Читать книгу For Her Protection - Lauren Giordano - Страница 8

“You want me to do what?” Jillian continued backing up until she was all the way in the corner, and still he followed her. Mother of God—he couldn’t be serious.

“I know you heard me the first time.” Luke’s eyes were deadly serious.

“I can’t possibly…I don’t know the first thing about—”

“Look, we don’t have a choice,” he interrupted. “The bullet’s got to come out. It’s already been in there too long. I explained why we can’t risk going to a hospital.”

“Can’t you try to reach your friend again? I mean—” She swallowed hard. “Maybe he got your message. Maybe he’s on his way…”

“He’s not on his way. He would have contacted me.”

His tone was clearly exasperated, but she didn’t give a damn. This was simply too much to ask. Perform surgery? Agent Gianetti was stark raving mad. No way in hell was she going to attempt to get a bloody bullet out of his behind. Her stomach roiled at the mere thought. Out of sheer desperation, she glanced around the room. She needed a diversion. Why couldn’t Sarah cry now?

“B-but you said your cell phone wasn’t working properly. It’s probably bodged up. I think you should try the pay phone again.”

“I’ve already taken too much risk. That phone out there can be traced in a heartbeat.”

She took another step back and was cornered. Literally. The wall was at her back and a glaring Agent Gianetti stood towering over her. “Are you sure they’ll search for us? I mean, I only saw that man for a moment. I don’t know that I could identify him.”

He gentled his voice at her obvious confusion. She didn’t want to believe him. Heck, her safe little world had just been blown wide open. A dangerous drug dealer and his pack of thugs were looking for Mary Poppins and her three charges. He’d be fighting it, too.

“He can’t take that chance. And I can’t take the chance that he finds you.”

“B-but I haven’t done anything wrong,” she stammered. “I’ve only been in the States for six days. How can a person get in this much trouble in such a short time?”

Her eyes were big as saucers as she chewed nervously on her lower lip. They were both whispering because the children were finally asleep. James and Samuel were in the double bed and Sarah in the portable crib they’d managed to wedge in the corner.

“If there were any other way, believe me, I’d do it myself. But I can’t keep you safe, not feeling like this. If the bullet stays in much longer, I’m gonna get really sick and I won’t be able to protect you. I won’t be able to protect those babies.”

He read the uncertainty in her eyes and realized he was getting nowhere. It might take all night to convince her. Perhaps what she needed was a challenge. “If you’re gonna get all squeamish and faint on me, then—”

“No, no. It’s not that. It’s just…I don’t want to hurt you and I see no way around the fact that it’s going to hurt dreadfully.”

Dreadfully. Yeah. A far more civilized word than he would’ve chosen. It was gonna hurt like freakin’ hell. But there was no other choice. Fourteen hours and he still hadn’t reached Murphy or his commander. That fact alone had alarm signals crawling up his spine.

He had to get them out of here…the sooner the better, but he couldn’t drive any distance with a bullet in his butt. They were wasting valuable time. It had just gone dark. They should be making tracks instead of talking. “Let’s go,” he ordered. “Into the bathroom. We can turn on the water to cover our voices.” He tugged on her arm, leading her to the closet-size bathroom. “You got any Band Aids in that bag?”

She nodded and immediately went to work, digging through her travel case for supplies. Luke sighed and turned on the faucet. He’d have to sterilize his knife with hot tap water. If he didn’t get an infection out of this, it would be nothing short of a miracle. When he turned back, a small mountain of first-aid supplies was stacked on the counter. He blinked and shook his head in amazement. Jillian was prepared for war-zone triage.

“You always carry so much stuff?”

She raised startled eyes to his in the mirror. Her skin was so pale it made her eyes appear even bluer, like the sky just before a storm. “Well, with the children and everything, I thought it best to be well prepared. I bought one of each kind.” She blew out a nervous breath. “I’m ready.”

He smiled at her reflection in the mirror and watched her pull her hair back in a lopsided ponytail. The color wasn’t brown at all but a beautiful cinnamon. It was long and wavy and just a little bit wild. He’d bet the strands would slide like silk between his fingers.

“Okay, tell me what you want me to do.”

“All right. In the next minute or so, you’re gonna get to know me real well.” He paused when her gaze dropped and noticed the telltale pink flush flare across her cheekbones. He hadn’t thought it possible for a woman her age to blush. “Try not to be nervous. It’ll hurt, but I swear I won’t make a sound,” he promised.

