“What?” I choked, a sense of relief flooding my chest and threatening to burst my ribs into pieces on the table. Sharp’s expression wasn’t reassuring, though, and the relief quickly turned to dread. “Why? Is he dead?”
“Would it ruin your day if he was?”
“Complicated,” I muttered.
“He’s not dead,” Sharp said, “But I have a new target.”
“Who?”
Sharp gestured at the file, which I pulled closer. I opened it up, and quickly closed it, shoving it back across the table.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
“I’m not offering it to you.”
“He’s my best friend,” I croaked. If I never had to see Ronan’s face in a photograph for the rest of my life, it would be a godsend.
“He’s a liability,” Sharp said.
“He’s not on the table.”
“He’s very much on the table,” he corrected. “There’s pictures of him leaving your house covered in blood the day after I gave you your last job, which leads me to believe Rosetti is alive because of him.”
“Rosetti is alive because…” I stared up at the ceiling.
He’s alive because of Ronan.
He’s alive because I let him live.
He’s alive.
He’s alive.
“Why Ronan?” I asked.
“He’s not the only one.”
I shook my head. “Who else?”
“You,” Sharp answered, the syllable abrupt and succinct.
“Anyone else?” I rasped.
“Should there be?”
“Depends on who the actual target is.”
“I’m convinced the actual target is still Rosetti,” Sharp explained. “I think they’re trying to draw him out by coming after people close to him.”
“Ronan doesn’t even like him.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Are you here to…” I gestured vaguely toward the sky.
“I just told you you’re the closest thing to a friend I’ve ever had.” Sharp narrowed his eyes. “I let you put those guns back together right in front of me.”
“I need…” Fuck, I needed to call Ronan. “He’s a doctor. He works at the hospital. How old are these hits?”
