When I answer the phone, Spider is in such a state of distress, I can’t understand a word he’s saying. All I hear is a garbled mess of English and Gaelic, shouted at high speed.
“Calm down, mate. You’re not making any sense. What’s happened?”
He drags in great gulps of air, then produces a single word that raises all the hair on the back of my neck.
“Malek.”
Bloody hell.
From where I’m sitting in the leather chair in the living room of the safe house in Manhattan, I can see Sloane making herself a drink. Standing in the dining room pouring whiskey into a crystal highball glass, she looks preoccupied. Worried.
Knowing that overhearing this conversation will make that look worsen, I rise and walk quickly into the bedroom.
As soon as I’m out of earshot, I demand, “Tell me.”
After listening for less than thirty seconds, I’m so angry I could crush the phone in my fist.
Through clenched teeth, I say, “How the fuck did he get in?”
“I don’t know. We were locked down. None of the alarms went off. He’s a bloody ghost, that one.”
“Kieran?”
“Down. Shot three times. Still breathing, but it doesn’t look good.” He pauses to gulp more air. “There’s more. It’s bad.”
I brace myself for the worst, which is exactly what I get.
“Before that Russian bastard ran off with Riley…I…” His voice breaks. “I accidentally shot her. It was meant for him, but she got in the way.”
Breath rushes out of my lungs in an audible whoosh. My life flashes in front of my eyes.
When Sloane finds out about this, we’re all dead. Kieran, Spider, the entire crew.
Me included.
I manage to ask, “Is she alive?”
“I don’t know. It was dark. Fuck, boss, I’m so sorry. I’m killing myself over it.”
I can hear the truth of that in the absolute misery in his voice, but his guilt will have to wait for later. There are far more important matters to deal with first. I blow out a hard breath and snap into command mode.
“Get Kieran to the hospital. When he’s set, review the cameras. See if you can find out how that son of a bitch got in. Then clear out and burn it. Understood?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll call you in two hours. Don’t speak to anyone else until then.”
I disconnect just as Sloane is walking in. She takes one look at my face and says, “Oh, fuck.”
It’s both a blessing and a curse that she can read me so easily.
Slipping my cell into my pocket, I walk toward her slowly, holding her worried gaze. “What I’m going to tell you will be upsetting. You should sit down.”
She shoots the whiskey instead. “Fuck sitting, gangster. I think better on my feet.”
I reach for her, but she puts a hand up to stop me. “Just give it to me straight. What is it?”
I draw a slow breath, longing to take her in my arms and tell her a pretty lie, but knowing it would only make her angry.
Keeping my voice even, I say, “Malek found the safe house in Boston. He broke in. Gunfire was exchanged. He got away…and took Riley with him.”
Sloane’s face drains of blood. She stands unmoving, the pulse throbbing wildly in the side of her neck. She says slowly, “Took. Her.”
Fuck, it’s so hard not to pull her into my arms. “Aye.”
“Where?”
“We don’t know yet. But we’ll find her.” I pause to let that sink in, then say gently, “She’s been injured, love. Shot.”
Sloane drops the empty glass and covers her mouth with both hands.
I can’t help it now. I have to touch her. I grab her and hold her tight, wrapping my arms around her back and lowering my head so I can speak urgently into her ear.
“I don’t know how bad it is, but we’ll find her. I promise you. We’ll do whatever it takes.”
She trembles in my arms, breathing erratically. I think she might be going into shock.
Until she pulls away abruptly and pins me with a death glare.
“You also promised me she’d be safe in that safe house! So no more promises, okay? What’s the game plan? How are we going to find her? How are we going to get her back? What specifically are we going to do?”
This is one of the many reasons I love this woman. This clear-headedness. This grace under pressure. This absolute, no bullshit, fearless badassery.
I almost feel sorry for Malek.
If my queen ever gets her hands on him, he’ll wish he were never born.
“I’ll put the word out. Offer money. A lot of it. If anyone’s seen or heard anything, I’ll know fast. The major transportation hubs will be monitored. If he tries to take her through an airport or a bus terminal, he’ll be stopped. And I’ll call Grayson as soon as we’re done talking.”
Grayson is my handler in the FBI. If anyone’s going to be able to discover where a notorious Russian assassin is circulating in the US, it’s him.
Sloane swallows. She nods slowly. She moistens her lips. Then she says something that enrages me.
“I’ll call Stavros to see if he knows anything.”
“Absofuckinglutely not!”
When she only stands there looking at me with watering eyes, I feel like an arsehole and lower my voice. “He’s attempted to kill me twice in the last month.”
“He hasn’t succeeded. And you know he won’t, no matter how many times he tries. The man has only ever shot at fish. He’s never hit any of those, either. He’s completely incompetent at murder.”
“He’s also obsessed with you.”
“Exactly. He’s our best bet.”
“I’ll call Kazimir. He’ll know more than your gobshite ex-boytoy.”
“Kage is your enemy. He hates the Irish. He won’t tell you shit.”
She’s probably right about that, but the bastard still owes me a favor. I had his FBI file erased, for fuck’s sake.
She adds, “Unless I call Nat first.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary to get her involved.”
Ignoring my comment, she thinks for a moment, then nods, as if she’s made a decision. “She’s known Riley since she was a baby. She’ll want to help. And if anybody can make Kage talk to you, it’s her.”
Without waiting for me to answer, she whips her cell out of the pocket of her jeans and dials her girlfriend.
I watch her, shaking my head.
Whoever said it’s a man’s world was bloody fucking deluded.
