“Maybe I will,” he said seriously. “Maybe I should.”
The comment sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the temperature. “Eamon?—”
And then we heard it. The distant rumble of engines, still far away but definitely getting closer. Multiple vehicles, from the sound of it, were climbing the winding mountain road that led to our isolated cabin.
The book slipped from my fingers as ice flooded my veins. The peaceful bubble of our afternoon shattered like glass, leaving me staring at the man I loved and finally understanding that whatever was coming for us had been inevitable from the start.
Our time was up.
TWENTY-SIX
EAMON
The rumble of engines grew louder, closer, until I could distinguish individual vehicles climbing the winding mountain road. Two cars, maybe three. Coming fast but cautiously, the way professionals moved when they were hunting.
Every instinct I’d developed over three centuries of guardian work snapped into sharp focus. The playful, affectionate man who’d made love to Charles in this very cabin mere hours ago was gone, replaced by something harder, deadlier. Something that had been forged in celestial fire and tempered by centuries of protecting the innocent.
“Charles, I need you to go to the back bedroom. Now.”
“What? But?—”
“Now,” I repeated, drawing my gun and already moving toward the window to get a better view of our approaching visitors. “Get in that room and stay away from the windows. Don’t come out until I tell you to. If I tell you to lock the door, do it, and barricade it with the dresser.”
“I’m not leaving you to face this alone?—”
“Yes, you are.” I turned to face him, and whatever hesaw in my expression made him take a step back. “This is not a discussion, Charles. This is me keeping you alive. Go.”
For a moment, I thought he might argue further. But then the sound of car doors slamming echoed across the snow, and his face went pale with understanding.
“Be careful,” he whispered, then disappeared down the hallway.
The bedroom door closed just as two black SUVs pulled into view through the trees. Six men emerged—five muscle guys and Carlo Ricotta himself. Even at this distance, I could see the expensive cut of his coat, the way he moved with the casual arrogance of a man who’d never faced a threat he couldn’t buy or intimidate his way out of.
They moved with military precision, spreading out to surround the cabin while staying low and using the vehicles for cover. Professional, but not supernatural. I could track their every movement with enhanced senses they couldn’t even comprehend.
The first man reached the front door, testing the handle with gloved fingers. When it didn’t give, he moved to the kitchen entrance. Another tried the windows, looking for an easy point of entry. They found all the doors locked, all the windows secured. Good. Let them work for it.
When the man at the living room window produced a small crowbar and started working on the frame, I’d had enough of their stealth approach. I put a bullet through the glass and straight through his shoulder.
The effect was immediate and satisfying. He howled in pain, and the others dove behind their vehicles. The wounded guy crawled back to them through the snow, so I fired a bullet through his leg for good measure. He did make it back behind one of the cars, leaving a bright red trail inthe snow, but he wouldn’t be walking anywhere anytime soon.
One down, five to go.
For a few moments, there was blessed silence except for the ringing echo of gunfire across the mountains. Would someone hear? Was it too much to hope that a neighbor would notice and call the cops? Hell, did they even have cops anywhere nearby?
Then Carlo’s voice cut through the night air, smooth and reasonable despite the circumstances. “Detective O’Rourke, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
I positioned myself at the now-broken window, where I could see his position behind the lead SUV. “Did we now?”
“You’re a professional man. I respect that. And I’m willing to compensate you very generously for your time and discretion.”
“How generous?” I called back, playing along while I assessed their positions and counted ammunition.
“Two hundred thousand dollars. Cash. Tonight.” Carlo’s voice carried the confidence of a man who’d bought his way out of problems before. “All you have to do is walk away. Leave the baker, drive down this mountain, and forget you were ever here.”
“Tempting offer.” I shifted to get a better angle on the man trying to flank us through the trees. “But I’m gonna have to pass.”
“Detective, be reasonable. No one ever has to know about our arrangement. You go back to New York, tell your superiors the witness was killed in the crossfire. These things happen. I can even give you a superficial bullet wound to make it believable.”
