Jacques hugged me tight as another car pulled up. It looked like ours—but so had the last one.
Inside, there was a woman sitting in the center seat. Jacques held his arm out, blocking me from getting inside. “What do you want?” he asked.
“Haven’t you heard?” she asked. “I’m—”
“Unless this is an apology, Mercy, I don’t want to hear it.”
She smacked her lips, leaning forward into the light. “After much research, I am apologizing for this mistake. I would like you back at Sanctum.”
He looked at me. I didn’t have an answer. I’d barely been put together enough to have answers for the lawyers today. “Hi,” I said.
“You must be Ezra,” she said to me, holding out a hand. “You’re the reason one of my best agents went AWOL.”
“I couldn’t go AWOL, because you’re not an official agency in that capacity,” he growled at her. I suppose he was mad because he’d actually served in the armed forces. “You were given a reason, and I do not require permission to leave.”
She laughed. “Come on, Reaper, I’m joking,” she said. “I apologize, I do, profusely. I get requests for you constantly. People want Reaper. More so now that you’ve gained a little bit of infamy. They’re willing to pay a lot of money for you.”
He wrapped an arm around me and shook his head. “I made a promise,” he said. “You’ve got Donovan and Artemis back, use them. I’m taking my boyfriend on a trip. And we’re not to be disturbed.”
“You can work if you need to,” I offered in a squeak through the silence.
Jacques continued to shake his head. “I’m not going to work,” he said. “We’re going away on vacation, and we’re not to be disturbed.”
Mercy nodded. “I give it three months before you’re back at Sanctum, asking for work.”
“And when that happens, I expect the door to be open,” he said. “And I will be in touch about transferring my funds.”
“Please, go somewhere warm, and send me a postcard,” she said before sliding the door shut.
Jacques held me tight. “Looks like we’re finally free.”
I was somewhat numb now. I didn’t know what we were going to be. Part of me wondered if we were going to be heading to Sugar Bay, and another part of me wondered if we would end up in Thailand as I’d suggested. I actually didn’t care, I just wanted to be with him.
Another car pulled up. Nowthisone was ours.
As the door opened. Two men in masks grabbed me, pulling me inside.
It happened so fast. Jacques shot them—three bangs, like a backfire. One in each guy, a third in the driver. The noise had disoriented me, and I stared at Jacques, my body filled with a fuzzy tingle as he stood in front of me with the bodies writhing and moaning from their wounds.
He pulled me out by the arm and sat me on the small stoop, where the exit from the courthouse was. Donovan and Artemis appeared behind me with Maya. My vision continued to blur in and out of focus with the ringing in my ears.
“Last ditch attempt,” Jacques said.
Donovan and Artemis scrambled, taking the men from the car and unmasking them. Maya sat beside me, patting my back and asking if I was okay. Looking down at myself, my hands, I had blood on me. I wasn’t okay at all. I think that was the closest I’d ever been to gunfire and being shot—shot at by my own boyfriend.
Jacques came up and cuddled me, apologizing for shooting so close to me. I was actually more impressed with his aim, and how he’d managed to grab his gun so quickly. It gave some context to his name, and while I didn’t think the three men were dead yet, so no additional numbers to his death count, he’d been so quick with it.
“I think he needs some sugar,” Maya said. “The first time I was almost killed and had a gun shot at me, I binged on pancakes, waffles, and drank so much maple syrup, and like two jugs of sweet tea—extra sugar.”
My stomach rumbled. “I think I could go for that.” They were my first words after processing what happened.
All three men were handcuffed, thanks to the guards uniforms they all wore and were equipped with. Donovan and Artemis were pleased as they presented the three men, unmasked for me, like they were wriggling trophies.
“They work for Pemberton,” Artemis said, and he kicked one of them. “He wouldn’t speak, but we found his card in his pocket, and a very nice checking receipt.”
“Amateur hour,” Donovan grumbled.
“What are you gonna do with them?” I asked.
