Page 99 of Ford

Ford had stilled at her voice. “Coco?”

“Hey, Ford.” Kat lifted a shoulder, like no big deal, and Ford took two steps and pulled her into his embrace, a family kind of affection in the way he lifted her up, swung her around.

The petite woman next to him wore a strange expression, something almost of hurt on her face.

He put Kat down. “Are you kidding me? Wyatt said you were here, but…how’d you get involved with this?”

“She tracked down the real assassin,” RJ said.

York glanced toward the railway tracks. A light shone on the yard, the long green train now moving as it ended its stop.

They needed to get going, get away from anyone who might have boarded the train looking for them and found them gone. The other end of the alleyway opened into the street, the lights there bathing the escape like the floodlights of the DMZ.

Possibly, his imagination was getting away with him.

“They may still be chasing us. We need to get moving,” York said.

“We were attacked by the Bratva,” RJ said. “York was cut—”

“The Bratva,” Ford said, but didn’t sound surprised. “We met them in Moscow.”

“Perfect. So now all they had to do was follow you,” York said.

“You weren’t that hard to find, pal,” Ford snapped.

York turned to RJ. “Let’s go. We can’t stick around here.” He reached out for her hand, but Ford caught his wrist.

“She’s going with me.”

York yanked his arm away. “Step back there, frogman, this isn’t your play. Keep up, if you want, but Ruby Jane is my responsibility.”

“Hardly. She’s my sister. She’s been my responsibility since we were in the freakin’ womb, tough guy, so—”

The first bullet pinged off the UAZ parked in the shadows.

“Get down!” York leaped for RJ, slamming her hard into the dark pavement.

She grunted.

“Sorry.”

Beside him, Kat had also hit the dirt.

Another shot and he lowered his head, his breath close to RJ’s ear. “Do. Not. Move.”

He felt her nod.

Then he got up and sprinted through the darkness toward the shooter.

9

Ford hadn’t tracked his sister halfway across the world to watch her get shot in a grimy alleyway in the middle of Russia. Nearly Siberia, if he remembered his geography.

Another shot skipped off the metal surface of a dump truck–sized vehicle that blocked the entrance of the alleyway. His sister lay on the ground, Coco, also prone next to her.

He glanced around in search of Scarlett. “Red!”

“Over here.” She was huddled behind the front of the truck. He slipped over to her. “Stay here.”

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