Murphy’s Law: Murphy’s Law Book One

by Michelle St. James

  He eyed the stairs, then veered to the right, slipping into a door behind the bar as one of the servers exited. The room hidden behind it was brightly lit but sleek and quiet, lined with glass-fronted refrigerators that hummed under the muted beat of the music in the club.

  He started forward, eyeing the liquor kept in the refrigerators, all of them reporting their temperatures on a digital readout on the glass: a different temperature for champagne than red wine, for vermouth than sherry.

  Nothing said more about Gold’s clientele than the storeroom, catering to people used to having even their cocktails climate-controlled.

  He continued to the back of the room, looking for the entrance to the upper floors he knew had to be there. He’d seen servers on the first and second floors, but he hadn’t seen a single one approach the third floor.

  Somewhere here was another way up.

  He was almost to the end of the room when he spotted the guard, previously hidden by the rows of refrigerators, standing next to a gold door. The man registered Ronan’s arrival with surprise. He was reaching into his jacket when Ronan put a bullet between his eyes, grateful for the silencer he’d packed in the duffel full of weaponry he’d brought from MIS.

  The man slumped to the ground, eyes wide.

  Ronan dragged him away from the door, stashing him behind a refrigerator that appeared to store port.

  Perfect. Who drank port at a club? With any luck he and Julia would be out of here with Elise before anyone noticed the body, although he wasn’t fool enough to think the dead guard would be his only obstacle.

  He kept his weapons drawn as he opened the door. An iron staircase wound upwards in a wood paneled room.

  Fuck.

  He looked at his shoes and hoped he could be quiet enough on the iron treads not to attract attention.

  Julia’s face flashed in his mind, and he started slowly up the stairs.

  * * *

  Julia didn’t bother trying to hide her destination. Manifest knew she was here, and they knew why she’d come. There was no point wasting time.

  She slipped through the crowd and headed for the stairs. She tried not to think about Ronan, about the expression of fear and anger on his face when he’d realized she’d let go of his hand on purpose.

  She thought of her sister instead.

  I’m coming, Elise. I’m coming.

  She reached the stairs and started up to the second floor. A server with a blond ponytail descended the stairs carrying a bottle of Glenfiddich. She glanced at Julia before averting her eyes.

  Julia braced herself to be stopped, her heart pounding with every step, but she reached the second-floor landing unimpeded, the gun she’d tucked into a garter a reassuring weight against her thigh.

  She had a sweeping view of the club from the mezzanine, the music softer but still loud on the second floor. Four groups of people sat on the sofas, drinking and laughing, but none of them paid any attention to Julia. Their visibility on the open second floor told her they weren’t as important as they wanted to be.

  Here she was just another piece of candy for rich men to eat.

  She looked at the stairs leading to the third-floor and realized something she hadn’t been able to see from the dance floor: the entrance to the third floor stairs wrapped around, hidden in an alcove on the second floor.

  She started toward it, moving like she belonged. It was quieter still in the alcove, and she thought of the boutique where she’d staged her stakeout of Seth’s brownstone. Both hiding places were narrow, but they offered enough shadow for privacy, something visitors to the third floor obviously wanted.

  She had her foot on the bottom tread when she heard a soft shuffle behind her, felt the cold metal of a gun at her back. She sensed rather than saw the man who had appeared at her side.

  “You’re almost there. Don’t stop now.”

  * * *

  Ronan climbed the hidden staircase slowly, trying to minimize the sound of his shoes on the metal treads. He slowed as he approached the top, another door standing between him and the third floor.

  He hated not knowing where Julia was, knowing a stray bullet could kill her and that the stray bullet could be his.

  He pushed the thought from his mind, paused at the top of the stairs, and opened the door.

  * * *

  She could have made a scene on the stairs. Once they were out of the alcove, they were visible to the club-goers gyrating below.

  But what would have been the point? This was what she wanted. She would have gone with them without the gun if it meant getting to Elise.

  They stopped at the door leading to the closed-off third floor and the man spoke behind her. “It’s Fazil.” He must have been talking into a headset. “I’ve got her. Open the door.”

  The door opened with a faint buzz and an electronic click.

  “Move,” the man named Fazil said.

  She pushed the door open and stepped into a carpeted room that looked like the lobby of a luxury hotel — or a brothel. White velvet sofas were grouped in intimate seating areas on both sides of the landing.

  A slender man in a tailored suit sat on one of the sofas with a chic woman in trousers and a silk blouse. Both looked up at Julia dispassionately as Fazil led her toward a hall with the gun at her back.

  Two more guards stood on either side of the hall. They didn’t look concerned or surprised to see Fazil nudging her forward with his gun.

  “He in the office?” Fazil asked.

  One of the guards nodded. The other swept her body with his eyes.

  Fazil used the gun to give her a push and she stepped forward. He moved to her side, secure in the knowledge that she wasn’t going anywhere now that they were on the third floor, and opened the first door on the right.

  Julia had only enough time to take in the doors lining either side of the hall, another suited man emerging from one of them with a briefcase in hand, before she stepped into the first room.

