by Pam Godwin
His gun clicked dry. Empty.
Oh, fucking fuck.
The shooter tipped his head, and a cold-blooded smirk twisted his lips. He held his gun out one-handed and took a cocky step forward, aimed to kill.
Cole knew his next breath would be his last, and as he drew it into his lungs, the squeal of tires sounded. A motor revved, and a speeding car flew into the intersection and slammed into the gunman. The impact hit him like a freight train, bending him in half. The wrong way.
The body buckled beneath the car, succumbing to the brutal spin of tires and bouncing the vehicle like a speed bump.
His mouth dried, his muscles locked in shock. It took a full second to snap out of his stupor and focus on the snow-covered car.
It skidded to a stop. The tires spun in reverse, and it raced backward, running over the body a second time. Hope swelled in his chest.
Ice coated the windows, blocking his view of the driver. But as the door swung open, he already knew, his feet racing forward, his heart rate exploding.
Lydia poked her head out.
“Cole!” Her neck twisted toward the sound of approaching sirens. “Hurry!”
He slid past the open door, crashing in behind the steering wheel and shoving her into the passenger seat. Then he hit the gas, bouncing over the body and speeding down the street.
She stared at the side mirror, watching the flash of chasing lights, her voice numb. “Are you shot?”
“No.”
He wanted to scold her for disobeying him and leaving the house, but under the circumstances, he wouldn’t dare. She’d lost her brother and saved Cole’s life. Her courage took his breath away, leaving him gobsmacked and awe-struck.
“Where did you get the car?” He pushed the small sedan to its mechanical limits as he squealed around bends and tore through intersections, weaving, dodging traffic, and trying to outrun the gardai behind them.
“I stole it. Where are we going?”
Her voice was wooden, her posture stiff. He couldn’t fathom how she was doing. She kept it buried, just like he’d demanded.
“Looks like I lost the gardai.” He gripped the wheel, his eyes on the rearview and his neck aching with tension. “We’ll dump the car, go to my rented apartment, and stay the night there. Tomorrow, we fly to the states.”
Without Mike.
He didn’t make promises that everything would be okay. All he could do was hope that when revenge came, it would bring her some sort of closure, something more justified and bearable than leaving her brother lying dead in the snow.
Until then, he would hold her through the pain.
Cole didn’t know how to do this, if he was doing it right or making it worse. He wasn’t a grief counselor. He’d never tried to console someone through the loss of a loved one.
Watching Lydia suffer and being helpless to fix it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
She’d held herself together until they reached the apartment. Once they were safely inside, he removed their clothes and carried her into the shower.
That was where she lost it. The anguish pouring out of her tore the flesh around his heart. She cried so hard she vomited. She cried until she hyperventilated. Her pain was all-consuming, strangling her from the inside out.
It made him realize with gut-wrenching misery that when he’d faked his death, Danni had gone through something similar. She’d told him later that her grieving process had been so ugly that she’d drowned herself in grain alcohol for months. He thought he’d understood what she was saying. But he hadn’t.
He understood now. Every harrowing tear, each body-wracking sob, the immeasurable, yawning despair that rendered the soul forever scarred—he felt it all with Lydia as he held her in his arms.
Tucked beneath layers of blankets in the bed, he entwined his body around her and cradled her through the night. Eventually, her choking sobs waned, giving way to exhaustion and listlessness.
She didn’t speak beyond one-word responses, but he refused to rush her. She needed to go through this at her own pace. When she was ready to talk about it, he would listen.
Right now, his job was to take care of her.
He forced fluids and tried to make her eat. He kept a constant vigilance on the perimeter, overly cautious and paranoid about being followed. Everywhere he traveled, he chose lodging with the best security. This apartment was no exception. But it was no longer just his life he was protecting.
He was responsible for her safety, physical wellbeing, and emotional health.
Hefting the thick mass of her hair in his hand, he laid it against her shoulder, smoothing it, caressing it where it fell in soft waves of satin against her throat and chest.
From roots to tips, he gently finger-combed the strands. Over and over, with each rhythmic stroke, her eyelids grew heavier, the furrows in her forehead flattening out. The hitches in her breaths came with longer stretches in between until they vanished altogether. She was finally falling asleep.
“It’s really hard not to love you, Cole.”
The feeble sound of her voice startled him, but it was her words that gave him pause. He didn’t have to ask why she would try not to love him. He knew from experience that love was a risk, its longevity never guaranteed. At any moment, it could be taken away.
Her father, Shannon, Mike—everyone she’d ever loved had been taken from her. Maybe it was safer to avoid all forms of love.
But after eight years of being alone, he knew it was far better to experience all the ups and downs with a partner, to fight together, and spark joy in each other. Loneliness was never a better option.
“Do it anyway,” he said.
Her fingers twitched against his chest, her voice a thready whisper. “Did you just order me to love you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Take your time. I’ll wait.”
Danni had said that love wasn’t a choice, and she was right. Love was a chance.
A chance worth taking.
She whimpered and cleared her throat. “It hurts, Cole.”
“Tell me what to do.” He pulled her tighter to his chest.
