Page 65 of Desire Me
Saint crossed the foyer and knelt at the corner leading into the hall. He wasn’t using a silencer, so whoever remained had to know he was coming. Could pinpoint his location from the shots. Which meant if there were two left, one of them should be on their way.
He counted his heartbeats, hard and demanding justice with every thump. One. Two. Three. Four. Fi—
The scuff of a boot on the hardwood floor reached his ears seconds before a gun peeked around the corner at waist height. Saint curved his hand around the corner and fired up.
A shout, stumbling, then the fall, but the man wasn’t dead; his curses proved that. Saint stepped out, taking in the blood pooling beneath the man’s thigh, the gun coming up in a trembling hand, but he never got a chance to fire. Saint fired first.
Three down.
The hall was a straight shot to Saint’s bedroom, and when he stared toward it, he could see the bedroom door already open. How the fucking hell they’d gotten it open, he didn’t know, but they had. With the hallway clear, he hurried toward his room, toward Rae, his heartbeat finally picking up speed. At the door, a quick peek showed a fourth man bent over the bathroom lock. Saint couldn’t see what he was doing, but whatever it was, it was effective enough that the door gave way. The man stepped into the bathroom, took a quick look around, and turned in the direction of the closet.
“I hope you’re in there,” Saint heard the man say. Lonergan. The menace in that voice shook him. The team had been instructed to take Rae alive, but that voice told him Lonergan had something else in mind. “My team’s already taken care of that asshole you’re fucking. You know that, right? Didn’t you hear the shots? He’s bleeding out somewhere right now, wishing he’d handed you over instead of taking us on.”
Was that a whimper from the closet? Saint prayed not. He waited against the wall outside the bathroom, looking for an angle, trying to sight Lonergan in a clear shot, but the door obstructed his vantage point. He’d have to step inside to take the shot. Lonergan wanted revenge; that much was clear. He’d be fast, lethal.
Saint had to be faster.
A scraping sound from the bathroom—Lonergan working on the closet lock. Saint breathed, deep, slow, narrowing his focus down to his lungs and the sound of Lonergan taunting Rae in the bathroom. He walked through every step in his mind: exactly how hard he needed to push the bathroom door, where to place his feet as he moved inside, where to angle his muzzle based on Lonergan’s height. Again, and then again, until it became instinct, a feeling in his gut more than a plan in his mind.
A scrape as the lock gave way. Lonergan’s laugh. The door creaking open.
Rae’s gasp covered the scrape of Saint’s boot as he twisted around the doorjamb.
Then two shots, fired simultaneously. One from his gun. One from inside the closet. Lonergan stumbled back from the closet, then fell to the floor in a heap. His temple held a single hole, the opposite side a mangled mess, and his chest bloomed with blood.
“Nice shot, cariño.”
Rae shot out of the closet with a cry, leaping over the body and hitting Saint’s chest like a runaway train in her haste to get into his arms.
Chapter Thirty
“Well this is a helluva mess.”
Saint glanced up from where he sat in the armchair beside the fire, Rae wrapped in a blanket on his lap. It was the only place not currently swarming with cops and personnel from the medical examiner’s office. Jack Quinn stood at the opening to the foyer, one hand on his hip, a grave look in his eye. Not disapproval—the cofounder of JCL Security had been in more than one tight spot and seen plenty of dead bodies; he had no qualms about doing what was necessary to protect their clients. It was just a matter of proving it had been necessary.
And only one thing needed to be said to prove that.
“They came after her.”
Jack nodded, and Saint knew that was that.
His boss crossed the room to stand beside the chair. “Ms. Conté”—he extended a hand—“it’s a pleasure to meet you. I only wish it were under better circumstances.”
Rae unburied a hand that was finally, an hour later, no longer shaking. “Thank you. And you are?”
“Jack Quinn. I run JCL along with my partner, Conlan James.”
“Ah.” Rae reburied her hand and snuggled her head back beneath Saint’s chin.
“The entire team came, Jack. They’d tagged our vehicle without us knowing it this afternoon. Remi Agozi called me just as they arrived.”
Jack looked around, grabbed the coffee table, and dragged it closer to use as a seat. “That family is…”
When Jack seemed unable to finish the sentence, Saint nodded, his chin stubble catching in Rae’s curly hair. “That would be my take on it as well. But the man saved our asses. Or made it possible, anyway. If I hadn’t had those few minutes’ heads-up…” He didn’t want to think about it.
Another commotion at the door and King entered. Beside him was a small woman that barely reached his shoulder, along with a taller man in a suit. Saint smiled at the woman as he nudged his own. “Rae.”
She sighed, letting him know she really didn’t want to leave her cocoon again, but sat up anyway. He kissed the side of her neck gently as the group arrived, then waved a hand to the shortest member. “This is Charlotte, King’s fiancée.”
