My Glock rises as though of its own volition, aiming between Ian’s eyes.
We’re in a standoff worthy of Hollywood. I’m more of anaim for the heart, and at worst, you’ll hitsomethingvitalkind of person—but this close, there would be no missing my target. We’re a mere five feet apart, his breath audible, my hands nearly trembling with adrenaline.
“You’re here for your husband.”
It’s not a question.
“Where is he?” The room is a huge storage space filled with the obvious items. Boxes, chests, spare furniture covered in white sheets—but I know what this unit’s really for, and it’s not housing extra household items. It’s meant to look normal in case anyone ever comes across it. But really, weapons are stockpiled here. A cache, one of many Ian has across the country. Heck, probably across the world.
Ian looks over the top of his weapon, removing his eye fromwhere he can easily see through the sight. All at once, he lowers it, snorts, and turns away, shaking his head. “Seriously, Nadia.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s here.” He sets his gun down on a table—the same table where two years ago, he spread out guns the world hasn’t seen since the First World War, collector’s items. “But listen—” Ian leans against the edge of the surface and crosses his arms, utterly undeterred by the gun I’m still pointing in his direction. “You should let me take care of this for you.”
“I don’t want you to take care of this for me.”
Ian watches me for a moment. “He’s been lying to you, Nadia. And I know you haven’t told him everything, but I’d say his deception goes a little deeper.”
“What does that mean?”
Ian smiles, and it’s not a nice smile. But before he can answer, another voice cuts through the storage room.
“Nadia?” I jolt at Brian’s voice, scratchy, like he’s just woken. The hope in it, the…fear.
“Shut the fuck up,” Ian bites out. “You weren’t invited to speak.”
Holding my gun on Ian, I skirt around the table, behind a chair, to see Brian, bloody, black-eyed, his face swollen. Zip ties hold his hands tight behind his back, and he’s on the ground. He must have just regained consciousness. The look in his eyes says that he can see me, and that however I look—gun in my hand, resting killer face at the ready—he’s not comfortable with it. In fact, I’d say he looks scared.
“Where’s Victoria?” Ian asks, peering out of the unit, unconcerned with my gun. That’s who he’s looking for, wondering if I’ve dragged her along with me. If I were a different sort of person, if Gran hadn’t all but beaten it into me that innocents are to be leftalone, I might have. She would have made good collateral. Then again, maybe not, given that Ian wasn’t too concerned with the idea that I might kill her.
“She’s alive,” I say, spinning to face him again—never turn your back on the ocean, a two-year-old,oran assassin.
“Nadia?” Brian’s voice rises up, unsure. Like he’s just realized I am not who he thinks I am.
Ian’s mouth twists into a cruel smile. “Didn’t you know, Brian? You’re not the only one with secrets.”
I should just shoot Ian. Have it done with.
“You’re making it too easy,” Ian hisses. A series ofpop-pop-pops shatters the silence. I drop to the ground, roll to one side, come up on a knee, and aim at him, finger on the trigger. But he’s gone.
Outside the storage room, the hiss of lights flicking on as he presumably sprints down the hall toward the staircase. I bolt upright, gain my footing, rush to the doorway of the unit, and aim. His silhouette races away, a spotlight of fluorescence illuminating his location. But before I dart after him, a scuffle from behind yanks my attention backward.
“You’re like him,” Brian’s voice whispers through the room.
I spin, throat tight.
I’m nothing like him. I didn’t sayShoot my spousewhen shit got hard. I didn’t force Victoria at gunpoint along with me. I don’t kill indiscriminately, I make sure they’re bad, I—
“Brian—” My gun is still raised. His dark eyes soak me in as he climbs unsteadily to his feet. His gaze shifts to my gun, which I immediately drop to my side as I hold up a placating hand. He ducks out of the way, disappearing behind chunky furniture. He must have wriggled out of his restraints. Regained consciousness enough to listen in on what was going on. And now he’s hiding from me.
In the hall, thebrrrrringof the elevator captures my attention. I hesitate for only a second, then dash to see if it’s not too late to nab Ian. To stop him. But halfway down the hall, my feet slapping over concrete, it occurs to me I have no idea what I’ll do when I catch him. Shoot him? Kill him?
My steps stutter to a stop halfway down the hall, heart pounding in my ears. The other option is to let him go. But if I let him go, will Brian ever be safe again? WillIbe safe? Will my daughters?
The hiss of lights halts my thoughts. I raise my gun, twist, peering through dim halls for Ian. Was the elevator only a distraction? I press my body to a wall, making myself less of an easy target. I aim back the way I came, waiting for his tall, lanky form to appear.
A man steps into the shadows. I raise my gun, shoot to his side, because I still can’t quite fathom ending Ian’s life. He jumps, wheels backward, the motion-sensing light flickers on with awhoosh, and Brian’s face is suddenly illuminated, eyes wide but not afraid—no, a different emotion plays over his features. One of determination.
