“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Declan. So just untie me?—”
“Fuck!” He spins, and topples me to the ground, right as the window explodes around us.
ELEVEN
declan
“Stay down, Marlowe,”I growl, crouching low before creeping toward the window to look outside.
But she starts to get up. I shove her back down, catching sight of a red laser light on the wall just as another bullet tears into the room. I need to lower the blinds and shut the fucking curtains, but I can’t get close enough. I stay on the floor, pressing down on Marlowe, heart thumping.
The bullets came from a sniper rifle, maybe across from us or a floor above on the building opposite.
Whoever it is knows how to use the weapon, but isn’t highly skilled. I know it’s not a professional hit since both of us are targets prime for shooting. But they’re still close. And if they’re waiting for another chance to take us out, I want to make it as difficult as I can by covering the window.
They could just shoot up the place, but the couple of shots fired will have already caught attention. A sea of gunfire is just asking to be caught.
“Stay the fuck down. I don’t want you killed,” I whisper against her ear, her body trembling beneath me.
“I’m still tied up.”
She brings her hands to me, and I curse my libido because I had the tie loose enough to start, but in her struggle, she tightened it. I waste precious seconds by reaching into my jacket and pulling out my switchblade before slicing through the fine silk. “Stay here, close to the sofa, okay?”
I pull out my gun and crawl to the window.
“Be careful.”
Her voice wavers, so I open my phone and toss it to her. “Call my brother Torin, tell him what’s going on.”
Tor, Cal, and Seamus are all too far away. Though Torin’s the closest, having taken Harry home and being tasked with bringing Lucie and the kids home. The other two are in Brighton Beach dealing with a client. But as long as one of them knows what’s happening, I’ll get backup. And as long as Molly’s got something to do, maybe she won’t panic. As much.
The gunman’s waiting. For a movement. An opportunity.
I need to see across to the other building, work out what floor and roughly what apartment the shots came from. The peal of distant sirens slices into the air. I look around at the knickknacks already on display in the living room part of the suite. I saw something earlier when I checked the place out.
My eyes scour the place. There. I grab the antique opera glasses.
I don’t have a rifle, and there’s no way a bullet from a handgun will reach the other building, but maybe I can scare the would-be sniper, or even catch a glimpse of who it is.
I lower the blinds as a bullet rips a hole through them. Then I tug the linen curtains shut.
From the edge of the window, I nudge them out of the way, the blood beating steady in my ears as I slide the corner of the curtain aside.
Another bullet slams into the wall to my right, narrowly missing me. But I’m in a tricky corner. I guess he was savingthose shots, waiting for the sight or shape of a target—one of us—to take down.
I use the glasses to find the glint of his gun. There. I spot him, the small figure in a window across the way. After counting the floors and number of windows across, I squeeze off a few retaliatory shots.
“What’s happening?” Marlowe rasps.
Behind me, I feel rather than see her rise up and inch toward me. I turn, lunge, and push Marlowe down, right as a bullet zooms through the air where her head would have been.
I roll her to the wall under the curtain and window.
One more shot slams into the room, this time hitting the couch.
Fury burns in my chest. I glare at her, trying hard not to let the sweet delight of her flesh beneath mine light me up and get my libido going.
“Do you have a death wish?” I hiss.
