Текст книги "Storm"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Nineteen

STORM

The words still echo, tumbling and crashing inside my skull, when Hawk hauls me up and secures my good arm around his shoulders.

“Let’s go,” he says. He pulls me out of the office, Raylin hurrying along. “More reporters are arriving. I hope you got what you wanted.”

“We did,” Raylin says. She says something more, and he replies as we stumble out of the house, but their voices barely reach my ears.

I’m sorry. I’m one of them.

What the hell. What… I can’t even begin to wrap my head around this. He wasn’t just a bystander. He didn’t only watch my parents get killed. He directed their murder, orchestrated it. He killed my parents, but spared me. Saved me.

Fuck, why? Why? It’s as if the more I know, the less I understand. The pain isn’t helping, and by the time we drive back to the airstrip and board the plane, barely avoiding a mauling from a crowd of reporters, I’m looking forward to a bed in the fucking hospital next to Rook.

We take off the moment everyone’s on board, the letter clutched in Raylin’s hands. She passes it to me once we’re flying high enough nobody is trying to climb up the landing skids anymore, and I skim through it, my eyes blurry.

This is a record of how my parents took the small company inherited by my mother from her own father and turned it into a behemoth worth hundreds of millions with the help of the Organization. The Organization funded new projects, pulled strings and arranged for the untimely demise of dissenters and opponents. Licenses changed hands in favor of Jordan Enterprises. Companies were taken over and land obtained regardless of the cost to people by cultivating long-term relationships with certain organized crime groups.

And Antony ‘Tony’ Jordan supervised it all from within the Organization as one of its top leaders.

“This is so fucked…” I close my eyes. My head is killing me. “My uncle was a goddamn gangster and murderer.”

“What does it say?” Raylin asks, trying to read without climbing into my lap. Which I appreciate, because what on any other day would have been awesome is today a bad, bad idea.

“This Organization rules the local underworld, moving independently from gangs and the mafia. It’s apparently a local thing. My parents screwed up. Got the money, never complied with the Organization’s demands. They thought having someone on the inside, a leader no less, meant they could do whatever the fuck they wanted. And that got them killed. Fucking idiots.”

Damn them. It happened all those years ago, and their death still hurts. Knowing they brought it on themselves doesn’t make it any easier.

“Anything we can use?” Hawk asks, who can be practical when not clowning around.

“He had a tattoo.” I frown. “A circle. Ray, I told you about it. He says that’s the ink marking an Organization leader. It’s an ouroboros. A snake biting its tail, a sign of rebirth, just like—”

“—the phoenix.” She nods.

But Hawk is staring at me, eyes too wide. “Circle. Where?”

“On his shoulder. So it’s actually a snake, only you don’t see—”

“No.” He leans back, rubs both hands over his face.

“No, what?”

“No, this is a coincidence. Fucking coincidence, is what it is.”

“Dammit, Hawk, my head is killing me, my arm is fucking misery, and you wanna talk in riddles?” I wave the letter in the air, and Raylin snatches it and smooths it down on her lap. “Fuck.”

He stays silent for a bit, and then exhales and shoves both hands into his hair, raking his fingers through it. “My dad,” he says.

“Your dad what?” Raylin is clutching the letter as if she doesn’t know if she wants to rip it apart or kiss it.

I feel the same way.

“My dad has a tattoo like that. On his shoulder. A fucking circle.”

The engines whir. Between the three of us, the silence is deafening.

No reason to ask if he’s sure. He wouldn’t have said it if he wasn’t. The white lines around his mouth, the paleness of his face tells me he knows what it could mean.

“So what happened?” Raylin asks after a while. “Did your uncle transfer the money from Jordan Enterprises to pay off their debt to the Organization? And why did he save you? Wasn’t he better off keeping everything?”

The letter doesn’t really say, not as far as I can see. So I shake my head. “I don’t know. He only says they weren’t pleased with him.”

“And what changed?” At my blank look, she clarifies. “Why did they come after him and after you now, after all this time? How many years since they killed your parents?”

