“You have five seconds to tell me what you did with my daughter, or the car lights up.”

Begging for mercy isn’t something I can stomach, but that’s not my issue right now—it’s what he’s saying. Where is Gia if he doesn’t have her?

“Five,” he begins. “Four.”

“If she’s not in the house, then someone took her,” I yell.

I push through the haziness in my head to try and figure out what the hell could have happened to her.

There’s no way one of Rory’s men would grab Gia and not touch me, which means— “Fuck.”

Her father is back by my side now, resting his hands on the roof and bending down so we’re face-to-face. “Where’s my daughter?” His tone is even and controlled. He’s done this a lot, I’m sure.

“If you don’t have her, then I have a pretty good idea where she is.” Not that I’ll tell him. There’s no way I’ll let this bastard get to her, but I also need to help Gia, so . . .

“Stop fucking around with me and tell me where she is.”

“Is it that far of a stretch to believe she ran away with me? It wouldn’t be her first time running.” I stare into his green eyes, hoping to see some humanity there. “She wanted my help. I didn’t take her.”

He stands upright so I can’t see his face now. After a moment, he shoves the lighter back in his pocket and reaches around to his back.

“I need to get inside the house. I can tell you what happened once we’re in there.” If he really wants to find his daughter, there’s no way in hell he’ll kill me before he has her, even if I’m now staring into the barrel of a pistol, one with a silencer on the end.

For the first time, I notice I’m in sweatpants and nothing else, which means the prick probably took me from bed. “What’d you drug me with?” I squint again as I look out the open door at the sun rising behind him.

“Doesn’t matter.” He leans in and puts a small key in my hand. “But you have big balls to think you could get away without repercussions.”

I work at the cuffs the best I can while being strapped to the wheel, but at least he’s letting me free. He obviously has a motive for cutting me loose.

He’s probably sixty-five. Even though he somehow managed to get in the house, a place owned by the goddamn CIA, I can take him.

I get out of the car and my stomach muscles tighten as I think about where the hell Gia is right now.

“She wasn’t taken.” I swallow back my unease and press a hand to the gasoline-covered car, trying to maintain my balance.

Maybe I’ll need a few minutes to get my head back on before I try to get the drop on this guy.

“Then where the fuck is she?” His Irish accent isn’t as strong, probably from years of being in the States, but it rattles through louder when he shouts.

He lowers the gun to his side, and his forehead pinches together. I can see Gia in him, in the haunted look in his eyes.

“I think she took off, but there’s one way to know for sure. I need to go back inside.”

“Guess she couldn’t have trusted you if she ran off in the middle of the night.” He cocks his head, eyeing me suspiciously.

My jaw locks tight as I allow the last thirty-six hours to fast-forward through my mind.

Gia knew she was going to leave me.

She knew the second Owen told her she’d have to back off from finding her mom.

How could I have been so goddamn stupid?

“Get inside then, will ya?” With his gun, he motions for me to go into the house.

I move as fast as I can, even though I’m lightheaded and my legs are weak from the drugs.

“If her sketchpad isn’t here, then she left of her own free will.” My eye catches the stool near the window, and the memory of the night she drew me blows through my mind, leaving pain in its wake.

“You know about her drawings?” he asks from behind.

I shake my head free of my thoughts and start looking around the living room. “I told you I didn’t take her.” I snatch the burner phone off the floor where I must have dropped it when we got home last night.

A blur of movements, of our bodies pressed together—of us making love—comes back to me.

Ten missed calls from Jessica. She started calling shortly after Gia and I got back after dancing.

The sudden pop and crack of my phone has me retracting my arm in a flash.

“Jesus,” I hiss as I shake my hand out. “Did you really just shoot my phone?” I spin around to face the son of a bitch, not sure whether I should be angry or impressed by his ability to aim so well that he didn’t even touch my flesh.

His brows draw inward. “Why would she run from you?” He doesn’t give a damn about my phone or my question. Only his daughter.

This might be our only common ground.

My lips tighten into a sneer as I stride toward him, my chest puffed out, a shot of adrenaline pumping through me, killing the residual effects of whatever chemical he pumped into me while I was asleep.

