“Step forward, the lights will come on.” I tell her quickly.
“Are you okay?” She asks a beat later.
“I’ll be home soon, Sloane,” I promise her, “Stay there until I come to you, okay?”
“I understand.” There’s a tremor in her voice.
“I’ve got you, Sloane,” I vow.
The words have never been truer. The threat today, the genuine belief that I was going to lose her, has my stomach in knots. I cannot lose her.
I will not.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Ifind Richard’s guy easily, holed up in one of the empty apartments across the street from the townhouse. He has a sniper trained on the house, which tells me he’s one of the guys on his roster. There’s always been an obvious difference between the Farrow organization, which has been built on only the best, the most lethal, the most brutal, where Richard just wanted money and didn’t care where it came from. The guys he employs match that quality.
Which is why he never saw me coming, didn’t hear a single rock scatter, or mistimed breath. When he finally realized I was there, my gun was already at his temple, and his brains were scattered on the wall.
I dial clean up on the way out, jogging across the street to my house and unlock the door. I check every room as a precaution but find them clear, so I head to the basement and input the code. Stepping inside, I let the door close behind me.
“Sloane?” I call down to her. The last thing I want is to spook her, and if she armed herself like I told her to, I don’t particularly want to get shot. Again.
“Dean!?” Her voice carries up the stairs, and then I hear her steps running. To me. She is running to me.
Before I’ve even had time to think, I’m moving down the stairs, meeting her at the bottom. She’s on me the moment I’m in reach, her arms around my neck, her face buried in the spot where it meets my shoulder. Her feet are off the floor as she clings, her whole body shaking.
“I’ve got you,” I wrap both arms around her, shoulder smarting now that the adrenaline has worn off.
“What happened?” She asks, voice muffled since she refused to let go. I look beyond her shoulder to see the setup she’s made for Lily, piles and piles of blankets to ensure a comfortable bed, and a much thinner one next to that where her phone and the gun still lays. She was sitting there with her.
“Richard stole the recording of your phone call.” I tell her before realizing she didn’t know I had it in the first place.
“What call?”
I set her down onto her feet, keeping hold of her when she moves to step away. “I looked into your records. The incident. I wanted to see if I could find anything.”
Her skin pales.
“It’s not traceable, Sloane,” I promise her.
She doesn’t look convinced.
“Richard got the call log, used parts of your call to lure me in. I thought he had you.”
“I’ve been here all day,” She shakes her head.
“I know, but I didn’t know that, Sloane. I just heard you call for help, and I ran. I will always come for you.”
“I’m okay,” She breathes.
“I know,” I cup her face, “I’ll make sure of it.”
“So, what now?” I let her go when she moves this time and heads over to where Lily is still napping, crouching to tuck her phone into her back pocket before she gently lifts my daughter up, holding her in such a way that her own body is a shield.
“There are some plans I need to make,” I sigh, “It isn’t over with Richard; I’m afraid it’s just begun, but he’s started a war he’ll never be able to win.”
“Dean,” Her blue eyes latch onto mine, and right there, I see the fear swimming in the depths. Her past will always haunt her, and with this, it’s no wonder she’s afraid. “How sure are you it isn’t traceable?”