“Fifteen,” Hawk says.

Why would they come after us both after fifteen years? My uncle had obviously done one thing the Organization didn’t like: he kept me alive. Not only that, but he protected me and taught me to protect myself every single day of my life, until I left home. But I was already gone more than two years when he was killed.

What changed?

“The letter,” I whisper. “I turned twenty-one, the time when I would know the truth, because my uncle set it up this way. The fact that this letter would be waiting for me, with this key. Somebody else must have known my uncle was planning it.”

“The lawyers?”

“They could have conveniently lost it. Opened the enveloped and gotten the key. I don’t think so.”

“He told someone about it. Who did he talk to before he died?”

“The police must know. We should talk to the detective in charge of your uncle’s case.”

“There was no case. They thought he died of an overdose.”

“A man like your uncle, handling your company and all that money?” Hawk wipes at his mouth, not looking at me. “I bet they looked into it more carefully than if it were any average person.”

Right. “You think they made a timetable of who he met with the hours or days before his death?”

Sounds like a script from a movie. Then again, the hidden, sealed envelope stuck to the top of the drawer sounded that way, too.

“Let me make some phone calls,” Hawk says and all but turns his back to us, cell in hand, dialing. “I’ll find that out.”

***

Finding out takes time. Long enough time that we land back in Baltimore, catch Hawk’s chopper and arrive at the heliport of Johns Hopkins Hospital. Only God knows what strings Hawk pulled to be allowed there, but by now I’d saw off my own arm if it meant it’d stop the pain. I even tried putting back the sling, with Raylin’s help, but it’s not doing much.

It feels like acid is running through my veins, burning and eating me up. As if my bones are melting from the inside out. Sweat is drenching my shirt, sticking it to my back as I try and fail to get comfortable.

I manage to enter the hospital under my own power, but I’m glad when a nurse with a wheelchair appears. Shivers wrack my body. Feel like I’m about to puke my guts out.

Raylin brushes away the sweat that’s dripping in my eyes. “He’s feverish,” she whispers.

“Gunshots are a bitch,” Hawk says.

Talking as if I’m not there. Not sure I am.

Infection. That might explain the chills, the pain and the sensation of being far away from my own body, watching it all unfold.

An x-ray, painful prodding and arm-wrapping later, plus a brand new, blue plastic cast on my arm and an antibiotic and painkiller twin injection, I have a pissed-off doctor in my face, asking me what the hell I was thinking, not driving directly to a hospital after the shooting.

He’s lucky I feel like roadkill, or I’d tell him where to shove it. I’m not sorry for anything. Not knowing what the key might open and if I’d find an answer or not would have killed me. I’d have put my fist through every fucking wall in this place by now.

“Sorry,” I tell him, cutting him off mid-rant, seeing Hawk coming back through the door. “I’m in a hurry. I’ll take the drugs to go.”

The doc sputters, face going red, and yeah I know I’m being a difficult ass, but my life is kinda fucked, and the fever from the infection isn’t helping. It sucks.

Except when Raylin is touching me, as she’s doing right now, leaning over, stroking my jaw. She’s the most potent drug there is.

“All patched up, buddy?” Hawk drawls, shoving his cell into the pocket of his jacket. “Broken arm, huh? Damn.”

“The wound’s infected,” the doctor says, straightening his coat. “Here’s a prescription for antibiotics.”

“Already got one, “I grumble. “Didn’t do jack.”

“We’ll grab them,” Hawk promises solemnly, raising a hand in vow. “Thank you, doc. Please don’t mind him, he’s been grumpy ever since he got shot. Why? Beats me.”

The doc rolls his eyes, throws his hands in the air and leaves us.

“What about Rook?” I call after him, but he’s already gone. “Damn.”

“Rook’s fine,” Hawk says. “He’s already checked out.”

“Fine. Then let’s go,” I mutter, pulling off the IV line and bracing myself one-handed on the chair back to get up. My knees waver but hold. “Need to talk to the lawyers.”

