Page 40 of Rafe’s Future

“No.” Lena’s refusal was barely a whisper. “No doctors.”

He sent her an incredulous scowl. “The guy came damn close to choking you to death.” Too close. “You’re being seen whether you like it or not.”

“Hospitals are . . .” Another wincing swallow made her pause. “Too p-public.”

Rafe paused because, as much as he hated to admit it, the shaken-up woman had a point. “I’ll take care of it.”

This was one argument she wasn’t winning.

He pulled out his phone. The first in a series of calls was to a trusted physician he’d used in the past. One who works off-books and knew how to keep his mouth shut. For the right price, of course.

Next, Rafe called Slade to update the Tac-Ops team leader on the recent turn of events. With Slade’s promise to fill in the others, Rafe contacted his trusted clean-up crew last. A conversation that ended with the begrudging agreement to pay double for the back-to-back, last-minute jobs.

“Let’s go.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket before putting a gentle hand to Lena’s lower back. She sent him a questioning stare as he led her out of the room.

“Where are we—” she started to ask, her voice gravelly and rough.

“No hospitals,” he vowed. “You have my word on that.”

“Then where?”

They reached the end of the hall.

“Save your voice,” Rafe ordered softly, holding the door open so she could pass by. “I’m taking you to a doctor I trust.”

“And after?” Lena blatantly ignored the order to refrain from speaking.

He sent her a look. “Once you’re given the all-clear, we’ll go back to my place to rest up and regroup.”

With Kozlova’s gun for hire out of the way, they had two, maybe three days to come up with a plan. Assuming no one else was actively trying to kill them, he felt secure in his decision to return to his home.

Rafe snuck a sideways glimpse in Lena’s direction. He’d been right there, watching from the other room as the nightmare had unfolded.

She could have died. So easily, he could have lost her in an instant.

If that man wanted her dead, he could’ve easily snapped her neck. Or gotten her gun and shot her in the head.

So why didn’t he? The images his subconscious thoughts created were ones Rafe refused to let himself see. It was impossible, however, not to wonder—why hadn’t the assassin taken Lena out when he had the chance?

If he’d killed her, I would have killed him.

No hesitation. He would have shot the man point-blank dead.

Suicide by cop wasn’t much of a stretch, as far as theories went. Rafe wasn’t a cop, of course, but the same concept still applied.

Kozlova’s reach had the potential to stretch far and wide, even beyond prison walls. Perhaps this way, the guy went out on his own terms. Not by a bullet, but with one last fight.

Better to die quickly at the hands of a merciful warrior like him than be tortured to death under the belief he was a traitor. With no way out, he’d attacked, knowing it would spur Rafe into action.

He knew I’d come for her. The bastard knew I was watching, and he used me to facilitate his own death.

“What are you doing?”

Lena’s pain-filled rasp broke through his post-action thoughts as he broke from her to head to the other side of the room.

“Getting the intel West sent earlier.” Rafe reached the metal desk.

Grabbing a brand-new flash drive from one of the drawers, he immediately got to work, transferring the valuable information. With the small device tucked safely inside his pocket, he walked back over to where Lena stood waiting.