He must have sensed what she was thinking, because Creed looked at the door, then back to her, a furrow gripping his brow. “Jace loves life too much to get himself hurt,” he said. “He’s a real playboy,” he continued. “You should see the plans he’s got to upgrade his apartment in California. He was just talking about it the other day.”
Amy gulped past the tightness in her throat. “He was?”
Creed was large. No wonder Jace wanted him to guard her. He was definitely intimidating, but Amy saw the kindness in his eyes. And right now, it seemed he wanted her to believe something about Jace. That he wasn’t invested, like she thought he was. Perhaps he didn’t want Amy to run out there and risk her life for a man who planned to leave her tomorrow.
No, please don’t say that Jace doesn’t really love me.She couldn’t take it anymore. He’d finally confessed it to her. But itwasjust as the mission was about to start. The confidence she’d felt only moments ago began to falter and wane. She didn’t like the idea of being someone’s puppet.
“You think Jace isstillplanning to go back to California, even now?”
Creed nodded sadly. Almost regretfully.
At once the embarrassment flooded back in. Like the moment Mr. P said Jace was pretending to like her. She couldn’t be sure that was true, but even if it was, would that change her determination to help?
No.If she stepped beyond the closet door, insisted on helping Jace and the team, she’d be doing it because she loved him regardless of whether he loved her back. And what better cause to risk your life?
Of course, convincing Creed would be a trick. In fact, it would probably be impossible. Amy’s grandma had once told her that sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness than for permission. This was one of those times. With that thought, Amy snatched an aerosol can off the shelf, leapt right over the man on the floor, and pushed open the door.
“Amy, please,” Creed hollered as he joined her in the hallway. “It’s not safe for you to go in there.”
But Amy only kept going. “Right now he’s missing out on my helpandyours. I can’t let that happen. Jace needs us!”
* * *
If one wereto step in on the action surrounding Jace in that moment, they might assume they’d stepped into a bar brawl between the mafia and a bunch of beefy vets, battling it out, fight-club style.
Jace ducked, ducked again, and jabbed one of the new arrivals in the gut before ramming an elbow to his back. Another came in from the right, and Jace dodged his blow while glancing to the corner of the room where Mr. P seemed to be heading. Since Jace had stepped into the scene, he’d been keenly aware of the way Mr. P had skirted the action. It made staying focused difficult.
Jace groaned as a clock to the jaw proved his point. He wrestled his new opponent to the ground while reminding himself that the papers had been signed. If all was going as planned, Logan and the authorities would be joining them any moment.
Another quick look toward the corner, and Jace saw that Mr. P was, in fact, trying to sneak toward the exit. They couldn’t let that happen; the signed document was no good to them if the guy got away.
Jace ducked a hard punch, straightened up in time to catch the next swing, but returned it with a blow to his gut. The brute doubled over, and Jace followed it up with a stiff sidekick that sent the guy tumbling to the floor.
Mr. P inched ever closer to the glowing green sign. Jace had seen the look of desperation before. That crazed look that bordered on hysteria. It was the exact expression he saw on the man’s face. Perhaps he was realizing that everything he’d built up over the years was on the verge of ruin, and that he’d go down with it if he didn’t escape.
But he wouldn’t escape. Not on Jace’s watch.
Jace sped past Blaine as he tackled a guy to the ground. He ducked beneath Baron’s high kick to another guy’s jaw, and hurried toward the exit with his eyes on Mr. P.
The man was surveying the room with wild, desperate eyes, the look of loss and horror gripping his pale face. Suddenly, his gaze landed on Jace as he sped toward him. A flash of enlightenment lit his expression.
Jace followed his movement as Mr. P snatched a pistol from a hidden leg holster and aimed it at Jace.
Seemed the no-guns rule did not apply to Mr. P.
Jace assumed it was a mere threat at first, but as he surveyed the wobbly set of the man’s hand, the sheen of sweat dripping down his temples, he got the sense that Mr. P might not have been involved in sticky takedowns before. He was someone who’d kept his hands clean. Sent his cronies to do his dirty work. Here among the action, Mr. Calm and Collective was starting to crack; he had to be stopped.
With just a few feet separating them, Jace reached out to snatch the gun from Mr. P, and zoomed in on one tiny detail. The subtle curl of his finger around the trigger.
Jace’s heart dropped. He flattened himself to the ground and slid toward him as the familiar blast of gunfire stabbed his ears. He crashed into the desperate man hard enough to knock his feet out from under him.
Mr. P tumbled on top of Jace, all flailing arms and jabbing elbows. The gun went off again before Jace wrapped his hands around the man’s grip and pried it from his stiff fingers.
Jace shot to his feet and aimed the gun at Mr. P. “Get to your feet,” he ordered. “It’s over. The authorities are already on their way.”
“Release him!” The hulking voice caught Jace’s attention, even amongst the chaos, but it was what he spoke next that turned Jace’s blood to ice.
“Do it or I break her neck.” With the gun still aimed at Mr. P, Jace shifted to see the statue of a man who spoke the threat. The name Goliath came to mind. He was even bigger than Creed. Which might explain why Creed was nowhere to be found. Instead, Amy stood at the man’s mercy, her tiny neck cradled in his massive, snake-like fingers.