“Wait up.” Raylin grabs my broken arm and I hiss. “You’re bleeding.”

Where I pulled out the needle, blood is running down my arm. I rein in my impatience while she goes looking for some cotton wool and tape which she uses to cover the small wound, and we’re good to go.

“Got anything?” I ask Hawk as I drag my heavy feet out the door.

“The detective promised to send what he has any minute now. Meanwhile…” He nods at my cast. “Know what that means?”

“What?”

“Sponge baths.” He waggles his brows suggestively. “You lucky bastard.”

***

Sponge baths will have to wait.

We’re back in the chopper where at least the chances of getting shot are significantly less, and Hawk is reading something on his smartphone, a scowl so dark on his face it’d have scared off anyone but me.

“So.” I lift my chin in the direction of his cell as the chopper takes off over the buildings. “Info came in? What does it say?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Or is it your fucking girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend. Layla. The Hot Bod.”

Raylin gives me a wide-eyed stare.

“Hawk’s girlfriend is a stuck-up bitch,” I explain, and Hawk grins. “But Hawk won’t give her up.”

“She’s a sweet fuck, dude.” He taps his cell on his thigh to some inner rhythm. “She’s hot. That’s all I need right now. A hot body. No complications, no relationship shit. Not like Rook and his girl drama.”

I never could understand this side of Hawk. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t get lonely. Even with hot bod there, it must be cold.

As for Rook… He’s been in love—or lust?—with a girl since forever and won’t give up, even if she has never as much as glanced his way.

Weird.

Evening is gathering. I turn to Raylin, who’s staring down at the lights of the city below, and my pulse jumps, thumping in my ears. Every time I look at her, a vein of heat opens inside me. My tongue remembers her sweetness. My mind her kindness.

She makes me feel happy.

I frown at that, because it’s a new concept. I’ve been angry, sad, frustrated, and flaming pissed. I’ve been cornered and let down and accustomed to a lot of shit. I’ve been okay. But never good. Never happy. Never hopeful. Not until I met her.

“Where are we going?” she asks, and I blink.

“One of my country estates.” Hawk laces his hands behind his head. Even in his expensive suit he’s every inch the badass biker, with his tats, scruff and longish hair, and the attitude. He used to be the greatest rebel of us three.

Until I skipped town, telling nobody where I was heading, and won the prize.

“What about the lawyers? The money?” Fever tangles up my tongue, trips it up. “How we gonna arrange it?”

“When we land, you will call them. Talk to Shin. That guy has the power in the law firm. They should have the cash ready, and tomorrow, when we go back to town for the meeting with the fucking triad, we only need to pass by and get it.”

He makes it sound easy. Hell, he makes it easy.

“Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it.”

It’s dark when we land on a helipad in a huge yard flanked by trees. Lights mark the helipad, and the trees and decorative bushes. Hawk’s country mansion, which is lit up like a Christmas tree, is so far I think we may need a car to drive us there.

In fact, there’s a white Club Car waiting for us, and I snort. Come to think of it, I also own a country estate now, somewhere south from here. I think I visited there once, when I was a teenager, with Uncle Tony. Can barely remember.

I barely know what I own.

Now that’s a scary thought. I really need to sit down with those lawyers, have everything explained to me. Decide what to do with all the illegal business my family has been running. What to give back, what to fix.

How to make it up to those wronged and cut the ties with the Organization and any other illegal group. How can you enjoy money knowing it’s stolen? Knowing it’s money steeped in blood? I’ll never understand that.

My uncle once told me I’m too chicken for business. He was wrong. I’m not afraid. What I am is disgusted and fucking pissed with what I found out today.

And sad. So damn sad that they died for the fucking money. That I may die for it, even if I don’t want it. That Raylin and Rook almost died for it.

I rub my hands over my face. What a goddamn mess.

And it’s about to get worse. I know it the minute Hawk’s phone dings. He glances at it, scrolls down, reads. His face goes red, then white.

Christ. Hawk never gets rattled like that. He’s the epitome of cool and collected.

