Kane was gone.
She’d thought that the way she’d proven herself tonight, the way the entire team had banded together to survive, would have shown him that being part of a team could be a good thing. That being part of a partnership could be a good thing. Instead, it had just reinforced his desire to run.
Pain sliced through her chest, not at all connected to her sore limbs being forced to move again after she’d held them so stiffly while under the SUV and during her panic attack afterward. But she ignored it and hurried after Pembrook.
She couldn’t worry about Kane now, couldn’t think about losing him as a partner. Couldn’t think about how much she wanted to keep working with him. How much she wanted to keep seeing him, talking to him, arguing with him.
Right now, she needed to focus on Davis. Right now, she needed to help find Davis.
* * *
JOEL PETROV HAD ambushed him.
The realization hurt more than whatever Joel had used to knock him out when Davis had arrived at the remote testing facility.
He’d come here full of excitement about a new lead on Eric Ross, but as he slowly sat up and discovered himself in the middle of a firing lane, Davis knew. Joel had planted all the records leading to Eric, the security card access times and the supply orders.
“When did you know?” Davis asked. His words didn’t sound quite right, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He pushed himself up to a kneeling position, got ready to try to stand.
“Don’t,” Joel warned.
Davis looked up and his vision blurred, but when he blinked a few times, the two versions of Joel merged into one. And that Joel was holding a pistol, aiming it straight at Davis. Close enough not to miss, far enough that there was no way Davis could rush him.
Subtly, Davis used one hand to pat his pocket, searching for his phone. The other pressed against the back of his head, felt the sticky evidence of blood.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but it was long enough for Joel to have dragged him into this firing lane. Between the heavy throbbing in his head and the blood now smearing his hand, he knew he had a concussion.
It wasn’t the first time. He’d been too close to an IED on a ranger mission once, been knocked nearly twenty feet from the explosion. But back then, he’d had a team to drag him out of the line of fire, get him on a medevac helicopter. Now, he was alone, and he had no one to blame but himself and his desperation to close this case.
He’d told his team he suspected Eric. He hadn’t told them he was meeting Leila’s uncle.
“Looking for this?” Joel asked, holding up Davis’s FBI phone and then setting it on the counter near the front of the shooting lane. “I’ve known you were FBI for days.” An ironic smile lifted one side of his lips. “Eric told me. After I knocked you out, I turned the phone off.”
His team couldn’t track him. Davis swayed a little on his knees, felt nausea rise up his throat. How hard had Joel hit him?
“Sorry,” the man said, seemingly reading his mind. “Couldn’t take any chances you’d wake up before I was ready.”
“And now what?” Davis croaked, his voice sounding as off as his head felt. “You shoot me? You honestly believe this won’t come back to you? This isn’t exactly a good site for a botched mugging.”
Joel’s lips twisted into an angry snarl. “You think I don’t have a plan for you? You think this is going to be hard for me? After what I had to do to my own brother? I had no choice then. Neal figured it out. Believe me, if there’d been another way—”
“He wasn’t in on it?”
“Neal? Not follow the rules when it came to his company, his baby?” Joel snorted, a nasty, jealous sound. “No way.”
“It was you all along,” Davis stated. “Did you step in after Leila’s mother died to help your brother out, or did you just see an opportunity right from the start?”
He heard the anger in his own voice, knew it was for Leila. She’d been right about her father. He wished she hadn’t been so wrong about her uncle.
“I took over the company for Neal,” Joel bit out. “He needed me. It was the two of us again—mostly—like it had always been growing up. Back then, he tried to look out for me. Our parents were no picnic, you know. This was finally my chance to repay him.”
As Davis remembered how Leila had mentioned the abuse her father and uncle had suffered from their parents, Joel continued. “We’d been so close once. But as we got older, we grew apart. Then he got married, something both of us swore we’d never do. I tried to be happy for him, but I never quite knew how. When they had Leila, Neal wanted me back in their lives and so I came.” The bitterness turned wistful. “But when his wife died, I knew it could be the two of us against the world again.”
Melinda would be fascinated by the psychology here. Davis’s mind was drifting, probably the concussion. He shook his head, trying to focus on what mattered, but only managed to make it pound harder, putting zigzagging lines over his vision.
Focusing made his head hurt worse, made him feel like he might pass out again. But if he did, he wouldn’t be able to talk Joel out of shooting him, and he’d never wake up again. So he pressed on. “Leila is just collateral in your quest for money? Isn’t the millions you’ve already made illegally off that company enough? You needed to kill soldiers, destroy your niece, too?”
The anger turned to fury, enough that Davis imagined he could rush Joel, take him down. But it was wishful thinking. The man was too far away, and even when he wasn’t moving—or didn’t think he was moving—Davis felt like he was swaying back and forth.
“That armor wasn’t supposed to kill anyone.”
“Yeah, you sound all broken up over it,” Davis snapped, unable to help himself as an image of Jessica—proud in her army uniform, showing him a picture of her three kids—filled his mind.
“Look, those parts were cheaper, sure, but they were going to be sold to someone. How was I supposed to know they’d fail so badly? You think I wanted that kind of scrutiny?”
