He pulled on a fresh T-shirt, his hands staying busy as he spoke. “They’ll keep you in a safe house until they can pick Fagan up. The guy’s drug activity is legendary, and with the murder you witnessed, the chances he’ll see the light of day again are pretty much nil.”
“Fagan’s never been caught before.” She fiddled with the protein bar wrapper, hating the fear pinging through her chest. “Do you think he’ll run?”
“Probably,” Devon said, although his tone marked the word as a definite.
“So, I might be in protective custody for a while.”
He paused. “I’d say there’s a pretty high likelihood of that, yes. But it’s to keep you safe.”
“You’ll be there, then. Right? If someone needs to keep me safe?” she asked, and his chin snapped up, his eyes going wide.
“Probably not. I do independent security. The DEA never farms out their protective custody cases. It’s too risky.”
Kylie’s pulse began to pound beneath her tank top. “But I’m the witness. What about what I want? You’re a former Army Ranger, for God’s sake, and you kept me safe when things were at their worst. Look”—she tossed her protein bar to the bed, crossing the room to the spot where Devon stood—“I don’t want to take risks either. But if the DEA wants me safe, the best person…no, the only person to put me with is you.”
Kylie measured the silence that followed in heartbeats and breaths, and finally Devon pulled her close.
“Okay. Kellan and I will talk to Detective Moreno and her contact. We’ll see what we can work out. Your brother is going to kick my ass for this.” He dropped his lips to her forehead, his kiss soft. “But I want you safe, Kylie. I want you.”
Her response was cut off by the ring of Devon’s cell phone, and he unwound his arms to pull the thing from the pocket of his jeans. “Randolph.”
Kylie’s stomach pitched, and ugh, she should’ve eaten that stupid protein bar. She listened carefully, although Devon’s end of the conversation was mostly a series of “affirmative”s and “negative”s. He capped the conversation with the address and room number they were currently standing in, though, so everything must’ve been going according to plan.
“Well?” she asked the nanosecond Devon had lowered the phone.
“We’re good to go. Kellan and Moreno are on their way from the airport. ETA fifteen minutes.” He slid his phone back into his pocket, breaking into a small smile. “Guess you should start thinking about that spaghetti dinner, huh?”
She smiled back, feeling the warmth to her toes. “Only if it’s for two.”
They spent a few minutes gathering the handful of things they’d brought with them, tidying the room to erase all signs that they’d been there. Devon slipped into the bathroom, and Kylie tightened the laces on her boots in the very definition of ready to go.
She was headed for safety. Real safety. With Devon at her side.
A tap sounded off on the door, sending her pulse through the stratosphere. But the sound was followed by a deep, quiet voice saying, “DEA,” and Kylie’s breath whooshed out in relief.
“Oh, thank God,” she murmured, unchaining the door to pull it open. “We thought you’d?—”
The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a rough hand over her mouth. Ripping pain exploded through her head, and the last thing Kylie saw before she slipped into blackness was Xavier Fagan’s cold, dead stare.
10
Devon took his backup weapon out from behind the toilet, giving the nine mil a quick clean-and-check before sticking it in his waistband at the small of his back. Normally, he didn’t go that route, preferring not to shoot his own ass off by accident, but even with the SIG in his side holster and the butterfly knife in his boot, he wasn’t about to be too careful.
Kylie trusted him to keep her safe. And for the first time in four years, he trusted himself one hundred percent, too. Yeah, her being in protective custody was going to suck, but he knew Kellan. His buddy wouldn’t stop dogging the DEA until Fagan was behind bars and razor wire, and with any luck, Devon could keep eyes on Kylie until that happened.
Guys like him weren’t supposed to have luck, but damn, today sure felt like his day.
He opened the door, stepping into the motel room. “Okay, we’ve only got a few minutes, so?—”
His words crashed like a ten-car pileup at the sight of Xavier Fagan with a gun to Kylie’s head and his greasy hand clapped over her mouth.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Fagan said, pressing his snub-nosed Glock harder against Kylie’s temple as Devon’s muscle memory jerked his hand in search of his gun. “I’ll be needing that weapon of yours on the bed. Whatever’s in your boot, too.”
Devon cursed, his stomach going low and tight as he scanned Kylie for injuries. Blood trickled down from her hairline, but only enough to suggest a small wound. She was conscious, her blue eyes glassy and wide, and fuck, Devon was going to dismember Fagan for putting his hands on her.
“Okay,” Devon said, his tactical options rolling through his skull at warp speed despite the terror in his veins. Time. He needed to stall until Kellan arrived with the cavalry. “Just give me a minute.”
“You have ten seconds, or I’m going to redecorate this room with what’s inside your girl’s pretty little head.”