“Oh, God.”

Impulsively he grabbed one of her hands. “Look, if you hesitate—if you go slow—it’ll hurt worse. I want you to make a crisscross cut over the hole about this big.” He drew on her palm while she listened intently, hanging on every word, and he felt a measure of her tension dissipate.

“It was a small-caliber bullet and it was shot from a pretty far distance. It can’t be in there very far…maybe an inch. Once you make the cut, I want you to take the edge of the blade and probe in there like this.” He pointed the blade down and gently touched her palm, careful not to press too deep. “The sooner you find it, the better.”

“What then? When I find it, I mean?”

She blanched again and her eyes carried a hunted look, as though she knew there was no way to escape. “As soon as you feel it, try to get the blade underneath and lever it out that way. If not, we’ll use those evil-looking tweezers you’ve got there.”

She jerked her hand from his and raised it to her mouth. “Ohmigod, Luke—I don’t know if I can…”

He reached out and gently pried her fingers from her lips, giving them a little squeeze. “You can do this. I know it.” He waited while she composed herself once again, watching as she took a shaky breath. “You need to wash your hands really well and then I’m gonna lean way over the counter and you’re gonna go to work. Okay?”

She swallowed convulsively and shook her hands, as though shaking the jitters out of her fingers. “Right. I’m ready.”

Luke took a deep breath and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Sweet Jesus, could this be any more awkward? A beautiful woman was about to carve up his butt in the shabby little bathroom of Jethro’s Rent-A-Shack. If the guys ever found out about this, he’d never hear the end of it.

He noticed that Jillian played it cool. She’d averted her eyes when he’d dropped his pants and bit her lip when he’d grunted and launched himself up onto the counter. At least he could keep his underwear on…what little was left of the blood-soaked cotton. He tried not to wince as she peeled them away from his right buttock. Once she was finished, he’d cut them off and burn them in the sink. Unfortunately he’d be forced to go commando for a day or so until it was safe to buy underwear.

“How’s it look back there?”

She stifled a chuckle. “How exactly do you mean? It’s a rather fine-looking butt, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

Could this get any more embarrassing? He shook his head and tried not to watch her in the mirror. “What I mean is, how does the bullet hole look?”

“Don’t clench up. I’m just cleaning the area with alcohol.”

Right. She pours something freezing on his ass and she doesn’t want him to react? “Well?”

Jillian raised her gaze to meet his in the mirror. “It looks…angry.”

“Angry? What the he—” He took a deep breath, blew it out, and tried to remember that she was very nervous. “What does ‘angry’ mean?”

“It looks red and very tender and much smaller than I thought it would be, actually.”

“I’m lucky the shooter was so far away. Otherwise, you’d see a whole lot more damage back there.”

“You saw the person who shot you?”

He cocked one eyebrow. “He shot me in the ass, remember?” Her disgruntled sigh was clearly audible. Mary Poppins didn’t have much of a sense of humor. If anyone should be pissed about this turn of events, it should be him.

“I’m not a ninny. I meant, how do you know where the person was shooting from?”

Her voice floated up from down near the floor. “The building was caving in…I was running away from it…I just know.” In spite of himself, he tensed when she made the first incision. The area was throbbing so badly that it was almost a relief when she made the cut. He heard her take a deep breath before making the cross incision.

“Lord, it’s really bleeding now.”

Luke gritted his teeth and fought to school the pain. He tasted the sweat beading on his upper lip and experienced the faint, floaty feeling that came with shock. He tightened the muscles in his chest and arms as a countermeasure to the excruciating pain. If he focused on contracting those muscles, he could disassociate from the torture that was sure to come.

“Just swipe it and keep going. It’s gonna keep bleeding until you’re done.”

Jillian took a shaky breath at the pain she heard in his voice. Dear God, if she could only run away. She fought to keep her hands from trembling while sweat trickled down her back and into her jeans. He flinched when she slid the knife in like he’d shown her. She dug in again and heard him bite back a moan. Lord, she was hurting him badly.

On the third try, she felt rather than saw the bullet. She’d found it. Now, to get the blasted thing out. She said a quick prayer to her Maker. If only He’d get the bullet out…she’d never ask for another thing. Just this one favor. Please, Lord.

Unfortunately, He must have been working miracles elsewhere because she came up empty-handed.

“You’re stopping?”

