Not for her.
For me.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You cloned my fingerprints and helped Ashford get what he needed to blackmail Gainey and Parker. Did you kill them, too?”
He shrugs. “Those two were just collateral damage.”
Bile rises in my throat, and my hands twitch. I don’t just want to kill him. I want to make him bleed.
I rein in my temper, knowing it won’t serve me while he still has her in his grasp.
“Let her go,” I demand. “I’m the one you want.”
His laugh is maniacal as his hand shifts to wrap around her throat, and a surge of blinding fury rushes through me. Karmen shoots me a look—one I know all too well. The look she gives before she does something brilliant or fucking reckless.
Trust me.
Her eyes convey it without saying a word. Slowly, she carefully slips her hand into her pocket and pulls out the small device Reid gave her earlier as extra protection, and thank God, he did. The tiny dark gun holds two tranquilizers. Enough to drop his ass fast.
I keep talking, buying her more time. “Why? Why’d you do it?”
“Because I deserved that promotion,” he snarls. “I put in the hours. The work. And they just handed it to you. The fucking golden boy. The Cunningham legacy. I hate everything you stand for.”
He presses the gun harder against her temple, his rage palpable.
“And I’m going to enjoy taking something from you. Just like you and your shitty ass father took something from me.”
A familiar voice slices the tension in the air.
“Hard to steal something that never belonged to you.”
Neil Cunningham steps from the shadows, dressed in full tactical gear like the rest of our team. I blink several times, unsure if my eyes are playing tricks on me, but he moves deeper into the space.
“Greg, let her go,” he orders.
After a tense beat, Foster releases her—only to whirl around and aim his gun at my father.
Now they stand within arm’s length of each other, guns raised, both seconds from pulling the trigger.
“Tell them to lower their weapons,” Foster demands.
“Not a fucking chance,” I say, taking a step closer.
“Do it, Cunningham!” Foster shouts, “Your boys might take me out, but not before I put a bullet in your brain.”
“Reid, Benson, lower your weapons,” Dad orders.
There’s a long, silent standoff. It feels like an eternity before Reid gives me a look as he lowers his gun; his eyes convey a silent reminder that our newest recruit, Kaiden, a former government assassin, perched up in the rafters, a red dot centered on the back of Foster’s head. I lower my gun a beat later, every muscle in my body coiled tight. Foster’s grin widens in triumph, convinced he’s finally won control. He has no idea he’s already lost.
Karmen edges closer.
“Good,” Foster says, breath hitching. “Now we can have a real conversation.”
“You don’t want a conversation,” my father replies calmly. “You want revenge.”
Foster’s jaw ticks. “Damn right I do.”
She shifts another inch, fingers tightening on the dart device hidden against her thigh.
