Roman stared down at her, his lips pressed together so tight they were white. She was right, and he knew it, even if he couldn’t pry his mouth apart enough to admit it.
She nodded. “Good. Glad you’re at least man enough to own it. Now, are you going to help me figure out how to visit Jennette and be safe about it? Or would you rather close your eyes, count to ten and give me a head start?”
A low frightening sound rumbled from his chest and the tension in his neck and shoulders looked downright painful. Behind his eyes, it sure looked like he was scavenging for any last-ditch reasoning to talk her out of what she wanted. About a half minute later, he dipped his head in a terse nod, then faced Sergei and Kir. “Call Knox. Add whoever we can to trace the accounts faster. Then—we plan.”
Chapter Twenty
Roman didn’t like this. At all. It was a fool’s errand. Both his head and his gut acknowledged it as such, but there was no reasoning with passion, and his woman had a wealth of it. Her family might have caused her much pain, disappointment and frustration in her lifetime, but they were hers and she was ready to protect them as such.
She’d been right to call him out. Had used the one argument he had no hope or right in arguing against. Then she’d followed it with good sense and allowed Roman, Kir and Sergei time to plan for as many eventualities as possible.
He couldn’t have guaranteed he’d have shown the same reason had the situation been reversed. No one would ever touch his family.
God help the fool who tried.
In the passenger seat beside him, Bonnie stared out the windshield, eerily still and keenly focused. They’d taken every precaution. Fitted her in a Kevlar vest. Added a tracking device to her jacket and given her a wireless headset so that they could communicate with her once she disappeared from sight. Men had scouted the building inside and out and found no signs of suspicious activities. And while Bonnie would go in alone, two other men Jennette wouldn’t recognize would go in before her under the guise of making purchases.
But it wasn’t enough.
And short of blindfolding her, tying her hands and locking her in a room, he was powerless to do anything else to protect her.
He parked parallel on the street and left his wheels turned for a fast escape. “I will ask you one last time—reconsider. If not for me, then for your brother and your father. They might not do things the way you want them to, but they would not want to live with your life on their hands.”
And I cannot fathom a life without you in it.
She twisted her head enough to meet his stare, and from the pain in her eyes, it looked as though she’d intuited his unspoken thought. “If this is the wrong move, then it’s on me. Not them.” She paused a beat and softened her voice. “And not you either.”
Ah, but it would be. He’d never once ignored his instincts, and everything in him told him to put his truck in drive and leave right now, whether she liked it or not.
She put her hand on the handle, ready to open it.
“Wait,” he said before she could. He turned off the engine and unbuckled his seat belt. “She said she wanted to talk to you alone. She did not say I could not walk you in.”
“Roman—”
“No. This is non-negotiable. I will wait outside. She will not see me, but I will still be close if you need me.”
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it seemed her expression softened enough to show gratitude. She sighed on a heavy exhale. “I’m stubborn. Not stupid. So, okay. Just stay out of sight so she doesn’t freak out and clam up.”
At a little after four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, the traffic on St. Thomas Street was steady, but not as busy as it would be in another four or five hours. The parking lot the frozen yogurt shop shared with other businesses sat like a dead-end alley between two buildings, most of the spaces full save for a handful.
“Remember,” Roman said low enough so his voice wouldn’t carry. “Move quickly. Ask your questions and get out. Do not let her take you anywhere. Stay in plain sight. Preferably at the counter.”
“Right. Got it.”
They headed toward the building, the gun hidden in the holster beneath Roman’s jacket a welcome weight. Bright blue skies stretched overhead, but the sun was less than half an hour from sinking behind the building at the far end of the parking lot and casting them all in shadows.
A dark gray 4Runner pulled into the U-shaped parking lot, moving slowly. A man sat behind the wheel. Younger. Early to mid-twenties. He seemed relaxed and focused on finding a parking spot.
Roman put himself between the buildings on their left and the cars on his right.
The 4Runner slowed and signaled for a spot.
Behind them another car pulled in.
No, not a car. The Froyo van with its ridiculous logo of a frozen yogurt cone dressed up like a Brazilian dancer.
Forty more feet at most and she’d be inside. The back exit was covered by Kir and Sergei. He’d have the front.
Just ahead of them, the Froyo van had no choice but to stop, waiting for the 4Runner to get its awaited spot.
Two more steps and a gunshot rang out. High and on his right.
Roman spun toward the sound and pulled his firearm, keeping his body in front of Bonnie. The sun slanted across the parking lot, blinding him from the shooter.
A car door slammed.
Another gunshot.
Roman urged Bonnie back toward the street, but a brown sedan whipped into the parking lot and blocked them in.
The Froyo van door opened.
And just like that four men were on him. He landed a shot to the first man’s leg. A second to another man’s shoulder. Before he could fire a third, one of their attackers kicked his gun from his hand.
Footsteps sounded on the asphalt. Either his men closing in or more enemies to replace the others. He couldn’t stop to evaluate. Could only keep himself between Bonnie and his adversaries and fight for all he was worth.
Bonnie shouted behind him. “No!”
He whirled on instinct, ready to engage—but caught the butt of a shotgun to the temple.
Everything stopped. Rattled and echoed in what seemed like slow motion as the world tilted and his body slammed against the pavement.
And then, there was nothing.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bonnie leaned against the hotel bed’s padded headboard, re-crossed her ankles atop the thick down comforter beneath her and crossed her arms over her chest. She hated sitting still. Hated any form of idleness. But having absolutely nothing to do but pretend the four-star digs around her weren’t a prison cell and stare at a hotel television was brutal. Especially, with the awful reruns that played at five o’clock in the morning.