Davis gritted his teeth, trying to hold in a nasty response. Eighteen soldiers and seven locals had died in Afghanistan, and Joel Petrov was still thinking about himself.
“As for Leila, she never should have found out anything was wrong,” Joel said. “When her dad convinced the board to put her in the CEO role, I thought it was perfect. She was too young for the job, too trusting of the people she loves.” He frowned, deep grooves forming between his eyebrows, then he shook his head and muttered, “She never should have stopped the gun production,” as if what had happened was Leila’s fault.
“You can’t go back now,” Davis said. “She let me into the company. She knows I’m FBI. If something happens to me—”
“She’ll blame Eric, the way I intended,” Joel said, finishing for him. He glanced at his watch. “And now, I’m sorry, but I’m finished talking.” He centered the pistol more carefully, steadying it.
“This won’t work,” Davis insisted, putting a hand to his temple, the knock to his head or the blood loss making him way too woozy, making his brain feel like it was several steps behind.
“I’m sorry,” Joel repeated, and Davis closed his eyes, knowing he was out of options.
Bullets traveled faster than sound, so Davis didn’t expect to hear anything, but a noise made his eyes pop open.
“Uncle Joel, stop!”
Leila stood behind Joel, out of breath and looking horrified.
Joel shifted sideways, so she wasn’t directly behind him, then took a few steps forward, toward Davis. But he turned his pistol on Leila.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, a note of finality in his voice.
“No!” Davis yelled, trying to lurch to his feet. He stumbled and fell back to his knees, his hands scraping against the hard floor, but Joel’s gun whipped back in his direction.
“Uncle Joel,�
�� Leila said, her voice full of fear and disbelief. “Please don’t do this.”
“I’m sorry, Leila,” Joel said, and he actually sounded it as he centered his gun on Davis once again.
“I love him,” Leila burst out.
The gun wavered and Davis shook his head, as if there was water in his ears he needed to shake out in order to hear properly.
She loved him? Was she saying it just to stop her uncle from killing him? Or did she actually mean it?
Either way, his heart started pounding double-time, telling Davis two truths: he loved her, too, and he was probably going to die without ever getting the chance to tell her.
Chapter Twenty-One
The man she loved was about to die. And the man who’d helped raise her was going to kill him.
Leila took a deep breath, took a step closer. She kept her gaze centered on her uncle, not daring to look at Davis right now. She was too afraid of what she’d see. Not just because of the declaration of love she’d blurted, but also because he looked badly hurt. Blood saturated one side of his head, dripping down his neck and onto his T-shirt. He’d been swaying on his knees when she walked in, had almost face-planted when he tried to stand. Even if she could convince her uncle not to kill him—not to kill them both—he might not make it.
“You killed my father,” she whispered, pain in her voice. “How could you do that? He was your only brother, your only real family besides me.”
Her uncle’s jaw quivered, but his gun hand didn’t waver. “I didn’t want to do it, Leila.”
“Your greed was really worth more than my father’s life?” Leila burst out, almost a yell.
“It wasn’t about greed,” her uncle Joel replied, his tone almost apologetic. Almost, but not quite.
“What was it about, then?” Leila demanded, still not daring to look at Davis. Maybe if she could slowly move closer to her uncle, get him to lower his gun—or try to take it from him—maybe she could save them both.
“Power,” he said simply.
“Power? Is that supposed to be any better?”
“No.” His gun lowered slightly, his attention on her instead of Davis.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Davis inch slowly forward on his knees. His chest heaved as he took in deep breaths, obviously in danger of passing out.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” her uncle said. “Your dad wanted to spare you the details of what happened to us as kids, but—”
“I know it was bad,” Leila said softly. Her dad hadn’t shared much of it, but he’d told her enough. Their childhood had been horrific. They’d only been able to rely on each other. Once when she was supposed to have been upstairs in bed, she’d heard her dad confiding to her mom that he was afraid Uncle Joel had locked up his emotions so tight that he’d never be able to feel anything.
But that couldn’t really be true. He’d moved in with them for several years. He’d been there every morning, making her breakfast, walking her to the bus even when she insisted she was old enough to go by herself. Him telling her sternly that she didn’t understand what dangers could be out there, how he’d never let her be hurt the way he’d been hurt.
He loved her. She knew he did.
That certainty bolstered her courage, made her take a big step closer. “Uncle Joel,” she whispered, “I love you, too. Please, you can’t do this.”
“I can’t go to jail,” he whispered back. “Power. Control over my own life. It’s all I ever wanted growing up. I know it sounds crazy, but no amount of money, no safety net, ever feels like enough. I know you don’t approve, but I worked hard for this. I’m not letting him destroy it.”
“You destroyed it,” Leila snapped just as Uncle Joel started to focus on Davis again.
Davis, who was still inching forward, but so slowly he’d never get anywhere near close enough to rush her uncle. It would be a fatal mistake for him to try. He was way too disoriented from whatever her uncle had hit him over the head with.
