Page 96 of Warrior's Cross

He stopped and leaned against a decorative column for protection, shivering as he tried to dispel his morbid thoughts. The shot had been taken; there was no use lingering over it. He looked up and down the road, knowing that Arlo might still be out there. Julian thought he’d killed him. He was pretty sure. But he, of all people, knew that unless he carried his enemy’s body parts with him when he left, the enemy might still be out there.

Julian pushed away from the wall and kept moving. After what seemed an eternity of slow, slightly dragging steps, he came within sight of the high-rise that hosted Tuesdays on its top floor. Julian stared at it gratefully for a long moment before soldiering on. He slid in through the revolving glass doors and stumbled to the elevators. He was relieved to find that they were still on and working even though it was late, and he leaned against the inside of the car as it soared upward.

When the elevator stopped with a jolt, Julian lurched and groaned with the sudden change of motion. He was exhausted, almost physically unable to put one foot in front of the other. The doors opened silently, and Julian stood staring at the floor blankly. Finally, he pushed away from the mirrored wall of the elevator car and began walking toward the glass doors of the restaurant.

“Is he really Irish, Preston?” Cameron asked tentatively as they sat at the bar and waited.

“He is today,” Preston answered wryly before taking a small sip of the whiskey in his hand.

Cameron sighed and let it drop. Preston obviously had the same theory as Julian when it came to straight answers. They answered your question, but not in any useful way.

They were managing to make conversation, though. Nothing important or heavy, just idle discussion, anything to force the time to pass. Cameron was hard-pressed not to ask Preston more questions he knew the man wouldn’t answer.

But the later time the clock displayed, the more frightened Cameron got. Julian had seemed to have no confidence in his ability to make it through the night, and Blake and Preston were both somber and worried. Cameron didn’t know anything about Julian’s abilities; he was forced to take his cues from the men who did.

He was taking a drink of water when Blake raised his head and half-stood to look out the glass front of the restaurant. Cameron turned, dropping his glass of water on the floor in his haste, where it shattered and sent pieces skittering across the marble floor.

Julian wasn’t walking quickly as he headed for the doors. It was obvious he could see them through the glass, but he didn’t even raise a hand to acknowledge them. He merely kept his head down, his left leg dragging a little as he limped gamely toward the doors.

Cameron almost fell over as he stood from the stool to get a better look. Julian reached out and put his hand on the locked glass door, like a little kid peering through a storefront window at a coveted toy.

Cameron stepped away from the chair and moved toward the door, Preston and Blake both at his heels, heading toward the foyer to unlock the doors. Julian’s hand slid down the glass as they came closer, leaving behind it a smeared streak of blood inthe shape of his palm. He took an unsteady step away from the glass, reached out again as if trying to steady himself, and then crumpled to the ground.

Cameron froze in horror as Julian collapsed, and then he ran—ran across the foyer and skidded into the glass door just as Blake unlocked it. He yanked it open and tore around the corner. “Julian!” He dropped to his knees at the man’s side and reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Julian?”

Julian’s head lolled to the side as Blake joined them on the ground.

His eyes didn’t even flutter in response to Cameron’s voice. Blake pawed gently at his chest, his hands coming away wet with blood.

“Fuck!” he hissed as he pushed Julian’s dark suit coat aside and yanked open the shirt underneath, looking for the source. Buttons went flying and a soaked handkerchief dislodged from a spot low on Julian’s abdomen. Blood began streaming from the wound out over Julian’s exposed skin.

Cameron couldn’t catch his breath as he watched helplessly, horrified by all the blood. He bent over and pressed a soft, shaky kiss to the corner of Julian’s mouth. “Julian, please talk to me,” he begged. “Please.”

Julian groaned in response as Blake pushed up and went running back into the restaurant. Preston had disappeared.

“Cameron,” Julian whispered hoarsely.

Trying to hold back the tears that were suddenly clogging his throat, Cameron leaned to press his forehead to Julian’s. “I’m here,” he managed to get out fairly evenly.

“He got me,” Julian murmured with a shuddering gasp of air. It seemed like a silly thing to say as he lay there bleeding. It was obviously the only thing his mind could form.

“Blake’s going to help you,” Cameron promised before he choked back a soft sob. He brushed his fingers through Julian’s damp hair, searching in vain for some way to comfort him.

Blake was back just as quickly as he’d left, talking on the phone at his ear and bringing with him a stack of clean rags from behind the bar.

“Where else are you hit?” he demanded of Julian in a no-nonsense tone.

“Where there’s blood,” Julian grumbled weakly as he closed his eyes again.

Blake glared at him and put the phone to his mouth again. “He’s still a jackass, if that helps.”

Cameron didn’t stop stroking Julian’s cheek, and he was trying hard to keep it together. Julian didn’t need him to fall apart right now.

He could do this. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, surprised that his voice came out fairly steady.

Neither man answered him. Julian’s eyes remained closed as Blake spoke rapidly on the phone and then tossed it away to work on Julian’s bloody abdomen. Julian reached blindly for Cameron’s hand and gripped it weakly. Cameron laced their fingers together and squeezed reassuringly.

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