, and the muzzle flare was blinding.
Franklin spun from the impact of the bullet in his back, and a scream of pain ripped from him. He stumbled, the gun still in his hand. He turned toward me, and realization flashed across his face. I rushed forward, dropped my shoulder, and took the smaller man down hard. He grunted, and I heard his skull crack against the pavement. His gun spun away, sliding across the floor.
“Derek.” Lee gasped my name. It was a sweet sound, full of everything from fear to triumph. I’d kiss her senseless as soon as this asshole was in cuffs.
“Get some of the security team. Anyone.” Beneath me, Franklin was dazed and bleeding. I flipped him over and pinned him down with my knee in the center of his back and my hand on the nape of his neck.
Lee had barely gathered her skirts to run for help when Steel and Brooks shouldered their way inside, five more of the security personnel behind them, guns drawn.
I grabbed a fistful of Franklin’s hair and lifted his face for the others to see. “Lee’s former attorney. So much for his reformation.”
“You shot him?” Steel asked.
“He’ll live.” Unfortunately.
I held out my hand for cuffs. One of the off-duty cops passed over a pair. Another was on his phone, calling for police and an ambulance, reciting his badge number. I clicked the cuffs around Franklin’s wrist and stood. I was barely upright when Lee threw herself into my arms.
I held her close and breathed her in. The smell and feel of her soaked into my bones.
“You okay, angel?” I whispered against her hair. I touched everywhere I could reach. She was whole. Thank God. She was unharmed.
“I knew you’d save me.”
I choked around a lump in my throat and held her tighter, not willing to allow thoughts of the alternative to take hold, or I’d never let her out of my sight.
Lee
One Week Until Christmas
“I’m stumped. Completely.” I took a careful sip of one of Steel’s holiday margaritas. Damn, it was potent. The office party at The Smith Agency was in full swing. Thanks in large part to the aforementioned margaritas. Apparently, all things tequila were a Michael Steel specialty.
“Kitchen stuff? I know he likes to cook.” Quinn sipped from her red cup with more gusto. She was on her way to being tipsy.
“Nope. He’s got everything. The man has a cake stand.” I took a bigger sip. Seven days to find him a gift. What the hell do you give to the love of your life and own personal hero for Christmas?
“I’ve been married for over ten years and don’t have one,” said Kira, John’s wife. The Russian woman was an interesting contrast to her husband with her beautiful looks and biting wit.
“I’m married to a billionaire and I don’t think I’ve got one either. But there are kitchen cabinets I’ve yet to open in the Boca house,” added Sydney O’Connor, the now former negotiator for The Smith Agency.
“Ladies, this is my last best idea.” I plucked my cell from my pocket and pulled up a listing for the house.
They passed it from one to the next with varying degrees of horror on their faces as they scrolled through the photos of the rundown craftsman in a hot neighborhood.