She startled at the sound of his voice and paused to stretch the cramped muscles in her back and legs. They were locked with tension. She made the mistake of glancing into the mirror. Dear Lord, his face was gray with agony. “No. I’m…I was…I needed a minute. I’ll try again.”

She would have bent immediately had he not grabbed her arm. She noticed then how large his hand was. His fingers gripped her entire forearm with relative ease as he tugged her up to his face.

“You’re doing fine. Don’t worry about me. It’ll be over soon. Just keep goin’.”

She blinked back tears as his magnetic eyes willed her to be calm. She took a deep breath and nodded. Luke was still in control. She could be, too. She could do this.

“Right.” She squatted again and said another prayer. This time she managed to get his knife under the bullet. She felt the tug of resistance as the bullet rebelled against the blade. This ordeal could be over if she didn’t panic. Her gaze still locked on the bullet hole, she reached up with her free hand and groped the countertop. She heard supplies scatter as her fingers wrapped around the tweezers and pulled them down. With one hand lifting the knife blade, she poked through the blood and dug the tweezers into the wound to grab the bullet.

Jillian felt his whole body jerk and then tighten and heard his stifled groan. Ignoring his pain, she blocked it out and concentrated on the sound of running water. Dammit, she had to finish this before she passed out. Or killed him. At last, the tweezers found the bullet. Not daring to release her sweaty grip, she yanked the metal slug out.

It was over.

“I’ve found the bloody thing.” She sagged to the floor, her thigh muscles screaming when they finally unclenched. Nearly light-headed with relief, she waited several seconds before staggering to her feet, her legs still rubbery when she tried to stand.

“Please tell me you got it.” His voice was tight with pain.

She loosened her grip on the tweezers and the bullet clanged on the Formica counter. “I’ve got to clean you up…down there. Then we’re through.”

“Thank God.”

It seemed like forever before the bleeding stopped. When it had slowed to a trickle, she swabbed the area again with alcohol, starting at Luke’s sudden indrawn breath. “Sorry about that. I should have warned you.”

When he didn’t respond, she made a makeshift bandage and taped it down with the neon Band Aids she’d picked up for the children. She managed a half smile and wondered what Agent Gianetti would think if he knew his butt would glow in the dark that night. She suspected he felt much worse than he was planning to let on. He’d been too quiet for the last few minutes. Lord knew she was ready to faint simply from performing the surgery.

“Can you move or are you too weak?”

“I—I’m fine. Once you finish, I…I need a minute to clean up. Just close the door behind you when you leave.”

Luke’s eyes were closed, his pale, clammy face resting on still-tense forearms, his body straddling the counter. His voice was muffled and miserable and she knew she couldn’t risk leaving him alone in the bathroom. He did not have the strength he pretended to have. Jillian eyed the blood-soaked underwear and made a quick decision. She grabbed the scissors and before she could change her mind, swiftly sliced up the sides of his underwear.

“What in the sweet hell are you doing?”

“Don’t move or you’ll show me far more than you intended.” She peeled the underwear off his well-developed and very clenched muscles and pretended not to notice how lean and hard he looked. Dear Lord, this was just his backside. Though she tried desperately not to, she couldn’t help but wonder about the rest of him. Forcibly discarding the images, she wet a washcloth with warm water and sponged the dried blood from his skin. Still averting her eyes, she snatched a towel from the rod near his head. Now that she’d stripped him, she was rapidly losing her nerve.

Without meeting his gaze, she wrapped the towel around him and tied it loosely at his waist. Then she dropped to the floor and tugged his jeans from his feet. “I’ll wash these in the sink. I can probably get most of the blood out so you’ll have something to wear later.”

With another washcloth she carefully rinsed his forehead and face with cool water. He startled when she scooped up his long, golden hair and washed the back of his neck.

“That feels good.”

His mumbled comment sounded faraway and sleepy. When she had done all that she could to make him more comfortable, she dug through the cosmetic bag again while he awkwardly lifted himself from the counter. He staggered a little and she ducked under his arm, forcing his weight onto her.

“Here. Take these before we go out to the bedroom.” She handed him three blue pills. It wouldn’t do much for the agony he must be experiencing, but it was all she had. His face was white with pain and his eyes grim as he scooped them up and brought them to his mouth.

“What the hell are these?”

Jillian felt her face flush with color again. “They’re…you know. They, uh, help with cramps…when I, um, have my monthly. I’m sure they’ll take the edge off.”

