Wet. Why the hell does my arm suddenly feel even wetter than before?
And his mind processed too slowly. Too slowly because he’d gotten lost kissing Simone.
But then he realized…
Blood. My arm is bleeding. That was a freaking bullet that just tore past me.
Only he’d heard no gunshot. He’d thought they were inside the Arch far enough, tucked against the left wall enough that they’d be safe. He’d thought wrong.
He spun around, making sure to put Simone behind him.
“What are you doing?” Simone cried out. “This is seriously confusing behavior. You can’t kiss me one moment and then?—”
“Gun,” he snarled.
“What? Ryan, I don’t—gun!” she screamed.
Yes, yes, dammit, he saw the shooter. The bastard had just come from the nearby doorway that led up to the balcony beneath the Arch’s bronze sculpture. The prick had his gun raised, a gun with a long silencer on the end of it, so, yeah, that explained why there had been no loud gun blast when the weapon fired.
The man was cloaked in shadows, but once he advanced…
“That’s the hotel uniform!” Simone sucked in a sharp breath. “I saw some of the bellhops with the same outfits when we were on our way out.”
Yeah, he’d seen them, too. “Let me guess,” Ryan said to the shooter, “you and Edward the waiter happen to run in the same circles, huh?”
“You’re not supposed to die,” the shooter told him in a voice that rose a bit too high with nerves. “Get away from her. She’s the one I’m after. You live.”
“Cute.” Ryan did not move. “You think you get to snap out orders? To me?”
“I’m the man with the gun!” A gun that was shaking in his grasp. “She’s not worth your life, is she? Walk away. Now. Get out of here. Walk into the rain and don’t look back!”
Simone’s fingers brushed over Ryan’s back. “You should listen to him.” Quiet words. “It’s okay. I promise, I’ll survive.”
What in the actual hell was that response about?
“No, lady,” the man told her in his cracking voice. “You will not. It’s not personal, I swear. But you will not survive because I have to put a bullet in your brain.”
“Over my dead body,” Ryan swore.
The shooter sighed. “Okay.” A wince. “If that’s the way you want it. Really sorry about this, sorry to you both…”
And Ryan knew the jerk was about to fire again.
Chapter Eighteen
“No!” Simone screamed. Then she darted to the side. “Stop it!” She waved her hands, frantic. “Don’t shoot him!”
“Simone,” Ryan roared her name with true fury.
Whatever. He could be furious, and he could also be alive.
The shooter’s attention was on her. His gaze on her. His weapon—yep, on her, too. Simone licked her lips. “I’m the target, right? No sense wasting bullets on him. You literally said you weren’t even here for him.”
“Don’t want to shoot him.” A nod from the shooter. “This isn’t personal, lady. Promise.” A nod. “Maybe close your eyes? And it will be over quickly.”
The gun was shaking. The shooter was drawing in a deep breath. And Ryan was?—
Shooting. At the jerk with the gun.