“And why’d she run before?” I stand in front of the pistol, holding my ground.

The muscles in his jaw clench as understanding flickers across his face. “She’s still looking for her mom.”

I release a breath, knowing damn well the sketchpad is gone and Gia is on her way to Brazil, if she’s not there already.

I’m such a fucking idiot for believing she’d handle the news from Owen in any other way.

He clicks the gun’s safety back on and tucks it behind him again. “She shouldn’t have left New York, goddamn it.”

This man is a killer, but I can see it in his eyes as plain as day: he loves Gia.

“I’m pretty sure she’s heading straight to a man named Carlos Perozo.”

His face tightens, a flash of anger darkening his eyes, and he closes the small gap between us until we’re only a few inches apart, so close I can smell his breath.

“The brother of the man who killed Sara?”

Sara? Gia never mentioned her mother’s name, but it must be her. And with the way he’s talking right now, it sure as hell sounds like her mom really is dead.

“Those motherfuckers.” He shifts away and scrubs his hands through his hair. “I thought I buried everything from her.”

“Buried what?”

“A fifteen-year-old girl doesn’t need to know about how her mother died. I was vague on purpose. I was worried that if she found out all the gory details she’d try to do exactly what she is now.” He curses beneath his breath. “I told her Sara was gone, but she never believed me.” Anger pulses through his words like a vibration rocking the room.

“Maybe if you had told her everything, she wouldn’t have gone on this crusade to find her mom.”

My chest starts to constrict, and I need to take a sharp breath when it truly hits me that Gia’s mother is gone. The pain this will cause Gia is un-fucking-bearable.

My hand balls into a fist, and I press it to my forehead, losing sight of her father, of everything.

“All Gia had to do was wait a few more months.”

“What do you mean?” I drop my hand and look at him, and it’s as if the mood in the room has shifted, and for some odd fucking reason, I feel like this murderer and I are on the same side. I usually trust my instincts, and something is telling me this man does care about Gia. But this is one time I can’t rely on my gut, not with her life on the line.

“I might be a killer, but I never wanted this life for my daughter.” He turns his back, his hands going to his hips, and I catch sight of the gun.

Can I move fast enough in my current state to snatch it from him?

“Two months and she would have been free.” He faces me, a bleakness to his eyes. “Do you have an exact location for her right now?”

I think back to the map of Brazil and the information on the screen Owen showed us. The text was small, but there was an address in the upper right corner of the picture. Did Gia notice it too? She must have.

I pull up the image in my head and focus on it.

And never have I been so damn thankful for my photographic memory.

But there’s no way in hell I’ll let him know where she is, even if something is telling me to trust a killer.

“You know the address.” He huffs. “I can see it in your eyes.” His brows snap together. “Prove to me you’re not someone I should put six feet under. Prove it by helping me save my daughter.”

“And why the hell would I let a murderer anywhere near her? How can I trust that you’re not the one she needs saving from?”

Within seconds, the gun is fixed my way. He removes the safety and aims the gun toward my left kneecap. “I can get the address on my own or by torturing you. I found you, didn’t I?”

“Either shoot me or stop pointing the damn thing at me,” I grumble.

He ignores my sarcasm. “I’ll find Gia. But it could take a day or two, and she may not have that long.”

“She doesn’t want to go back to New York. Rory will—”

“Do you think I’d ever let that wanker touch my daughter? Do you think I wouldn’t break every bone in his body if he ever hurt her?”

“Why’d you bring her into that life, then? Why surround her with such scum?” I step closer, my chest tightening. “If you care about her, it doesn’t make sense.”

A tsk noise escapes his lips as his gun lowers to his side. “A businessman like yourself doesn’t know shit about the way my world works.”

“Then explain it to me.” I’m so close I could grab the gun.

“Who is she to you?” He tilts his head, assessing me. “If you really helped her escape New York, why’d you do it? What’s your ulterior motive?”

“You’re right that I’m not part of your world, which means you can’t grasp the idea of a man wanting to help a woman without trying to screw her over.”

“But you did screw my daughter, didn’t you?” The vein in the side of his throat starts to throb, his pulse probably elevating.

