“I’m about to make you a grieving widow.” Kurt seemed happy to deliver this bit of news to Delaney.
“Nash and I are not really married,” Delaney fired back. “The ceremony was staged. Everything was faked. You’re surrounded by the cops, and they are about to swarm and take you into custody.”
Insects chirped in the distance.
Kurt glanced around. “Is the swarm going to happen anytime soon?”
More chirping. No swarming.
“That’s what I thought.” Satisfaction purred from Kurt. “See, I happen to have a mole at the CIA. I’ve been steps ahead of you the whole fucking time. No one is coming. Nash Quinn is dying, and then I will be taking everything that belongs to me.” He took two, hard steps forward.
Not quite close enough, but almost…
“Carmello promised that I would get everything,” Kurt snapped. “I was his errand boy for years. I did his dirty work. I paid my dues. I bided my time. I moved up through the ranks. I was supposed to take over the throne when he passed.”
“I don’t think there was a throne.” Nash felt duty bound to point this out. “Just a whole lot of crimes.” And prison time. A whole lot of prison time just waiting in the wings.
“You interfering ass! I did everything that Carmello ordered! Drug deals, smuggling, hits—I took out his enemies, and I never blinked. He said that I’d get everything in the end. That I’d get what I was owed. He swore that I was the heir to his empire.” Kurt pointed at a silent Delaney. “Then he brought you home. When you arrived, he wanted me to stay in the shadows until the time was right. I thought, sure, fine, Carmello is old freaking school. He wants me to marry into the family. So I kept playing his game. Waiting, waiting…”
A hot wind seemed to blow against Nash’s skin. He wanted to look back at Delaney. Instead, he kept his head bowed, his shoulders slumped, but his eyes remained on Kurt.
Kurt wanted to talk, so Nash would let him. Confession was supposed to be good for the soul, wasn’t it? It was also good for the CIA.
“Then one day, that SOB Carmello says that—that maybe I’m not right for his precious granddaughter. That maybe she should have been with someone else. The old guy starts talking about second chances and bullshit and how he needed to go see his maker with a clean conscience.” Rough laughter. “A clean conscience? After everything he’d done? After what I’d done for him? No way. No freaking way. He didn’t get to change the plans. I killed that bastard then and there, and I?—”
“You killed him?” Delaney’s ragged voice.
“Don’t pretend you care,” Kurt mocked. “No one cared about Carmello, and he cared for no one. All that mattered was his stupid blood line. He was going to use you to pump out kids so that he’d have great-grandsons to carry on his name. His attack of conscience would not last. I didn’t buy that second chance crap he was peddling. There are no second chances. So I eliminated him, and I stepped in to take what was waiting. The whole dynasty, the fortune, the world that was waiting for me.”
Okay, well, that felt like a full confession to Nash. “Sound travels at night.”
“What?” Kurt waved his hands angrily. “What in the hell are you mumbling about?”
Nash lifted his head. “Sound travels at night. Especially if you’re the CIA and you have the best listening devices and sound amplifiers imaginable.”
Kurt stomped toward him. “There is no one else out here, you arrogant ass!”
Perfect. Now his prey was close enough. Nash slammed his shovel right into Kurt’s face. Bones cracked. Smashed. Some teeth might have shattered, too. Nash didn’t stop to check. He was already spinning and ramming his shovel at the men with the guns. One took a hit to the stomach. The shovel plowed hard into him. Even as that one was falling, Nash whipped the shovel around and pounded it toward the hand of the other gunman.
The gun went flying out of that jerk’s grip. And then the shovel collided with the side of his head. Goon number two hit the ground right next to his buddy.
“Get her, Charlie!” Kurt bellowed as he spat out blood.
“Run, Delaney!” Nash thundered. “Run!”
The driver of the Lexus had jumped from his vehicle and was sprinting for Nash. Nash swung his shovel again. It clanged when it drove into the driver’s head.
Charlie lunged for Delaney. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chanted as he came at Delaney with his knife.
Done with the driver, Nash surged for Delaney, but Kurt threw his body against him. They collided, hitting the ground, and that tricky bastard Kurt pulled a gun on Nash. “You’re dying!” Kurt screamed at Nash. “You are dying!”
Nash rammed his elbow into Kurt’s throat.
Kurt’s gun went off, but the bullet was wild, and it didn’t even come close to hitting Nash. His elbow struck Kurt a second time, the jerk lost his weapon, and then Nash reached out to grab his trusty shovel once more. He leapt to his feet, and then he brought that shovel rushing down toward Kurt’s throat.
“Stop!” A cry from Charlie.
The edge of the shovel pressed to Kurt’s Adam’s apple. Nash wanted to plunge the weapon down. Brutal. Bloody. Violent.
