“Not possible. I can’t leave Julia.” Then he snapped, his voice sharp as glass. “Tell him to make it two minutes.”
He listened again. Shorter this time. “Copy.”
The muscles in his already-rigid frame coiled tighter, his focus narrowing on her face. “Stay in the kitchen with Emily,” he said. “Alec is on his way. Do not move from that spot until he gets here.”
His tone erased any instinct to argue.
“I won’t,” she promised, unnerved by it all. She turned and hurried to her post.
She whirled around when she heard the bang. The door was flung wide, Mateo already through it.
When Emily looked up, her eyes met hers, an unspoken question clear.
Julia shook her head. “Maybe it’s better if we don’t know.”
The kitchen noise resumed around them, but it felt different. Even the staff seemed to sense the wrongness.
Moments later, Alec came through the service entrance at a run, scanning until he found Julia and located Emily.
“I’ve got eyes on her,” he said into his comm. “Status on Mateo?”
Silence. Then— “Shit.”
Julia’s heart dropped.
“What?” Emily demanded.
“He got away.” Alec’s jaw set. “And Mateo’s down.”
Julia’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God—was he shot?”
“No. He expected us to follow and set a trap.”
Emily went pale. “What kind of trap?”
“Monofilament wire at the top of a stairwell. Mateo’s banged up, but he’ll live.”
“Shouldn’t we go to him?” Julia asked.
“Callan is handling it. You’re staying put.” He reminded her of something more chilling. “The perp is still out there.”
Julia’s hand dipped into her pocket. The hairband was a warning. He didn’t get to her tonight, but he’d been close enough to prove that he could.
Chapter 20
Leland took a sip of diner coffee: burnt, bitter, and strong enough to strip paint. He grimaced, immediately regretting it, and pushed the mug to the end of the table.
It was probably for the best. Already wired, he didn’t need the caffeine.
Harsh light from the setting sun slanted through the front windows, glaring off the chrome-trimmed, cracked-vinyl booths. Traffic drifted past outside while waitresses wound down after the dinner crowd.
Dev sat across from him, one arm stretched along the back of the booth, calm on the surface. Not underneath. Leland recognized the signs by now.
Any woman hurt would have earned the same controlled, quietly dangerous anger from Dev. Under normal circumstances, Leland would have reacted the same way. But it was Julia, and that distinction had frayed what control he had left.
The bell above the diner door chimed. A slender brunette, matching the ID Callan had pulled from The Underground files, walked in. A tall, dark-haired man followed her closely, his hand under her elbow in a protective gesture that wasn’t subtle.
She spotted them and lifted a hand. The man scanned the diner before following, his gaze moving like a professional’s: clocking exits, occupants, lines of sight.