His eyes bleak, Luke swallowed them without comment. He must have felt terrible, because he didn’t even argue when she led him to the empty bed. She didn’t dare let go of him as she tugged the bedspread back and snatched the sheets apart. He was very woozy. He just didn’t want her to know it. He sat heavily, careful not to put any weight on his right side. She punched up a pillow and gently pushed him back against it. He collapsed onto the pillow and she helped him pull his legs up, pushing them under the covers.

As soon as he was safely in bed, she raced back to the bathroom for a glass of water and the washcloth. She soaked it in cold water and wrung it out before taking it back to Luke. He was still conscious, but just barely. She laid the cloth over his eyes and set the waterglass on the nightstand within his reach.

“Where’s my gun?”

“Right here. I’ll put it in the drawer.”

“No. Gotta have it.” His words were slurred, but they were still adamant.

“No. If James or Samuel wakes up and sees—”

“Okay. You’re right. Forgot ’bout…kids.”

She sighed with relief when he gave in, rolling over onto his side and finally shutting his eyes. A hot shower was next on the list. She was sticky with perspiration and still shaking from the whole ordeal. She stepped away from the bed but was startled again by the strength of his grip when Luke jerked her back to his side. She hadn’t even seen him move.

“Wha…what is it? Are you ill?”

His hand was warm where it stroked her wrist, his voice even warmer when he finally spoke. “Thanks for what you did. You’re all right, Lady Jillian.” His hand slowly dropped away and his breathing deepened. She listened for a moment, absently rubbing her arm where he’d held it before heading back to the overly bright bathroom.

Lady Jillian, indeed. Lady Jillian Moseby would’ve had the bloody vapors if she’d been asked to remove a bullet. From a man’s bum, no less. Agent Gianetti was lucky she’d left Lady Jillian back in Sussex. She was Jilly now. And out of sheer necessity, Jilly would have to learn to be ready for anything. Tonight had proven it. Three children. Good God, how would she do it?

She methodically scrubbed the countertop and put away her supplies. Try as she might, she couldn’t find the bullet she’d tossed on the counter. She gave up and began scrubbing Luke’s jeans. Once they were dry, the blood stain would barely be noticeable. She held his pants up to the light. The bullet hole was tiny. How could something so small inflict so much damage? She shuddered as she remembered her sister and what Annie had done with a gun in her hands.

Finally she stripped off her clothes and stood under the shower for a long time, letting the warm water sluice over her in an attempt to wash away the horror of the past hour, of the whole day, actually. Dear Lord, it had been bloody awful. Ever since she’d arrived in the States, it had been one nightmare after another. She had absolutely no idea how to be a mother. What if she bodged it up? Three little lives were depending on her.

No one had ever depended on her to do anything. As far as parenting skills, she had none that she knew of. How would she ever live up to her promise to Annie? Jillian was beginning to wonder if she’d ever be anything other than too late. Too late for Annie. Nearly too late for the children…

The terror she’d experienced earlier when Luke had hijacked her car was nothing compared to removing that bullet. Tears sprang to her eyes when she remembered the pain in his eyes. She’d hurt him terribly. The sobs finally came and she allowed herself a good long cry before she methodically conditioned her hair and finally stepped out of the shower. It was nearly midnight. With any luck she could fall into bed for a few hours before Sarah woke her at three. At least that was what the baby had done the previous three nights. She could only assume it would happen every night.

Her eyes were pink when she examined them in the mirror. Her gym shorts and T-shirt would have to suffice for pajamas. It wouldn’t be worth the effort of dragging the suitcase in from the car. And where would she put it anyway? The room was ready to explode.

She rinsed out her blouse and brushed her teeth before leaving the claustrophobic bathroom. She left the door slightly open, allowing a crack of light to remain in case the boys got up during the night.

Luke’s bulky frame took up most of the bed but she was too tired to pretend she cared about modesty. Lady Jillian or not, there was no way she was sleeping on the floor, not after the day she’d had. And she’d already seen the man’s naked butt, for goodness’ sake. She shook her head and slipped between the sheets on the other side.

Here she was, across the Atlantic only six days now, and already in bed with an American stranger. She smothered a giggle as a vision of her mother floated in front of her eyes. Rosemary Moseby would still manage to look dignified and oh, so proper, even with her mouth hanging open and her eyes bugged out. She would be appalled. Her worst nightmare come true: her precious Jillian in bed with a man…and a bloody Yank to boot.

