Her stomach hurt so badly when he stood there, silent and stoic. God, why didn’t he say anything? But then the anger took over. She owed him nothing. Her affection for him, for the company, for Hawk had always been too good to be true. She knew why she was here, and it had never been long term.
She definitely shouldn’t have invited him into her home. If she’d been smart, she would have kept more of a distance. This was totally her fault. “I’m sorry—”
“Dimitru is going to know it was you, it was Hawk Elite Security, who came and stole from him. Are you really going to do this to Hawk, who dragged you off the street in Germany and saw something more, saw honor? You will ruin his reputation, ruin his business.”
Her brain stalled at his words, at the sound of disappointment in his gravelly tone.
Marie twisted her hair up at the back of her head and pulled the holder from her wrist to tie it in place, all the while thinking. “I’ll go public.”
“And put a target on your back?” Anger vibrated through him, shocking her a little.
“What do you want?” Her hands fisted at her sides. “This feud between my family and Vladimir’s has been going on for centuries. I came to Hawk because of his connection to the Dimitru estate. I needed to reacquire the Bălan armband.” Determination built inside her. “I will not apologize. I will not hide behind Hawk Elite. I will not let you and some misguided sense of honor force me to give back what is rightfully mine, my mother’s.”
She pounded her fist against her chest as emotion swelled through her, made her heart hurt. She’d spent her whole life fighting for what was hers, including the respect due her. She’d finally found it with Hawk—a place to call her own, a way to use her skills within the law. She’d fought for her family’s heritage, fought to stay with her uncle when the courts would have torn her away and shoved her into the system.
“I have what is mine, and I will never give it back. Dimitru will never get it back as long as I am breathing.” Her voice had gone hoarse. In frustration, she wiped at a stray tear, shocked to feel the wetness on her cheek. “Damn you, Malcolm, for making me care,” she finished softly.
“I have to call Hawkins,” he said, as if nothing she’d said made even a little bit of difference.
She stood straighter, lifted her shoulders back, and nodded. “I’ll call him myself.”
Then she walked by him and left the kitchen for her small room at the top of the stairs. After the weekend with Malcolm, she couldn’t help but see it through new eyes. It was probably time to redecorate.
Not only her room, though.
She needed to redecorate her life.
Resignation had her sitting down on the end of the bed. She leaned her elbows on her knees and pressed her fingers into her temples and forehead. Seeing Malcolm made her heart race. Elation followed quickly by regret and anger had obliterated the triumph of acquiring the armband.
Lifting her sleeve, she traced her fingers over the gold now wrapped around her upper arm. It was tight, too tight to leave it there for too long, but it made her feel safer, knowing no one could see it.
A text sounded on her phone. She picked up the slim device and checked the screen.
Do it.
Malcolm, from downstairs, waiting for her to call Hawk.
Her chin trembled. She’d messed up, and even though she’d known the job had to be done, she hadn’t expected the feeling of deep failure. The plan had been to drop off the radar, not face the man who’d grown to be like a father to her.
She pulled Hawk’s number from her contacts and a high-pitched beep sounded throughout the house. It sent a jolt of adrenaline rushing through her veins as she jumped up.
“Uncle Bert!”
She hadn’t even known he still had the alarm system working at the house.
“We got company, Marie.”
“What’s going on?” Malcolm was taking the stairs two at a time as she came to the top.
Uncle Bert moved to the living room, to the old gun cabinet in the corner. “Looks like we got trouble. Did Dimitru follow you home?”
Fear streaked through her. “No way. He wasn’t even home when I went in tonight.”
“You know what to do.” Uncle Bert tossed her the shotgun, which she caught in midair next to Malcolm’s head. Tucking it under her arm, she waited for the box of ammo.
But Malcolm snatched it first. “Talk.”
“We have four minutes.”
“So, we think he’s going to come in here, guns blazing, to kill of the rest of the Bălan family in one fell swoop?”
She sent a pointed look his way and then at the ammo before tossing the shotgun to the bed. “Load the shells, would you?”
“Shit,” he hissed under his breath. “You can’t very well kill our client, Marie. I really can’t let you.”
“We have a way out,” she said as she pulled one of her dark sweatshirts over her head and windbreaker. She didn’t want Malcolm to know where the armband was at this point. She’d meant to show it to her uncle and then take it to their hiding place, the one deep in the ground.
“Vehicle?”
“Sort of. Out back.” She opened her closet and grabbed the handgun from the case on the shelf. Malcolm had armed himself as well: a knife at his waist, and she knew there was one on his calf, too. She could picture him a little more Neanderthal with blades tucked at his back, and it caught her breath.
“Pistol?” she asked.
He shook his head, grabbed her bag, turned, and called down the stairs to her uncle, “We’re moving now.”
“Right behind you,” Uncle Bert called, his voice muffled. He’d gone for his go-bag, one he probably hadn’t used in a good ten years. She liked seeing him so alive and full of energy, but worried about him as well. She’d missed so much in the last year.
Dimitru’s bullets hit the front of the house. Windows shattered and the front door ripped apart.
“Uncle Bert!” Marie ran but was stopped short by Malcolm, the force of his block surprising, the bulge of his arms around her, holding her.
“He’s down, Marie,” Malcolm yelled into her ear through the deafening sounds.
Uncle Bert lay there half in, half out of the living room. The world stopped around her, and she fought to be free. “Let me go, Malcolm!” Her legs kicked. Her ears noted only a low buzzing. Her eyes didn’t see anything but her uncle.
Malcolm circled her waist, his hands digging into her, and tugged her back into his chest. Rage blasted through her until his voice broke through. He was speaking into her ear, his breath on her face. “Listen, listen. Listen to me. Marie, Marie.” He kept saying her name as he eased his hold.