  It was large and insulated from the outside world, the music nothing more than a beat beyond expensive carpets and dark wood, a modern chandelier dripping oblong crystals from the ceiling.

  She didn’t recognize the man standing behind the desk at one end of the room, but he recognized her.

  “Miss Berenger, I’m so happy you could make it.”

  * * *

  Ronan took an elbow to the face before he realized what he was dealing with on the third floor: two guards, both armed with semi-automatic weapons they already had drawn, though thankfully not yet leveled at his head just yet.

  He immobilized one of them in a headlock and dropped the other with a shot to the forehead. The body dropped with a satisfying thud, and he pressed his silenced weapon into the other guard’s temple and fired.

  He went limp in Ronan’s arm. Ronan let him slide quietly to the floor.

  The music was louder now that he was out of the hidden staircase, and he stood still, taking in the velvet curtain blocking his view from whatever was on the other side, waiting to see if anyone else had been alerted.

  When no one came, he eased the curtains open. It was a private room outfitted with furniture similar to the sofas and tables in the VIP areas downstairs, but the man and woman sitting on one of the couches were dressed in business attire and didn’t seem interested in having fun.

  They were waiting for someone. Or something.

  The place was obviously some kind of waiting room or lobby, and Ronan’s gaze slid to the two guards on either side of a hallway lined with doors. The music had served to cover his tussle with the other guards, but there was no way into that hall without going through the guards, and that was going to attract attention.

  He ducked back behind the curtains and swiftly considered his options.

  * * *

  “Where’s my sister?” Julia asked the man behind the desk.

  He was about sixty, tall and with a rounded stomach not quite disguised by the cut of his suit. Graying hair rimmed his balding pa
te, but Julia had the impression of violence and caught the shine of a mean streak in his dark eyes.

  Two other men stood to one side of the room. These ones didn’t try to hide what they were. Dressed in black tactical gear and holding automatic weapons, they watched her with a mixture of boredom and quiet awareness.

  “Your sister? How would I know your sister?” the man asked, his innocence intentionally overplayed. “Does she work here?”

  “I don’t have time for games. And whether you know it or not, neither do you,” she said. “You invited me here — or someone did. You know who I am. Just give me my sister and I’ll go.”

  The man chuckled, glanced at Fazil still standing next to her with his gun. “This one’s spirited. It must run in the family.”

  They had her. Elise was here.

  She didn’t think about what she did next. She just pivoted for the door, the name emerging from her mouth in a scream before she could even consider it.

  “Elise! I’m here Elise! I’m coming. Bang on the — ”

  Her words were cut off by a hand over her mouth, her body lifted off the floor.

  * * *

  Ronan’s head snapped up at the sound of the voice cutting through the air. It was barely audible under the sound of the music, but he knew that voice, would know it anywhere.

  And it was coming from the first door in the hall.

  He lifted his weapon and stepped into the lobby.

  The couple on the sofa looked up at him, their eyes going wide when they saw the gun.

  “Go,” he shouted, turning his gun on the guards at the front of the hall.

  They got up and hurried for the door at the top of the stairs without a backward glance. If he hadn’t been moving on the two guards, he would have admired the couple’s composure. They almost didn’t seem surprised.

  He squeezed the trigger on his weapon as something bit through his thigh. One of the guards fell, but the other one — the one who had just shot him — fired again.

  Ronan heard it whizz by his head, and he lashed out with his leg, knocking the guard back against the wall with a kick to the chest. It made noise, but Ronan didn’t expect anyone to hear it over the music.

  The man was scrambling for his dropped weapon when Ronan stood over him and fired into his chest. He fired another round into the man’s head for good measure and moved toward the door where he’d heard Julia scream.

  * * *

  Julia kicked and beat at the man holding her, his hand clamped over her nose and mouth, making it hard to breathe. She was trying to reach for her gun when she registered the man behind the desk talking to the guards at the side of the room.

  “Deal with her.” He reached for a headset and spoke into it. “We have a problem. Send reinforcements.”

  The two guards advanced on Julia, drawing their weapons.

  She forced herself not to panic even as she thrashed against Fazil, if only to keep him busy while her fingers inched toward the hem of her dress and the gun still pressed against her thigh.

  They were only steps away when the door burst open with a crash.

  Ronan stepped into the room, gun drawn, and fired on the approaching guards. It took them by surprise, and they both quickly fell.

  Fazil spun to face Ronan, obviously unsure how to handle the dual problems of Julia kicking at him and Ronan standing inches away with a gun.

  She saw the indecision in Ronan’s eyes, knew he wouldn’t fire on Fazil while he was holding Julia so close, his hand still over her mouth.

  Ronan turned his weapon on the man behind the desk instead, advancing on him with single-minded purpose, the shots from his gun strangely muffled.

  Julia felt the cold metal of her own gun at the tip of her fingers. She stopped kicking, used one of her heels to stomp on Fazil’s foot, and used the split second of surprise to grab for her gun.