We’ve landed, but we still haven’t made a move to get out of the chopper, waiting for Hawk to say something.

Finally he does.

“This is fucked up, man.” He throws his cell on the empty seat next to him and kicks at the metal frame of the chopper door. “Really fucked up.”

He lurches to his feet, opens the door and jumps off the chopper. He heads toward the mansion with large strides, ignoring the Club Car.

Shit. If things were bad before, now they’ve gone straight to hell.

***

I climb out of the small Club Car as soon as we reach the house entrance. Raylin follows me, calling my name, and I slow down. Plus, when I see all the steps leading to the front door, I wince. With Raylin’s help I make it up there and then force my aching leg not to drag as we enter the house.

“Hawk!” We enter an airy living room with dark furniture and huge black-and-white photos covering the walls.

“Wow,” Raylin whispers. “Amazing photos.”

“Hawk takes them,” I tell her as we pass the room and wander deeper into the house. “He doesn’t seem the type, but he’s quite the artist.”

We find him in another living room open to a pool. He’s sitting in a dark red armchair, hands on his thighs, head hanging.

“Hey,” I say and drop into an armchair across from him, pulling Raylin to perch on the broad armrest by my side. “Everything all right?”

He grinds his teeth. “No.”

Dammit. “Then tell me. Tell us.”

“You should call your lawyers.”

“Fuck the lawyers.” My head throbs so bad it’ll split in two. “Spit it out before I shake it out of you, goddamn, Hawk!”

He sighs and lifts a hand to stop me. “All right.” He works his jaw. “The detective sent me his list of people your uncle met with and talked to in the last twenty-four hours of his life.”

“And?”

“The list is actually quite short. Apart from the usual suspects at the company offices, he didn’t meet anyone, and at home that night he didn’t have any visitors. Except…” He winces. “Except for two men.”

“Who?” I’m starting to lose my patience. “Come on.”

“Rook’s father,” Hawk says. “And mine.”

RAYLIN

“He’s right,” I say as Hawk walks out of the room and around the pool, as he lifts the cell to his ear, calling someone. “This is fucked up.”

Storm says nothing. His eyes are bloodshot, his jaw dark with stubble. He looks exhausted.

“I’ll find you some water,” I say. “We need to get those antibiotics and painkillers the doc prescribed for you.”

“Hawk is having them delivered here.”

Oh. Never even imagined that was possible. I’m so out of my depth here it isn’t even funny.

“Good. I…” I get up from the armrest and wipe my hands on my pants. “I’ll go look for food.”

“Just ring the bell.”

“The bell?”

He points at a small device on the table. Small and silver, it has a button on it. “Just press.”

Fine. I press the button and glance around.

Storm snickers. “They are human staff, Ray, not fucking fairies. They need a moment to come over.”

I shrug and smile at him. “Now I’m disappointed.”

Being here is so much fun I almost forget I still have the triad snapping at my heels.

They may not be fairies, but the people working for Hawk are quick. In less than a minute, a tall man in dark pants and a white shirt, with a trimmed beard and mustache, appears at the door and inquires what we need.

Which is yet another question I’m not sure how to answer.

“Er. Food?” I glance at Storm for help. “And water?”

“Of course, ma’am.” The bearded man blinks impassively. “Warm or cold?” At my blank look he elaborates. “The food. Also would it be fingerfood or will you be wanting dinner?”

“We should…” I wave a hand at where Hawk is barely visible by the pool, bathed in blue light. “We should ask him.”

“We’ll have Hawk’s favorite,” Storm says. “That seafood pasta with the white sauce.”

“Of course, sir. Wine?”

“Yes. But we’ll eat here. And bring the medicine when it arrives, too.”

“Yes, sir. Will that be all?”

Storm nods, and the man leaves.

I’m still standing there, my mouth hanging open. So this is how it’s done, huh. Just ask for whatever you like.

“You okay?” Storm is giving me a worried look.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I bet.”

“You will.”

“Not likely.”

“Come back here.”

And I do without hesitation. I kneel between his legs and put my hands on his thick thighs, mindful of the bandaged wound. “What?”