If I were a father, in that respect, I can’t say I’d blame him for his anger.

But I’m not a dad, and so . . . “Gia’s personal life is none of your business.”

He might look like an older version of Keanu Reeves from The Matrix, but being eye-to-eye with him doesn’t scare me, even if he frightens his own daughter.

He drags a palm down his face, and I focus on the Celtic cross tattoo that occupies most of his hand. Maybe he’s hoping God will forgive him every time he shoots his gun, or maybe he’s praying for perfect aim? Who the hell knows? All that matters is I think we’re on the same page.

For now, at least.

We might need each other to get to her, but after that, all bets will be off, and I won’t let him near her.

“Let me ask you something,” he begins in a low voice. “If you had a daughter, would you let her out of your sight if it meant one of your enemies might find her—maybe rape or torture her?”

A rush of air leaves my lungs at his words, at the thought of anyone putting their hands on her.

“There’re a lot of people out there who would use Gia to try and get to me. I’ve been protecting her, not holding her hostage.”

His words, the simple truth of what he said, surprises the hell out of me. “And does she know that?”

He remains quiet, giving me his answer.

“Why didn’t you take her somewhere else when her mom died? You could have watched over her at a beach in Fiji instead.”

He holds the gun tight against his leg, but his eyes remain steady on mine. He’s reading me like I am him. “Do you know what happens when someone leaves the mob?”

He doesn’t actually intend for me to answer, and so I wait. But impatience glides through my veins, making my heart pump even harder.

“They die.”

“Aren’t you good enough not to be found?” But if this man had run off with Gia ten years ago, I would have never met her.

“I couldn’t take the risk at the time, but now . . .”

“Now what?”

His lips part, but darkness falls back over his face. “I don’t owe you answers. I’m only giving them to you so we can get this little dance over with a hell of a lot quicker. You and I both know that the longer we stand here, the more likely Gia will get hurt, or worse.”

“And what the hell do you propose we do?”

“We go and get her. What else?” His face tightens with irritation. “Get dressed, so we can get the fuck out of here before your little government friends show up and I have to put them down.”

“Do you plan on trying to put me down once we find Gia?” I think about where I stowed the gun the other day. I’ll need to bring it with me, preferably without him knowing.

He shrugs as if it’s the most casual topic in the world. “How about we let Gia decide?”

---

I grip Gia’s card in my hand and lean back in the seat. We’ve been on a commercial flight for two hours now. We didn’t have time to worry about whether or not Rory could track us. We’ll cross that bridge once we’ve found Gia.

“How exactly did you find us?”

I need to get my mind off the card, off what Gia wrote.

I know she didn’t mean what she wrote, that she only said she doesn’t give a damn about me to protect me, to keep me from coming after her. But that doesn’t mean her words don’t fucking hurt, lies or not.

“It’s what I do. I find people.” Gia’s dad polishes off his drink.

If I wasn’t still recovering from the binge drinking and the drugs, I’d probably take an IV of whiskey right about now. “And then you kill them?” I ask since no one else is around.

“Mostly.” He lifts the glass up so the flight attendant can see him. We’re in first class, thanks to my credit card. I figure if Rory is going to find us, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Jessica is able to track us, too.

“Are they all innocent? Do you ever feel bad?” I pat the card against my thigh, the nerves getting to me.

Having Gia’s safety out of my control is damn near maddening.

“Will knowing this make you feel better?” He snickers. “And do you think I care about how you feel?”

I shift my attention out the small open window. “Just trying to figure out how a former soldier turned into a murderer, and, you know, how you got her mom to ever fall for you.”

“Soldiers are killers.” He clears his throat, and a silence grows between us for a few minutes before he says, “And her mom didn’t know what I did for the McCullens.”

For some damn reason, part of me wants to try to understand how he could have Gia in his life and not be a better man because of it. I know I already am.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I have no redeeming qualities.” He mumbles something under his breath. “And from what I discovered about your crooked father and your lifestyle—neither do you.”

“A man can change.” I tense at the implication of my words, at the broad generalization I made, which could even include him.

“Not me.” He thanks the flight attendant after she refills his drink. “And probably not you.”