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She doesn’t smile. “You said you’re meeting Braiden at ten.”
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. “It isn’t even eight yet.”
“You can’t be late.”
“It’s a ninety-minute drive. Less if I break the speed limit.”
“You can’t break the speed limit!” She looks like I told her I’m taking out full-page ads in thePhiladelphia Enquirer,theNew York Times, and theWashington Post, advertising my plan for the night.
I cross the room, taking the chance to shove my phone and its video deep in my pocket. I smooth her hair off her face and cup the back of her head with both hands. I wait until her jittery eyes focus on me and then I squeeze with just enough pressure to let her know I’m here for her. I’m never going to let her go.
“I won’t break the speed limit,” I say. “I’m not even sure the van can go that fast.”
“Which van?” She looks like she’s taking inventory of the entire freeport garage.
“The one I bought two days ago,” I say patiently. “Paying cash to a used car lot in fucking Baltimore. The one I had trucked into the freeport after hours last night. The one I pegged with plates stolen from a nursing home in Ocean City.”
She’s not listening. She’s already neck-deep in her next imagined nightmare. “How can we trust Braiden’s men? We don’t know them. What would it take for them to double-cross you? They could be texting Jonas and Ansel right now—”
I shift a hand to settle a finger over her lips. “Braiden Kelly has been Philadelphia’s captain for the last five years. He trusts his men with his life—over a hell of a lot more than a single raid on a single warehouse on a single dock near the Navy Yard.”
“But—”
“Those men are his brothers.”
“They aren’tyourbrothers.”
“Kelly’s in the Diamond Ring. He was there the night Herzog died. His ass is on the line with the video too. That’s good enough for me.” I hesitate just a moment, but I figure she needs to know the rest. “Don’t be fooled by Kelly’s lilting accent and his baby blues. He’s the real deal—Irish mob. One of his men goes rogue, and Kelly’ll be first in line to cut off the motherfucker’s dick. Feed it to him through a fucking straw, then take out the guy’s wife. Kids, too. All the rest of his family. It’s a fucking code, and every one of those bastards knows the rules.”
Alix doesn’t flinch. She’s already spinning out her next made-up disaster. “There might be more men in the warehouse than you expect. What if there’s a big delivery tonight? Jonas and Ansel might show up for an inspection. Maybe—”
I pull her close, smothering her speculation against my black sweater. Her shoulders stiffen, and she braces to push away, but I only tighten my arms. Her hands are caught between us; I feel her claws against my chest. I touch my lips to her hair and hold her fast.
“It’ll all be fine,” I murmur. “I’ll be back before dawn.”
“Don’t go,” she whispers.
“I have to.”
“Tell Braiden I need you here.”
“You don’t.”
She clutches my sweater like she’s about to rip it off my body. She leans back enough to meet my gaze. “Be careful,” she says, her voice catching in a broken hiccup.
I bend down to kiss her, just a brush of my lips against hers. Anything more, and she’ll think I’m saying goodbye forever. Closing my hands around her elbows, I take a full step away. “We’ll laugh about this in the morning.”
She doesn’t say anything.
There’s nothing I can say to convince her. I just have to go.
She follows me into my closet. She watches as I push aside the row of tailored suits. I had the gun safe installed three years ago, after she went missing—like the comfort of a Sig Sauer could make up for the open wound deep inside my heart.
That explains the four-digit combination she watches me punch in: 0621. Her birthday. The night we met.
The safe gives its familiar electronic chime, and the door clicks open. The gun is exactly the way I left it, fully loaded, sitting on a padded rest, waiting to stop a thief or a charging vampire.
I strap on the waiting shoulder holster. Pick up the gun. Add an extra clip to the holster.