“This.” She melted against him, accepting his embrace. “Don’t let go.”
“Never.”
Not this time.
She fought the pull of sleep, but at last, her body won out and dragged her under.
Reluctantly, carefully, he slipped out of bed, stepped into the bathroom, and called Rylee. She listened as he updated her on everything that had happened since the moment he decided to walk into Lydia’s house.
When he finished, she blew a breath into the phone. “God, Cole. My heart is so happy and sad at the same time. I’m glad she has you right now.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“She needs you to watch over her and hold her hand while she grieves. Just keep doing that.” Her voice softened. “I look forward to finally meeting her.”
“This is almost over.”
“Matias selected the team for the heist you’re planning with the hacker. They’re on their way to you now. He’s bringing the best. Obviously, I’m not with them.”
“You’ll be on the next mission.”
“I know. Get back to your girl, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
“Night, Rylee.”
“Night, Cole.”
He made two more calls, touching base with Matias and Romero. If the gardai or Vincent Barrington’s men showed up here looking for him or Lydia, Romero would know. The kid was linked into the apartment’s security system, as well as multiple security cameras throughout the surrounding blocks.
With that comforting news, Cole returned to Lydia and grabbed some much-needed sleep.
The next morning, he was all business. From the moment they woke, stepped out of the apartment, caught a cab, boarded Matias’ private plane, and lifted off the tarmac, every thought in his head and measure he took focused on the safety of Lydia and the team.
Lydia sat beside him in the front of the jet, staring out the small window as they ascended through the clouds. She hadn’t spoken much since she woke, and her limbs barely moved. Almost as if she were in a state of catatonia.
“Lydia.” He rested a hand on her denim-clad thigh.
She turned to him, the skin around her eyes red and puffy despite not having shed a single tear today. “Don’t ask me if I’m okay.”
“I won’t.”
“But you want to know how I’m doing.”
“For sure.”
“It changes by the second. I feel strong one moment and utterly paralyzed the next.” She rubbed her breastbone, wearing the weight of her heart in the shadows on her beautiful face. “I don’t want to cry, and I don’t want to pretend I’m fine. So I’m balancing on this plateau in emotional limbo.”
“It’s okay to cry,” he murmured.
“There’s a time and place.” She gripped his hand and squeezed. “I want to do that with you, when it’s just us. Which is weird because I’m not a crier. I was a ball of rage when my dad died, and I was a pillar of strength for Mike when Shannon died. But now, God, this is so much harder. It feels too heavy to carry. But I know I can. I will. Because of you.” She unbuckled her seat belt and twisted to face him fully, resting a hand on his whiskers. “You’ve seen me at my worst. As if all the things I did to you in Texas weren’t bad enough. Now you’ve seen me cry for ten hours straight.”
“If that’s your worst—”
“I puked all over your feet in the shower.”
“I was there.”
“Exactly,” she said quietly. “You were there. You’re still here.”
“I’m committed, Lydia.”
She said nothing and drew her gaze away, her smooth cheeks and pert freckled nose illuminated by the window light. Then she leaned toward him and rested her mouth against his shoulder, her hands curving around his ribs.
He encircled her slight body with one arm and pulled her onto his lap. “I want you to meet my friends.”
“They should want to kill me, not help me.”
“I told them your drone was a bluff. You already know who they are and what we do. They appreciate a good deception tactic.” He stroked along the length of her tumbled hair. “You’re exactly the kind of person they want fighting alongside them, not against them.”
“I want to meet them.”
He stood, taking her with him, and led her to the rear of the cabin.
Matias had assembled a six-person team for this operation. Seven, if he counted Romero, who remained in Colombia surrounded by his equipment. Matias had an elaborate computer lab built for the kid, complete with his own geek squad.
He reached the cabin’s lounge area, and six pairs of eyes greeted him, spreading a feeling of weightlessness in his chest. He’d been gone fifteen months, and he fucking missed these assholes.
As he opened his mouth to start the introductions, Lydia beat him to it.
“Matias.” She stretched out a hand toward the black-haired Colombian. “Thank you for the ride.”
Matias unfolded his hulking frame from the couch and rose to his full height. “It’s a pleasure, Lydia.” They shook hands, and Matias motioned at the others. “This is my wife, Camila, and her sister, Lucia. The token white guy is Tate.”
“I fucking hate this guy,” Tate said to Lydia. “If I weren’t in love with his sister-in-law, I would’ve snuffed him already.”
Lydia’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock.
Cole smiled at the interaction. He didn’t know how much she’d retained from the other night when he walked her through the backgrounds and relationships of all his friends. But she knew their roles and connections to one another. No doubt she’d heard some terrifying rumors about Matias. His brutal, mafia-style code of respect made him the most feared cartel capo in Colombia. But when he wasn’t striking terror into the hearts of his enemies, he was annoyingly charming.
“Ignore them.” Kate climbed out of the adjacent seat and gripped Lydia’s hand, holding on for a long moment. “I’m Kate, the resident doctor-in-training. I’m just here to patch up any injuries.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Same. I’ll be honest. We’ve all been so curious about you. Cole’s not the most forthcoming guy, so to see him with you…” She cupped a hand around her mouth and stage-whispered, “with a woman, well, it’s a little tantalizing.”
