Page 3 of Assassin's Prey
“Abby’s lawyer, Lance Heinz, called,” Eli told me. “Seems the forensic accountant was able to uncover some more accounts linked to her father. In order to retrieve the money, they need some signatures and shit. Remi knows the details.”
I could hear the shrug in my youngest brother’s voice, ratcheting up my tension. Remi was with Abby, not me. I knew he’d protect her with his life, but I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want any of them in danger. I needed to be at her side, not fucking walking down the sidewalk like I was taking a Sunday stroll. Not that anyone around me could call itstrolling. More like a bull chasing down a matador.
Which totally worked for me.
Even without the delay, it made sense for Remi to be with her for the meeting at First Bank and Trust. He was a genius when it came to accounting. Not that anyone there would realize it. To the outside world we were her bodyguards. No one knew our true faces—I’d gone to great lengths to keep it that way—so we could safely travel with her, keep her protected, on the rare occasions she had to deal with anything concerning her father.
“Have you got the camera feeds live?” I asked.
Eli’s snort drilled into my ear. “Are you really asking me that?”
Yes, because I was a micromanaging bastard. Knowing that didn’t stop me from doing it. “Are they?”
“Of course they fucking are. I’ve got two screens with every traffic camera in a five-block radius. I’ve tapped into private security feeds, including at the business across the street from the parking garage you demanded Remi use. Nice scowl, by the way. I can also tell you that Remi and Abby are two blocks up on your left, approaching the cross street a block ahead of the light at Sanderson and First Street. Better get a move on, bro.”
The intersection where the bank was located was three blocks north of my current location. I broke into a slow jog, my brain automatically scanning, assessing, countering. Traffic, pedestrians, cameras. The crisp fall breeze pushed people along the street, so no one lingered. No hint of a threat arose. Perfect.
The phone in my pocket vibrated against my hip—a text, not a call. I reached for it, glancing at the display. Remi.
Crossing street now.
My nerves went tight. Only two blocks away. I picked up speed as the intersection where Remi would be escorting Abby came into view. There, on the opposite side of the road. The bright red dress coat Abby wore stood out like a beacon, a stark contrast to her auburn hair.
I cursed under my breath. Apparently not low enough, because an older woman passing me skittered to the side at my vicious “fuck.” I ignored her recoil and kept going.
Abby and Remi were the only ones at the crosswalk. I knew when the walk light flipped on; they stepped into the street in front of the rows of stopped cars. My brother’s tall, heavy frame dwarfed Abby as he took her arm, staying on the side of oncoming traffic. Everything seemed normal, nothing to worry about. So why did my every instinct scream at me to get them both out of sight?
The loud whine of a motorcycle engine hit my ears.
I glanced back. A sleek black Yamaha shot through the stopped cars, straddling the line as it zoomed forward. I had just enough time to notice the driver—black leather, black helmet, tinted visor that gave nothing away—before he passed me.
Headed straight for the crosswalk. At full speed.
“Abby!”
Remi’s head jerked around at my shout. Realization struck, widening his eyes. He grabbed Abby around the waist and ran for the sidewalk—just as the rider drew a gun.
Time stopped. I could see the glint of the sun on the metal barrel. See the leather-gloved finger on the trigger. Remi’s eyes went wild, and he launched himself toward the thick, ancient oak waiting next to the street, the only thing that could possibly protect them against a bullet at point-blank range. He and Abby flew through the air as the gun came up.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” My hand went to my chest, to the holster beneath my suit jacket, as I sprinted toward them. I’d never make it in time. My heart knew that and roared with impotent rage.
My woman.Mine.
Too far.
Between one heartbeat and the next, Remi and Abby hit the ground and rolled, Remi twisting their bodies behind the massive trunk of the tree.
The ping of silenced gunshots—one, two, three—reached my ears a second later. The motorcycle accelerated through the intersection, barely missing a hit from an oncoming semi.
And then it was gone.
I rushed to Abby’s side.
“What the fuck?” Remi yelled.
I grasped the lapels of Abby’s coat with shaking hands, cursing my own weakness but unable to stop the reaction, and pulled her to sitting. “Late model bike, no plates, no distinguishing marks, driver unknown,” I told him, keeping my voice low. Maybe we could get something on the traffic cameras, but I didn’t think so. Our man was a professional.
The job I could do. It was handling my woman that was killing me. She was breathing fast and shallow, her eyes dilated with fear. Tremors racked her slender body. “Abby?”