She sighed and settled back against the pillow. If Rosemary only knew. Try as she might, Jilly couldn’t picture removing a bullet from Ian’s butt. Her fiancé—no, make that ex-fiancé, thank you very much—had been far more like her mother than she’d ever realized. She covered her mouth when another giggle erupted. Ian was so proper and reserved, why he could’ve simply squeezed his cheeks together and the bullet would’ve popped out straightaway. Hard to believe she’d contemplated marrying him. Why, they were complete opposites. What could she possibly have been think—

“Are you always like this? First you’re cryin’ like you lost your best friend, then you’re laughing so hard you shake the bed?”

Startled, she rolled over, immediately contrite. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“S’all right. It’s not every day you pull a slug out of a guy’s butt. Least you can laugh about it.”

“Oh, no. I wasn’t laughing at you—” His deep sigh told her he was nearly asleep again. She didn’t bother to finish her sentence as she snuggled under the covers, shivering in the air-conditioned coolness of the room. Her last thought was of Ian. It was one of tremendous relief.

She was still asleep. He’d awakened to find her curled up behind him, her arm wrapped tightly around him, her face pressed into his back. Her soft breathing was hot against his shoulder blade, the curves of her luscious body slowly branding him with the promise of something incredible. Luke wanted desperately to move. He’d been on his left side for hours and his body ached from sleeping in one position. But he didn’t want to wake Jillian.

It was murky and gray inside the slumbering room, and he guessed it was still before dawn. He was pretty sure she’d gotten up during the night with the baby. He’d heard Sarah whimper once and then he hadn’t heard anything. Jillian must have been waiting, ready to snatch up the baby before she cried and woke everyone up.

He took a deep breath and rolled slowly onto his back, careful not to disturb his bedmate and at the same time, testing how much weight he could tolerate on his butt. The incision had stopped throbbing during the night and now, he discovered with relief, the pain had subsided to a dull ache when he lay back against the pillows. He released the breath he’d been holding and turned his head cautiously toward Jillian. She was lying half on top of him, with one hand pressed over his chest. Her legs were still curled in to his and he confirmed they were just as soft as he’d imagined, like warm satin against his skin.

She had freckles across the bridge of her pale nose and long, sweeping eyelashes that appeared dark against her soft pink skin. A delicate English rose with freckles. The scent of her hair was slowly driving him mad. He’d dreamed of rainstorms and wildflowers. Hell, he knew he shouldn’t have taken that cramp medicine. Who knew what was in that chick stuff?

Luke swallowed hard and forced himself to look away from her mouth. One thing was abundantly clear. He still felt like a guy—a guy who hadn’t slept with a woman in…forever. Her perfectly shaped lips were parted, her warm breath fanned the side of his neck. Her mouth was soft and pink and ready…

He jerked his thoughts away. He’d better create some distance and quick, before his body took over and did something stupid on his behalf. He slid noiselessly from the bed. Jillian sighed in her sleep and burrowed down under the covers. Forcing himself to refocus, he adjusted his towel and limped into the bathroom. It was time for a security check. And maybe a brisk walk in the cool morning air to clear his head.

The perimeter was secure. The car appeared untouched. He’d shimmied underneath, just to be sure, spending twenty minutes making certain they were safe. But something was off. His gut thrummed with an uneasy sense of warning. Luke just couldn’t figure out why.

He scratched his two-day growth of beard and sighed. Maybe it was him. He’d had trouble settling in since he’d arrived from the D.C. office. Usually he fell into the role without a problem, adapted and blended in with his new territory. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for the Southern mentality. It was too peaceful down here, too sleepy. Nothing was as it seemed. There were too many undercurrents. On the surface, things appeared civilized and tidy, while everything underneath had gone to rot. Even the drug deals he’d made held an air of casualness, of laid-back Southern hospitality that had seemed unfamiliar.

He’d been edgy since the op started a month ago. And he’d worked too many years off his intuition, it had saved his hide too many times to question the feeling. He was highly trained, certainly. But it went deeper than that. Luke had taken that training and internalized it, until it became so ingrained it was second nature. He’d learned to never discount his gut. And his gut told him something was wrong.