This I could get used to. Being with him. Having him look at me like I’m something precious and beautiful.

His hand lifts to my face, strokes my cheek. “I love you, Raylin. More than anything.”

“And I love you.” I swallow past the knot in my throat. God, this man… “So much.”

His eyes soften. He lifts my chin. “You will get used to this. Compared to all you’ve been through, this will be a piece of cake.”

I shake my head, not sure what to say. This is getting too Pretty Woman for me, and I should laugh and tell myself it isn’t happening. Protect myself. Put up my walls.

But I don’t. I let myself believe him. I thought his heartbeat couldn’t lie, but I was wrong. It’s the eyes. His eyes that turn a clear blue like a summer sky when he says he loves me.

“Then I guess I will get used to it,” I whisper.

“Beats running for your life.”

“It sure does.” My throat closes. I lean my cheek on his good leg, looking up at him. “Is Hawk okay, you think?”

“No, he’s not. But he’ll have to come to terms with it.”

With the fact his dad is one of the leaders of a shady organization and had a hand in killing not only Storm’s parents and uncle, but in the attempts on Storm’s life, too.

“And you? How are you coping?”

He leans forward, the blue in his eyes glittering dark. “Kiss me, baby.”

His mouth covers mine. His tongue swipes my lips open, and his teeth nip until I let him in. He kisses me hard and rough, a hand cradling my head, dragging me closer. He licks and pleasures my mouth with his tongue until I can’t think straight, until I moan and shift where I’m kneeling.

Satisfied, he finally pulls back, leaving me gasping and aroused.

He runs his thumb over my tingling lip and leans back, smiling. “Now I’m fine.”

Chapter Twenty

STORM

Of course I’m not coping so well. Hawk and Rook’s families are my family, too. We grew up together. My father, Hawk’s father and Rook’s mother are third cousins. I always thought that was why the families were so close.

Now it turns out there might have been other reasons. Like the Organization. Money. Power. And death.

Hawk comes inside at the same time as our dinner and my medicine. He says nothing, and I dig into my pasta. I’m famished. Regretfully I eschew the wine, because of the damn antibiotics. I don’t look up from my plate until I’m stuffed.

“Here.” Raylin puts my pills in my hand and pushes a tall glass full of water toward me.

Hawk lifts a brow at this, obviously expecting me to crack a joke, a “yes, Mom,” or something, but I ignore him.

My brain is shutting down. Here we’re as safe as we can be right now, and I’m warm, fed, and with my girl. What more can a man want?

“Did you call the lawyers?” Hawk asks, shattering my nirvana moment.

“I forgot.” How the fuck could I forget about it?

“You were distracted,” Raylin whispers, and a pretty flush spreads on her face.

Damn if that doesn’t make me grin.

“Get a room, you two,” Hawk mutters and pours himself more wine. He’s just about finished the bottle.

Like I said: I don’t think he’s dealing well with this. Hawk loves his parents. Sure, they aren’t tight, but they do meet for lunch from time to time and he looks up to them.

Or used to, until now.

“Here,” he says, passing me his cell. “The lawyers’ number. Call them now.”

He’s right, I should. So I call them and tell them what I need. They sputter and tell me it’s impossible. I tell them it’s possible. They insist. So do I. They tell me there isn’t enough time.

I go medieval on their ass, threaten to fire them if they don’t get me what I want.

Guess I am a Jordan, after all.

They assure me they’ll have the cash in a briefcase waiting for me tomorrow at midday. I hang up and throw the cell back to Hawk.

“What else do I need to know about tomorrow’s meeting?” Raylin’s head is again resting on my thigh, and I pet her hair. “Who’s gonna be there?”

“Us, and my man, the connection to the triad. You know, you’re lucky it’s the Chinese mafia you’re dealing with. Not as rigid as the Italian or the Russian mafia, not as dependent on the bigger bosses to make decisions.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. She doesn’t have to be there. It’ll be safer—”

“They want her there,” Hawk says quietly. “You, too. They want to see you.”