  At first she thought the roar in the room was Ronan’s gun. Then Fazil dropped to the floor, his temple streaming blood from the hole she’d put there, and she knew the gun had been hers.

  She was turning toward Ronan when four men streamed through the door, weapons raised.

  * * *

  Ronan shoved her behind one of the sofas and dropped down next to her, firing his weapon. For a moment he was back in the desert, hiding behind a ruined tank, firing on men advancing from inside a bleached clay building.

  The men in the club were targets, nothing more, and he hit them one by one, waiting in the silence before pulling Julia to her feet.

  “She’s here!” Julia gasped. “I know she’s here in one of the rooms…”

  He dragged her out of the office and emerged into the hall, prepared to search behind the closed doors, when he spotted another guard standing between them and the other rooms.

  He was massive, his automatic weapon trained on Julia, the red light of the laser site glowing on her forehead.

  Screams sounded from the front of the club, the music suddenly cut off. It was only a matter of time before more men appeared on the third floor.

  Ronan’s gun was pointed at the man’s head, but there was no way Ronan could drop him before his bullet dropped Julia.

  “You can probably hit her,” Ronan acknowledged. “But you’re next.”

  A flicker of understanding passed over the man’s features. “Go.”

  “No!” Julia screamed. “No!”

  She started down the hall but Ronan grabbed her, picking her up off her feet as she kicked and screamed, shouting Elise’s name over and over again.

  The despair in her voice tore into him, but his mission had changed: get Julia out alive, live to find Elise another day.

  “Goddammit, you motherfucker, put me down! Don’t you dare… Elise! Elise! I’m coming!”

  She was crying and screaming as he launched into the hidden stairwell, kicking and punching him as he hurtled down the steps.

  He didn’t let himself think about the pain in her voice. Didn’t let himself think about what it would mean.

  30

  Ronan sat on the sand, watching Julia and Chief make their way down the beach. Chief had taken to her in the three weeks they’d been home from Dubai, pushing her snout into Julia’s hands for treats and laying at her feet as if the dog knew Julia needed comfort.

  Ronan wasn’t surprised. Chief knew a lot of things no one else knew.

  Julia’s shoulders were stooped as she walked, her hands hanging at her side, Chief brushing against her fingers every now and then. Ronan wondered how long it would be before the Julia he’d met returned, the one with flashing eyes and a fiery temper, the one who took no shit and took no prisoners.

  It had taken him years to get over Erin’s death — if you could call the acceptance he’d finally come to getting over it — and while they didn’t know if Elise was dead, the scene at Gold didn’t bode well for her.

  By the time Ronan had stepped from the refrigerator room onto the ground floor of the club, chaos had broken out, guests rushing for the doors and the elevators, the staff looking around in shock.

  Ronan had expected to be stopped, but the guards were absent on the first floor, probably because they’d been summoned to the third floor before Ronan shot the man behind the desk.

  Julia had been sobbing and swearing at him as he’d pulled her into the elevator with six other people, but they were so panicked and shell-shocked by the gunfire inside the club they must have assumed Julia was freaking out about the same thing.

  They’d emerged onto the streets of Dubai to find Amari waiting in the armored SUV and had driven straight to the airport. Ronan didn’t know who was behind Manifest — definitely not the pudgy man behind the desk, he was just a stooge — but whoever it was would come for them after what had happened.

  Ronan wasn’t taking any chances. Not with the possibility they’d be detained in the UAE at the behest of Manifest's members, or the possibility that Julia would make a break for it, return to the club to try and find Elise.

  H
e’d had to force her on the plane, had spent fourteen hours with his heart splitting in two as Julia sobbed, her forehead against the plane’s window.

  When they’d landed she’d shrugged him off and asked to be taken home. Ronan didn’t like the idea of her being alone, didn’t like the idea of her being away from him after all that had happened, but he wasn’t going to hold her prisoner.

  He’d dropped her off and assigned one of MIS’s men to keep an eye on her place to make sure no one tried to fuck with her. Then he’d gone home and gotten to work, picking apart everything that had happened, debriefing with Nick and Declan as they made notes, describing every person they’d encountered, the layout of the club, every detail he could remember.

  Julia had been ever-present in his mind, a ghost in his dreams when he slept.

  Two days later John Taylor had appeared at MIS. Ronan had braced himself for their client’s anger, but the old man had only thanked him for trying and for keeping Julia alive.

  Then he’d told Ronan that Julia needed him, whether she was willing to admit it or not.

  Ronan had gone to Julia’s apartment as soon as Taylor left and had been surprised when Julia let him in without a word.

  She was already thinner, her face drawn, shadows smudged under her eyes. His heart constricted at the sight of her, at the pain he knew she was feeling, at the knowledge that he hadn’t been able to save Elise.

  He’d opened his mouth to apologize, but she’d just taken his hand and led him to the bedroom. They’d made love slowly, Julia’s body coming to life under his hands, even if her eyes were still flat afterward.

  “I’m sorry,” he’d said, holding her naked body in the dark.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said softly. “You did what you had to do.”