Laughter rumbled through the cabin.
Lydia found his gaze, and he thought if she weren’t hurting so badly, she might’ve smiled.
“This is my husband, Tiago.” Kate flicked a finger behind her. “Don’t mind his death-glare. I promise his body-count has gone way down in the past two years. He’s almost rehabilitated.”
A smile slid across the lounging male’s face as he yanked her onto his lap and sank his teeth into her neck, making her yelp.
Tiago Badell, the once-notorious Venezuelan crime lord, had to put forth a lot of effort to integrate into their tight-knit family. His past with Lucia and Kate wasn’t pretty, and his demeanor radiated an air of cruelty that hadn’t diminished with time. But they trusted him. He wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.
“Here. Sit.” Camila gave up her seat and moved to Matias’ lap. “Hang out with us. Tell us about your brother.”
Lydia stiffened, and he touched her back, trailing a knuckle down her spine.
“You’re not ready. I get that,” Camila said softly. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet him.”
“You don’t have to talk at all.” Lucia pursed her lips. “Or you can tell us some of Cole’s dirty secrets in your Russian accent. We’ve known him for years but not the way you know him.” She winked.
“We’re done here.” Cole started to pull Lydia toward the front.
She pulled back and stepped toward the empty seat beside Camila. “Just a warning, I’m not the best company right now. But I’d like to hang out and get to know you guys.”
That was a good sign. Any sign of life was promising. He knew she faced a tough road ahead, and there would be days when the grief overwhelmed her. But he liked seeing her among his friends. He loved it, actually. The interaction would soothe her and drive home the fact that she wasn’t alone. She also needed to establish trust with them since they were all headed into an operation together.
In one week, they would fly back to Europe and visit the clubs where she’d seen the most Easter eggs. With any luck, her new dancing skills would lure the hacker into the open. Then this would all be over.
The nine-hour flight from Dublin to Missouri passed quickly, thanks to the nonstop conversation. He had a lot of catching up to do with his friends.
Lydia listened to their stories without comment, her intelligent eyes taking everything in. She wasn’t standoffish. She was fighting an inner battle, drowning beneath the gravity of the past twenty-four hours.
He watched her closely and caressed her constantly. Every touch she returned in kind, affirming her strength. She wasn’t shutting down. She was fighting through this.
It was after dark when they arrived at the lakehouse. He didn’t recognize the black Rolls-Royce Wraith in the driveway, but he knew it belonged to Trace Savoy. The man had a passion for expensive luxury cars.
As he stepped out of the rented SUV and unloaded their bags, Lydia stopped him with a hand on his arm.
Footsteps moved around them as the others collected their things and headed toward the front door.
“It’s been eight years.” She searched his eyes.
Eight years since he’d seen Danni.
“I know.” He brushed a red lock of hair from her face.
“Aren’t you the least bit freaked out?”
“A year ago, I might’ve been apprehensive. But today? With you? Not at all. I’m not excited about introducing my friends to Trace. Too many strong personalities in
one room is a recipe for trouble. But they’ll behave.”
She nodded and stepped into him, hugging his waist and resting her forehead on his chest. “Thank you for doing this.”
“I want this.” His blood heated. “Maybe not as badly as you do, but I want revenge for the same reasons. For everything you’ve lost and for the safety of our country.”
“Good.” She straightened and twined her fingers with his. “Let’s go teach me how to dance.”
When they entered the house, Trace met them at the door. Alone.
A glance over Trace’s shoulder revealed a vacant living room and kitchen. No Danni.
Goddammit. If she didn’t come—
“She wasn’t feeling well.” Trace read his thoughts and nodded at the hallway. “She’s taking a nap.”
Tension released from his shoulders as he took in Trace’s crisp black suit, six-foot-four frame, and brooding scowl. Always scowling. Predictably broody.
To those who didn’t know Trace, he exuded a severe, imposing, pretentious demeanor that reeked of money. His inheritance had made him obscenely wealthy, and he owned The Regal Arch Casino and Hotel, which had grown into a booming enterprise. But he hadn’t always been a cutthroat businessman.
He met Trace in the activity. They were operatives in the field together, inseparable for years while running dangerous missions. Spending time with someone like that, doing what they did, built a level of trust that couldn’t be imitated. They knew each other’s weaknesses, fears, dirty habits, every secret. They were brothers in arms. Best friends.
When Trace took a promotion to be his handler—essentially his boss—it had been a great fit. They already had a relationship built on trust. For the next few years, Trace guided him through every operation, and he trusted Trace not to get him killed.
Their work relationship ended when Trace’s parents died. He retired and donned a tailored suit. But they remained best friends.
Until Danni.
All those memories came rushing back as he met and held Trace’s stark blue gaze. He waited for the blistering resentment to surge with it. The betrayal. The toxic jealousy. But none of it inflamed. Because it no longer existed.
As he stood face-to-face with Danni’s husband, he only felt resolution, contentment, and gratitude.