Jesus Christ. “What? What do they care where the money comes from?”

Raylin lifts her head. “It’s personal. I told you.”

“But you didn’t kill anyone.”

“Maybe I didn’t kill anyone, but I did shoot at them, and my dad and brother did wash their hands of it.”

Fuck. “This has to be a trap.” Two millionaires and the girl they’re after. What could go wrong, right?

Hawk reads my mind. Not hard to. “I’ll have back-up. My bodyguards will be following us. And my men in the police force have been tipped off. We’ll be fine.”

He has men in the police force. Of course he has.

I ran away from this shit. Hawk has embraced it. This is starting to feel like a surreal dream.

“Fine. We’re all going.” I throw my hands up. “It’s gonna be a blast.”

This finally gets Hawk to grin. “You’re drunk.”

“Not possible,” Raylin says. “You drank all the wine.”

“Did I?” His grin widens. “Well, then.” He lifts his glass. “Let’s end this shit once and for all. And then…” He drains his glass, stares at it thoughtfully. “And then we’ll deal with the family clusterfuck.”

***

Hawk gives us one of the guest rooms. I crawl into the king-size bed, still dressed, no energy left to take them off. Raylin turns off the light and burrows into my uninjured side, puffing a small, warm sigh on my shoulder.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she whispers. “All of this.”

“The mafia thing?”

“Mafia and secret organization detective work. Champagne in the car, helicopter rides, hotel suites.” She swallows. “Me, being here with you.”

“You’ll always be here with me,” I say. “Until you get fed up with me.”

“I’ll never get fed up with you.”

I can almost hear the pout and it makes me laugh. I feel so light with her. “Wait until I start leaving my dirty clothes around the room.”

“Wait until I start leaving my gun parts around the room.”

“Holy shit.” I shift until I manage to put my good arm around her. “I was rather hoping you’d leave your lacy bras and panties lying around. So I could steal them and live out my fantasies.”

“With my underwear? Why, if you can have me?”

“Good point. Then, I guess, you’d better stay with me.”

The giggle or sigh I expect never comes. She’s quiet. A quiet Raylin worries me.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I kiss the top of her head. “What did I say?”

“You say…” Her breath hitches, and my worry goes up a notch. “… all the right things. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“It’s still hard to believe…” I gather her closer to me, feeling her tremble. “Believe…”

“That we made it this far?”

“That you can love someone like me.”

“Oh, baby.” I close my eyes, drawing her scent in so deep nothing can ever take it from me. “You got that wrong. It’s the other way round. It’s hard to believe you could love someone like me. But I’ll work on it, you’ll see.”

***

The day passes in painful lurches—shower, redressing the bandage on my leg. Breakfast. Checking guns and choosing one for Raylin. Lunch. Sitting around, too stressed to talk. Waiting for the light to start fading.

The flight back to the city feels much shorter than the way out.

Then again, my head is clearer today, and my arm doesn’t feel as if someone is chewing it from the inside. Sure, showering and getting dressed without wetting the sling and the bandage on my leg was a bitch, even with Raylin’s help.

But what the hell. That’s nothing compared to what’s up ahead. Somewhat bigger things, like meeting the Chinese mafia, make this morning’s troubles seem like a child’s worries.

Raylin fairly vibrates with tension as we climb out of the chopper and into the car waiting for us. Hawk has arranged for everything, which rocks. Yesterday I was pretty much useless.

“Thank you, man,” I tell him when he takes his place riding shotgun as we’re off.

“What for?”

“Doing all this. For me, and for her.”

He tsks. “She’s your girl. Can’t let anything happen to her. She’s family now.”

I pretend not to see how her face goes from open-mouthed to smiling, and then she hides it against the window.

Damned Hawk. A heart of gold in that guy.

True to their word, the lawyers pulled strings—strings I’m not even sure I wanna know about—and have a briefcase full of money ready for me. Mr. Shin is the one holding it, his face dark as a thundercloud. Excellent first impressions for the heir and new head of Jordan Enterprises, huh?

