“You’re lying.”
“You think? Turn on that TV—any international news channel. Let’s see how fast news travels.”
Hyland stared at her, his jaw tight. He turned to his bodyguard and gave a brusque nod. The guy picked up the remote and clicked. The BBC flickered up. A newscaster. A breaking-news ticker:Massive hack of Senator Tristan Hyland. More to come.
“...task has barely begun of sifting through thousands of files but Laura Hyland is claiming on social media that they contain damning evidence that the senator was involved in the deadly Los Angeles atta—”
“Turn it off,” Hyland yelled.
The guard flinched and hit the channel button by mistake—switching to footage of Hyland leaving the hotel in his tuxedo, with a voice-over in an American accent: “...including a document that apparently orders the death of a whistle-blower who was killed in Somalia in what was staged to be—”
Hyland strode up to the guard, snatched the remote and hit a red button. The room fell silent. A shout came from the corridor outside. Hyland pinned his gaze on Samira. With a scream of rage, he threw the remote at the wall over her head. It smashed and bounced off. She balled up.
No, this was not a victory. Not without Jamie. She hadn’t truly expected this moment to come—and she hadn’t expected it to carry such a price. She looked up. Holly’s eyes were dry but still wide. “I’m sorry,” Samira mouthed, unable to make the words come. Holly had lost her partner, her child’s father.
“You can’t win this,” Hyland said, his teeth clenched. “I’ll find a way out. I always do.” He turned to the goons. “Kill her,” he said, in a low voice. “Kill both of them.”
“Allow me,” Laura’s bodyguard said, stepping in front of Holly. He raised his gun.
“No,” Fitz said, striding across the room and shoving him out of the way. “They’re mine. This one first.” He nodded toward Holly. “So the other bitch gets to see what’s coming.”
Outside the door, something banged. Holly yelled into her gag, thrashing, the chair hopping on the carpet. Fitz cocked his gun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
JAMIEWASDEAD. Latif was dead. Charlotte, Rafe. But Holly, and her baby...
No time to think. No options to assess. Nothing to weigh up. Enough people had died.
Samira launched up and dived at Holly, hazily aware of action around her—the door flying open and banging against the wall, Laura’s bodyguard lunging at Fitz, Fitz flying sideways. A hiss and a hollow smack and Samira careered into Holly like something had picked her up and thrown her across the room. She sprawled, her head bouncing on the carpet as the chair thumped them sideways. Her vision filled with the scarlet hue of fresh blood.
Not blood—Holly’s dress, hooked over Samira’s head. Fitz had missed. But there’d been some explosion, some force had lifted her.
Facedown, tangled, she braced for another gunshot. There were shouts, feet thudding—everything muffled in her blown hearing. That shot hadnotbeen silent.
A burn, just above her hip. A hot tap at first, then searing pain. She grabbed the spot, twisting, ripping Holly’s dress from her face. Her hand found warm liquid, came away coated with...blood. Underneath her, Holly grunted and bucked like she was trying to throw Samira off. Samira went to roll away but her muscles refused to work. The pain...
The room writhed with people—diving, shouting, brawling. Where had they come from? Hyland barked orders that might as well have been in another language. Holly stood in the doorway, hands on hips. No, not Holly—obviously. It was Laura, dressed identically. With a yell that came out a whimper, Samira flopped over and found a wall. A big man in a suit staggered in front of Holly, his back to her and Samira. Samira kicked out weakly, pain bursting through her gut. He caught her leg and then her gaze. Rafe. It was Rafe. It couldn’t be. He let go, turned back.
Samira lurched her head up, pain and heat filling her belly. IfRafewas here...
Laura’s bodyguard had Hyland’s goon in a headlock. Another guy—Laura’s other security detail—aimed a gun at the Peugeot driver, who slowly put her hands up, still seated, looking baffled.
Jamie. Jamie was wrestling Fitz. Samira scrambled to her feet, clutching her side. He slammed a fist into Fitz’s nose with a squelchy crack. In a flash of blurry movements, he wrenched Fitz’s arms back, securing him from behind. Laura’s bodyguard threw Hyland’s goon to the ground and stepped back, aiming a gun at the guy’s chest.
“Heads up,” Laura’s bodyguard shouted. With his free hand, he tossed something to Rafe—a gun, taken from Hyland’s goon. Rafe caught it and turned it on Fitz.
“I got him, Doc,” Rafe said, scooting to a corner where he could take in everyone.
The room stilled but for multiple pairs of heaving lungs. Adrenaline scented the air, metallic and sharp. Or was that blood? Jamie threw Fitz into the corner Samira had been cowering in minutes ago, stepped back and leveled the gun with the silencer.
The people in the room had split in two. On Samira’s side, by the open door, Rafe, Jamie, Holly, Laura and her two bodyguards. Four guns raised. On the other, Fitz and the driver, Hyland’s guard and Hyland, looking so fiery he could well begin to smolder. All unarmed.
Rafe sidled over to Holly. “Sorry,ma chérie, this may hurt.”
Holly muttered. Rafe pulled the tape from her mouth. She yelped.
Samira’s legs gave way and she slumped against the wall and slid to the ground.
