Page 125 of Beautiful Revenge
We freeze.
Dean pounds on the door trying to get it past the fallen tray and yells, “Help me get this fucking thing open.”
Hugh scrambles for his gun, but I reach for mine that’s still securely holstered.
I fall back to my knees and train it directly at his face. “Don’t move.”
Hugh freezes other than his lungs heaving for air. I climb to my feet and kick his gun across the room. It slides under the bed and bumps the opposite wall. Then I shove the fallen table out of the way far enough for Dean to push through.
His gun hangs casually in his hand as his stare shifts between me and Hugh. “What the fuck happened in here?”
My gun is still trained on the man I thought was my best friend. I was in his wedding, was there when his kids were born, and mourned him when I thought he died, thinking it was my fault.
I shake my head. “It needed to happen, but it’s over. As long as you got all that on record.”
Dean pulls a set of cuffs from his belt. “Roll to your stomach. Hands on back of your head.”
Hugh doesn’t move.
He stares at me like he can’t believe what happened. What I just did.
I put my boot to his side, not to kick, but firm enough to get my point across. “Do what he says. Don’t make this harder on yourself.”
Dean shakes his head and lifts his chin to me. “You’re bleeding.”
“Shit.” I look down and see blood dripping to my shirt and touch my mouth with the back of my hand. “It’s nothing—just a split lip. I kicked his gun to the other side of the room.”
Dean cuffs Hugh, pats him down, and keeps talking to me. “Ask one of those nurses if you need a stitch or two. We’ll debrief after I read him his rights and coordinate with the FBI.”
“Fuck,” Hugh bites. “Can I make a call?”
Dean pulls him to his feet as officers file into the small room. “Ask the feds. The sooner I hand you off, the better.”
I get one last look at Hugh Bancroft before I leave. He’ll be extradited back to England eventually. The list of shit they’ll charge him with will be long, but that doesn’t mean anything to me.
Nothing will change the course he put me on when he became a double agent.
When I see him again, it’ll be when I testify against him in court.
Harlow
Pacing is not normally my thing, but it is today.
Devon called two hours ago to tell me it was over.
Hugh Bancroft is in jail. I doubt the small-town police department holding cell has ever seen the likes of a detainee who sells state secrets and double-crosses their country, but it is today. This little spot of heaven on earth has seen more than its fair share of action since I rolled into town to not marry Albert Humphries, III.
It’s what set everything into motion. I can’t lie, I do feel bad about that for this sweet town. Especially everything I put Devon and his business through.
The electronic lock on the door turns, and I stop mid-pace. When Devon appears around the corner to toss his keys and wallet on the entry table, I gasp. “What happened to your face?”
He shrugs. “It’s no big deal. Didn’t even need stitches. The nurse said just leave the butterfly bandage on it until it falls off, but I’ll be ripping it off tomorrow. The fucking thing is driving me crazy already.”
I go to him and put my fingers to his jaw. “You’re getting a bruise too. Did Bancroft do this to you?”
Devon doesn’t answer. Instead, he wraps his arms around me and lifts.
I yelp, but he doesn’t let me go, so I wrap my legs around his waist to hold on. “What are you doing?”
