“Your idea ’bout how to handle things is good.” Lawrence gave his brother onlyhalf a mind. He was too busy getting details sorted. “But I have one better.”
“What’s that?” To say Ben’s tone was leery would be an understatement.
“We kill ’em all. Get rid of the witnesses.”
“Oh Jesus.” Ben turned as white as a ghost.
“Best leave him outta this one, little brother.” The fire of upcoming battle burned through Lawrence’s veins. Watson would pay. Watson and allthose with him wouldbloody well pay! Lawrence had already lost his family because of that fecking tosser. He refused to lose his freedom too. “Today, we do the devil’s work.”
* * *
“Who the hellwerethose guys?” Emily demanded.
She was shaking. But she wasn’t sure if it was because she was soaking wet. Because she’d recently been oh-so-lucky to have her head introduced to the businessend of a loaded weapon. Or because Christian had kissed her, and as a result, her whole world had gone wonky.
Surely it wasn’t that third thing. In the universe of kisses, his hadn’t been all that groundbreaking. In fact, she’d barely had time to react when he’d pulled back, looked at her like she’d kneed him in the gnads, and then swore it would never happen again.
Of course, she couldn’tdeny his lips had been hot and dominant. Truth was, she couldn’t recall ever being kissed like that before. It was part possession, part concession. All need.
So, yeah. Okay. Maybe in the universe of kisses, hishadbeen pretty groundbreaking. And if he’d given her a damn second to get over her shock, she could have sunk in and enjoyed his oral onslaught while simultaneously conducting oneof her own.
A voice in her head piped up, reminding her of what had happened the last time she’d decided to throw caution to the wind and knock boots with a coworker. It was interrupted by Christian saying, “All we know for certain is that they’re brothers.”
“And likely Spider’s men,” Angel added.
Christian’s tone was skeptical when he said, “Perhaps. But when I brought up Spider,neither of them flinched. And what did that one say? Something aboutmebeing responsible?”
“Maybe they’re just good actors,” Ace suggested. “And all of that about you being responsible could be because they’re blaming you for what happened last week. For being part of the team that took down Spider’s money launderer.”
“Perhaps,” Christian said again.
“So what the flippin’ freak arewe supposed to do now?” Emily asked. “And, Angel, why are you going the wrong way? Shouldn’t we be headed back in the direction we came?”
“The authorities will come that way. So we go this way,” Angel said.
“Right.” She nodded. “And hope this road doesn’t dead end and screw us over royally.”
“It doesn’t dead end. It turns into a proper provincial lane about a mile ahead, meanders throughthe countryside for another three miles, and then splits into a Y,” Christian said. “If we go right once we’re there, we’ll be on our way toward the motorway. If we go left, we’ll end up at Trenor Manor.”
Emily frowned back at him. “First of all, how did you know all that? You a walking GPS or something? And second of all, what’s Trenor Manor?”
“When I was a boy, my parents used to bringme ’round this way after visiting my uncle in Port Isaac. As for Trenor Manor, it’s an old Elizabethan manor house. It’s been kept up by the National Trust for years. They used to give tours a few hours each day.”
“The motorway it is,” Ace said determinedly.
“But first we need to exchange this vehicle for another. If the truck has not been reported stolen yet, it soon will be,” Angel addedin that stiff, overly formal way he had of speaking. Emily knew it was an affectation. Angel was careful with slang, contractions, accent, anything that would give anyone an idea where he was originally from. “The local police will start looking for it by combing through CCTV footage,” he continued. “The last thing we want is to be spotted in this thing.”
“And then what?” she asked. “Do werent a motel room and lie low?”
“Too risky.” Ace shook his head. “We don’t want some front-desk clerk to hear from the local news that a pilot was shot at the airport. He or she might decide that the five soaking wet people who checked into Room 8B seem suspicious and call the local five-o.”
“Right,” Rusty agreed. “Better to stay off the grid. I say we find some field or derelict underpassto park under, then stay put and do our best impression of a can of sardines until tomorrow.”
The thought of spending the rest of the day and all night wedged into the stolen truck out in the middle of nowhere—with nothing to eat, nothing to drink, nowhere to wash up or change into dry clothes—had Emily’s top lip curling in distaste. Not that she expected room service or silk sheets when runningfor her life, but still…
She suddenly wished she’d eaten a few more slices of bacon for breakfast. And maybe saidyesfor once to a helping of baked beans.
Had she remembered to restock the granola bars in her backpack?
