“Parker! Get Parker!” I say, pushing at him.
He curses under his breath, diving for the side table where he grabs an enormous gun and takes aim at the large figure exiting the dark hallway with… Oh god, he’s got Parker in a choke hold.
Whoever this guy is, he shoots like a stormtrooper, but he’s getting closer and his luck is going to get better. Everett has the shot but cries out in pain, pulling the gun, and therefore his aim, off target. I scramble over him and grab the gun, aiming for the man’s head, a foot higher than Parker’s.
When my eyes meet his, I freeze.
My heart stutters and clenches as the face of my beloved husband comes into view.
A sound like a wounded animal fills the room, and I realize it’s coming from me.
Everett, gasping in pain, grits out, “It’s not him. Cousin. American.”
Belatedly remembering to breathe, I inhale raggedly and look again. The eyes are different. The hair is too curly.
This is not my Asadi.
But in that brief hesitation, he stops pointing his gun at me, instead moving the muzzle to Parker’s temple. She’s terrified but trying to hold it together. We lock eyes, and I hold my hand up. Steady.Steady.
Her nod is barely perceptible, but she knows what I know. He’ll shoot her if she tries anything. Dead later is better than dead now. I make her a silent promise, and I know she sees it. A tear—one angry, terrified tear—tracks down her face as they disappear down the entryway, and the door is slammed open, then shut again.
I blink, staring after them, frozen until a sharp breath ghosts my ear. “Oh, fuck. Rafi. My Rafi. I love you so much. Please don’t die. Please don’t die.”
I gently pull myself out of Everett’s arms and try not to lose it. I stand up and his eyes go wide. I strip off my shirt and wipe my face, clearing my eyes as much as I can, relieved the blood has more or less stopped.
“Ev, we have to go after Parker,” I say, checking the gun and grabbing extra bullets from the side table.
“But you’re…there’sso much blood.”
I must look gory as fuck, so I grin like a maniac and put on my best Monty Python accent, because that’s what I do in a crisis. “Really, darling, it’s just a flesh wound.”
In the distance I hear a window being smashed. The keys are hooked to Everett’s belt loop, so he’s at least shit out of luck with those.
“Ev, we have to go.Now.”
I grab his hand to help pull him up, but about halfway through the motion, he grunts in pain and his face goes an alarming shade of red. He grabs the side of the couch for leverage and pushes himself to his feet.
“Everett…”
“We’ll get Parker, and then I’ll have Anders take a look.”
I pull back, not sure what the hell he’s talking about. “Why Anders?”
“He’s a trauma surgeon.”
“Wait, what?” I shake my head, wondering if I’m in some alternate universe. “So, Anders is adoctordoctor? Not like a guy who plays a doctor on TV?”
He laughs under his breath as he opens his phone and finds the number.
“Yeah. Mostly field medic work,” he says, starting to breathe hard.
My brain is scrambled, going in a million different directions, but the sound of the souped-up engine roaring to life narrows my focus.
Fuck.
Parker.
I race out the front door, Everett hot on my heels, and I aim for the driver. The bullet pings off the trunk as he flies past the arched entryway.