He pushed off the stucco wall where he leaned, careful to avoid the huge puddle of water that had accumulated under the wheezing air conditioner. The parking lot was quiet, dark and cool, even the birds still silent despite the pink slivers of dawn that crept through the trees on the far side of the lot. He’d quietly checked each motel unit, just in case. There were only seven cars in the lot. And judging by the whine of the air conditioners, there were seven rooms accounted for.

“Maybe some coffee will help,” he muttered. There’d been a hot plate in the office when he’d registered the day before and the sign had claimed the office was open 24/7. He just hoped they actually brewed a fresh pot each day. He walked silently around the L-shaped motel, cautious when he passed a room where the AC was running. Occupied units. He heard the steady drip of water as he slipped by each one.

He winced when a cow bell clanged noisily against the office door and he reached up to silence it. His head already ached from the musty, permeating smell of this dump. The night clerk must’ve decided on a nap because the front counter was quiet. He sniffed the air as he headed across the lobby. Coffee didn’t smell scorched. He poured a second cup for Jilly and paused to tuck some stale-looking cookies into a napkin. There wouldn’t be time for the kids to eat breakfast.

He’d already kicked himself for sleeping the whole night. As soon as he got back, he was gonna wake ’em all up. Not knowing what had happened to Sloan was driving him crazy. Had the team managed to arrest him? Why hadn’t he been able to reach Murphy? Something about the bust was eating away at him. It was almost as though Sloan had been expecting him—or worse. As though he’d been expecting narcs.

His senses were screaming to make some tracks. He wanted out of here, and fast. He crammed the napkin into his shirt pocket and felt for the gun hidden at the small of his back. He hesitated. If he carried coffee to Jilly, his hands would be full. He wouldn’t be able to reach for his gun. Of course, if he didn’t bring her coffee he’d be labeled insensitive, or some other female variation of cad. “Insensitive” had been one of Linda’s favorites.

Either way, he’d be in trouble. Luke rolled his neck to loosen his tight shoulders and then hoisted the cups. He let himself out, taking care not to clang the damn cowbell. He was halfway to the parking lot when he stopped in his tracks, staring at the seven cars in the lot. Seven. And their car was parked out back. That made eight. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention.

Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe a family was staying at the Fleabag Inn and they’d arrived in two cars. Yeah, right. Or maybe he’d better go back and check out that office again. His gut notched up to red alert. He retraced his steps and slipped inside. The cowbell didn’t even budge. Luke set the coffee on the counter and vaulted over the locked half-door. There was a light burning in the paneled office down the hallway, but no signs of life.

He withdrew his gun and crept into the office. His hand shook slightly when he nudged the body on the floor by the desk. The night clerk’s body was still warm.

The phone call.

A sizzle of warning crawled down his spine. His phone call to Murphy. One little phone call and now a man was dead. The clerk’s only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The hit had Sloan written all over it. Why pay for a room you wouldn’t be using long when it was so much easier to shoot someone? The bastard didn’t care who got killed, so long as he achieved results. Anyone unfortunate enough to be in his way—nuns, small children, innocent motel clerks—was expendable. They were treated equally. Equally ruthlessly.

Luke scanned the hallway and quickly hustled back to the counter. He paused to take stock of the missing keys. One of them belonged to a killer.

A killer who was looking for him.

His stance resolute, he tucked his gun back in the waistband of his jeans and pulled his shirt free to cover the bulk. Luke hoisted the coffee and left the office. He forced himself to stroll along the sidewalk, taking care not to look directly at the motel rooms, keeping his gaze to the ground while he checked the water under each air conditioning unit.

Number six. Only four doors away from theirs. There was barely a drip from the AC. Probably because it had only been turned on recently. He wondered how many goons waited, sweating behind the door. Knowing Sloan, he’d probably only sent one or two. A dealer of Luke’s caliber wouldn’t have been worthy of more effort. But regardless of his rank in the organization, regardless of the magnitude of the slight, Sloan would’ve dealt with the double-cross. It was one of the rules of the game.

He tensed when he noticed the minuscule twitch of the curtain and forced himself to take a careless sip of the scalding coffee.

It was going down now. Luke felt the certainty pump through him like a shot of adrenaline. They would take him out and then they’d walk four doors down, where Jilly lay tangled in the sheets. And they’d take her out, too.

He jerked his thoughts away from the kids. They were all in big trouble. He took another sip of the coffee and grimaced as it burned all the way down his throat. He heard the door creak open and said a silent prayer as he slowly turned around.