“You destroyed my father’s company,” she continued, anger rushing back in. “You killed my father. You betrayed all of us. How could you?”
He shook his head, backed slightly away from her, his face shuttering, and Leila knew she was losing him.
“You love me,” she insisted, stepping toward him again, even as she slid one hand inside her purse. “I know you do.”
“Maybe I’m not truly capable of loving anyone,” he said softly, sadly, as he aimed his gun at her again.
But it shook badly and he quickly re-aimed it at Davis. No matter what he said, she was pretty certain he wouldn’t kill her. But she couldn’t say the same about Davis.
“Yes, you are,” she said, her fingers closing around the small pistol she’d carried since being attacked. Her own threat to counterbalance his, a last resort, since she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to actually fire on him. The man who’d help make her who she was, who’d taught her to be strong, made her feel like she mattered when her whole world had been crashing down. “You love me. You protected me. You always did.”
As she said the words, her certainty grew. The fury she felt was still mixed with confusion, disbelief so strong that she knew it hadn’t fully set in that he’d killed her father. It sounded so unreal, even in her own mind. The love she had for him, the man who’d put his whole life on hold for years to make sure she was okay? Even knowing what he’d done, she couldn’t just erase it all.
Yes, he’d stumbled onto an opportunity to make money illegally in her father’s company at the same time. But that hadn’t been his original goal. If it had been the only thing that really mattered to him, he could have bailed on her at any time. He’d had enough control of the company at the time that a takeover would have been easy. Back then, he would have signed over his company without a word of protest. In his darkest moments, he’d tried to sell it to his brother, wanting to be rid of it. Uncle Joel had never accepted; he’s just kept it going for his brother.
He’d never once, in all those years, let her down. As much as he’d betrayed her now, deep down she knew that her life could have taken a very different path without him. Children’s Services had been on the verge of taking her away, placing her in foster care. She would have been alone in the world. Knowing how lost she’d been back then, there was no doubt it would have destroyed her.
In so many ways, she had her uncle Joel to thank for how she’d grown up. She’d never be able to forgive him for killing her father, destroying her company. Even now, hatred was blooming in her chest as she stared at him. But she couldn’t completely turn her back on him, leave him alone in the world either.
“I still love you, Uncle Joel,” she told him. She choked on the words, which felt like a betrayal to her father. But she reached a hand out to him, held it palm up, silently begging him to set the gun there. To be the man who’d raised her. To choose her over himself, to go to jail rather than kill another person she loved.
Because she did love Davis. She wasn’t quite sure when it had happened, or how it had happened so quickly. She might doubt his intentions, doubt if what he felt for her was real, but she had no doubts about her feelings.
“Please,” she begged her uncle, stretching her hand even farther.
His chin quivered, his gaze drifting to the weapon, then to her hand. If he noticed that Davis was a few feet closer than he’d been before, he didn’t show it. Or maybe it didn’t matter, since he still wasn’t close enough.
“Please,” she begged again, knowing he was wavering, knowing him.
His throat moved as he swallowed hard, and then his gaze went back to the weapon, his head giving a little shake, and she knew he’d made his choice.
She had a choice right now, too. The man who’d helped raise her, who’d without question saved her life when she was a child, the uncle she loved despite everything. Or the man she’d fallen for, the ma
n who’d planned to leave in the end, but she loved anyway.
Leila let out a wail that sounded almost inhuman as she lifted the hand still hidden inside her purse, and fired her weapon.
And a man she loved fell to the floor.
Epilogue
Leila had killed her uncle.
One week ago, there’d been a single instant to make a choice—Uncle Joel or Davis. It had been half instinct when she’d fired that shot. But her aim had been true. Center mass, the way her dad had trained her so many years ago. A kill shot.
She’d never thought she’d need to use it on someone she loved. Never thought she’d do it to protect someone else she loved.
Davis had spent two days in the hospital. One of his teammates had updated her a few hours after she’d shot her uncle, telling her Davis had a pretty severe concussion. She’d been numb by then, having given her statement more than once to local police and then Davis’s team, who’d rushed in a few moments after she called 911.
The woman who’d told her about his condition, a profiler with kind eyes, had called her a few days ago to let her know Davis had been released from the hospital, cleared to go back to work. Apparently he was already working on a new case.
She hadn’t spoken to him since the paramedics had loaded him into that ambulance, clinging to consciousness through sheer will. In that moment she’d squeezed his hand, pressed a brief kiss to his lips despite all the FBI agents watching. Then she’d walked away.
Leila had killed her uncle for him. In that instant her entire life had changed.
Leaning back in the chair in her father’s office, Leila glanced around at the familiar room, somehow made foreign without her dad in it. She hadn’t officially moved into his office—and she didn’t plan to—but being here made her feel closer to him. She hadn’t been able to go into her uncle’s office yet. She wasn’t sure when that would happen, if it ever would. Every memory she had of him now was tainted by the knowledge that he’d killed her father, by the look in his eyes when she’d known he was willing to kill Davis, too. Yet, a part of her still loved him, the man who’d claimed he wasn’t sure if he even knew how to love. But he’d loved her. She still believed that.
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