And this is just the beginning.

Hawk steps out and retrieves it before I as much as open the door and returns to the car. “Let’s go,” he barks at his driver, and we’re off once more.

“Where?”

“Suburbs.”

“Where, Hawk?”

Despite my gratitude, it grates that he has full control of this operation. Especially when he doesn’t reply. Okay, it’s his operation basically—his man setting this up and making sure this works out.

Still.

Fuck.

The gun hidden under my dress jacket, in a back-holster, does little to set my mind at ease.

We meet up with Hawk’s man behind a run-down fast-food joint. Hawk rolls down his window and asks him where the meeting will take place.

I stare at the guy through my closed window. There’s nothing remarkable about him. He’s not shabbily dressed, but not well-dressed, either. Clean T-shirt, dark jeans, black shoes. Shaved. Short hair.

Nothing to show he’s involved with the triad.

Then again, neither is Raylin. Or Hawk, who obviously has important ties to it. Need to ask him about that.

Meanwhile, the man points at the main street and Hawk rolls up his window.

And we’re off again.

I’ve taken the sling off and my arm aches. But no weakness, remember. So my cast is snug in the sleeve of my dress jacket.

Raylin’s hand clenches around mine as we roll down the main street, and I resist the urge to put my arms around her. Not the time to show any weakness. We don’t know who might be watching.

We stop at the mouth of another alley with a flickering lamp post shedding yellow light, and Hawk throws his door open. Following his lead, we follow suit and step out of the car which drives a few yards away and rolls to a halt, waiting for us.

Broken glass crunches under my shoes. I scowl at the dirty alley. A set-up. Has to be.

Need to trust Hawk to get us out of this alive.

Three bulky guys stalk toward us, Asian eyes, black leather and beefy arms. Awesome. They take their time reaching us, talking to each other, laughing over something. It sets my teeth on edge.

I’m ready for just about anything bad to happen as they come closer and the jut of gun handles in their belts become visible.

I feel the gun in the back holster, pressing into my ribs. I see Raylin reach for the belt strapped to the small of her back and stop herself.

Hawk only smirks and opens his hands. “Evening, guys.”

One of the men lifts his chin and steps in front of the others. My hands twitch, almost reaching for my gun when he grabs Hawk’s arm.

But it’s a greeting, apparently. Not an attempt at murder. The guy steps back again, and I glare at him.

Christ.

Then he turns to Raylin, and my hackles rise again. “Raylin O’Brien. We meet again.”

Wait. Again?

“Who are you?” she asks, her voice steady, and yeah, that’s my girl. So strong. “Have we met before?”

“Sure we have.” He shrugs off his leather jacket, and damn this guy’s gonna give me a heart attack. He’s not wearing a shirt underneath, and even in the dim light I can see the scar of a gunshot in his shoulder. “Wanna touch it?”

My arm twinges in sympathy. Then my brain catches up.

This is the man she shot. Goddammit.

Hawk thrusts an arm in front of me, as if knowing I’m about to launch myself at the guy, push Raylin behind me and take on the whole triad, if need be.

“We hunted you for two years,” the man says. “I hunted you. You were scared.”

Raylin glances at me, then at Hawk. No weakness. That’s what we talked about.

But she nods. “I was. Very scared.”

The man grins widely, showing a missing incisor. “Good. I’ll have that satisfaction, at least. And the money.”

Hawk turns to the car, takes out the briefcase with the cash and hands it over to him. “You can count it. It’s all there.”

The guy is still staring at Raylin as he grabs the bag, his dark eyes glinting. “This was your dad’s doing. He started it. You finished it.” He nods at me and Hawk. “Managed to hide from us. Got strong allies.”

Raylin cocks her head to the side, dark hair catching a hint of gold in the flickering light. “And your point is?”

She might have said she was afraid before, but there’s no sign of fear on her face, her posture. Never was, since we arrived.

“Your dad was a coward. But you…” He tsks. “If you want to do business, Ms. O’Brien, we could talk.”