She sucked in air, the world coming back to her. She’d forgotten how big and strong he was.
The front door slammed open. What felt like an eternity had been mere seconds, and Marie lifted her gun and blasted the man behind the mask. Malcolm shoved her up the stairs. “Move, Feur. I’m right behind you.”
He was going for her uncle. “No, Malcolm!”
He’d made it a few steps when Dimitru followed the first man through the front door, turned, and pointed a gun right at Malcolm.
Marie aimed and shot once, as Malcolm put on the brakes and scrambled backward up the stairs.
A pain in her arm made her shot go wide.
“Get down,” Malcolm growled, anger ripping through his words and twisting the emotions roiling through her stomach. More shots came through the window to their left. They were pinned down. No going downstairs now. She moaned. Uncle Bert—
In that hour, you run, baby girl. Don’t look back. You survive.
It was like Uncle Bert was right next to her as his words ran through her head. She turned to Malcolm. “Follow me.”
They crouched and ran back through the hallway, where she opened a secret panel in the back of the hall closet. “Close the door behind you. There’s a latch, which automatically releases a false front hiding the door.”
She took the stairs leading down two at a time, Malcolm right behind her.
She hadn’t been this way in years. More. A decade, probably. They continued down, past ground level. As the floor turned to dirt, the tunnel opened into a cave. She stopped, her heart pounding, and breathed.
Next to her, Malcolm was breathing hard, but he’d managed to grab his own bag and hers from the top of the stairs. She could kiss him, really. Where was her head that she’d leave without her bag?
“Just a little farther,” she said. “You okay?”
He nodded. “You?”
“No, no, I’m not. I’m leaving my only family on the floor up there, and—” She cut herself off.
Marie walked to the little cubby her uncle had built into the rock and reached in to find the set of keys and the radio.
She forced her brain to shut down thoughts of her uncle.
“Come on.” She walked with heavy steps toward the sound of water. The small Zodiac rested half in, half out of the water. She tossed her stuff into the bottom of the boat and then gripped the sides and pulled it into the water.
“Life jackets?” Malcolm asked.
She looked up at him and stared for a moment. “You know how to swim, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he answered succinctly.
“Then we go without.” She shook her head. “Fucking hell. Life jackets,” she muttered. “We might have to swim, so unless you want to be a floating target sitting in the moonlight on top of the water when things go to hell in a hand basket…”
He pushed the boat the rest of the way, and they both jumped in.
“Let’s go.”
“Keep your head down,” she said. She revved the engine a little more, and they shot out onto the open sea. Exhilarating. Jeez. She’d forgotten the feel of the air against her face.
“Around this point in the land to the cove one klick south.” Marie had to yell over the wind whipping through the darkened sky and the engine cutting through the choppy waves. Malcolm glanced back at her, revealing a light in his eyes, one she’d never seen before, but it excited her, as if he was enjoying the ride as well. His hands gripped the sides of the boat, and he was tense, his muscles bunched as if waiting for the next attack.
The route was familiar, like the back of her hand. Some things she would never forget.
The image of her uncle lying on the floor of the front of his house splintered by bullets flashed through her mind, and she kicked it aside to focus on escape.
Now, she had to get Malcolm to a safe place.
She turned where the rock that looked like a turtle jutted out from a small point on the coast, and then followed the land into the cove and up to a rocky ledge where Uncle Bert had created a sort of dock-like ledge. He’d installed a cleat for her to tie up the small boat, and she did so now, carefully standing with her feet braced equally between each side.
She gripped the rock, stepped out, and looked down.
Malcolm was staring up at her when the moon broke from the clouds, and she could see the glitter of light in his brown eyes. “Jesus, Marie.” He moved like a panther, hoisting himself out of the boat and into her space.
Panic shot through her. He was big and intimidating…and he’d been mad. Now he was on the run, because of her. And the light, the glitter didn’t look like so much excitement now. Her heart in her throat, she stepped back, slipped on the wet rock, and would have gone down if not for his hands at her waist.
“You’ve been shot.”
“What?” With a frown, she looked down at her arm. The sweatshirt was soaked and blood dripped down her hand. “Well, shit.” With acknowledgement came pain, which sliced straight through her consciousness, leaving a trail of heat from her fingertips to her shoulder, a sharp reminder of the secret she wore on her arm. “We should move,” she said, ignoring the pain.
Malcolm nodded, then pulled her arm to look at it anyway.
“Hey!”
He ripped her sweatshirt right at the hem on her shoulder, pulling the sleeve down. It was dark, but not dark enough to hide the glint of gold on her arm. He glanced up into her eyes as her heart pounded ridiculously against her sternum. “You need stitches,” he said, “and the flesh has swollen.” He took the material he’d torn, wrapped it around her arm, and tied it tightly around both the wound and amulet. His fingers were incredibly gentle for all of the tension she could feel radiating from him.
When he was done, he cupped the side of her face, making her hold her breath. Then he sighed, and the warmth of his breath brushed her forehead. His fingers tensed on her neck before he released her. “Nice armband; it’s going to be a bitch to get off.”
She winced, letting the guilt wash over her.
Malcolm’s cold eyes bored through her, and she second-guessed herself.
Had she indulged her uncle at the cost of his life? At the cost of the one friendship in her life she wanted to see go further? For a moment, her lip trembled, but she bit it and stood up straighter.
“That’s more like it,” he responded, and took her bag from her hand. “Don’t ever apologize.”
Her mouth fell open.
He leaned in, his anger fading, and kissed her cheek.
But it left her wanting, left her feeling like he’d given up on her and was ready to say goodbye.
For good.