The woman’s gun swiveled back to me. “I’ll just kill you, then.”
The sound of the gunfire was deafening. I leaped to the side, just as Liam launched at the woman.
No.
He executed an impressive kick and knocked the gun out of her hand. His next blow sent her crashing into a dumpster with a clang. She dropped heavily to her knees.
Her gun was just a foot away, lying on the dirty concrete. She recovered and pounced.
Damn. We couldn’t run out of the alley because the shooter could still be on the street.
Instead, I leaped on Jackie. We rolled through some trash, each trying to gain the upper hand. I poked at her eyes, and she grabbed my hair and yanked.
With a grunt, I shoved and pushed her away. I rose to my knees and found myself with a gun pointed at my chest.
The woman smiled, those soulless eyes staring at me, her finger tightening on the trigger.
Oh, God.
“No!” Liam growled.
“Stay still, rich guy, or you’re both dead,” Jackie snapped.
A shot echoed off the walls.
I jerked, but there was no searing pain. The woman yelped, dropped the gun, and clutched her hand.
A man emerged from the shadows, holding a Sig Sauer with experienced ease.
I tensed until he flicked me a glance, then he moved over to Jackie. I noted he moved with an easy, liquid stride and didn’t make a sound. He was a man in full command of his body. He had dark-brown hair with the hint of a curl, and wore a flannel shirt over a black T-shirt, well-worn jeans, and a tan-leather jacket.
He yanked Jackie’s hands behind her back, and pulled out some zip ties.
Liam helped me up.
“You okay?” The man’s voice was deep, gravelly.
“Yes,” I said. “Thanks.”
Eyes of whiskey gold met mine. “Let’s get out of here.”
16
Usually Quick on My Feet
Liam
“Company will be coming,” the man said. “Move.”
Liam nodded, keeping his hand on Aspen’s arm. “What about her?” He glared at the tied-up Nexus woman.
Aspen sniffed. “Leave her.” She stepped over to the woman. “I’ll be giving Doyle an update. Take this as a lesson, Jackie. I’m always prepared.”
The woman just glowered at them, fury twisting in her blue eyes.
“Through here.” Boone led them into a building. They hustled down a dark hallway, and somewhere, Liam heard a baby crying.
They came out at a stairwell.
The man turned. “I’m Boone Hendrix. Vander sent me.”
Liam had suspected as much. “You have excellent timing, Boone. I’m Liam.”
They shook hands. “I know who you are.”
“And I’m Aspen.”
Boone nodded, dark-brown hair falling across his forehead. “Vander briefed me.”
“We got some extra information on the treasure,” Liam said. “We need to search my warehouse in the Bronx tonight.”
The man lifted his chin. “You need back up. I’m there.” He cocked his head. “You’re bleeding.”
Liam touched his temple, and his hand came away with blood on his fingers.
“Oh, my God.” Aspen pushed in close, her face panicked. She yanked his head down. “Oh, my God.”
“I must’ve got nicked by debris when the bullet hit the bricks.”
Boone held out a clean handkerchief.
Aspen snatched it, then pressed into Liam’s temple.
“I’m okay,” he said.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Darling, I’m fine.”
She let out a shaky breath, nodded. “Your shirt isn’t, though.”
He glanced down and spotted the blood. He sighed. “I’ll run out of clothes by the time we finish with this.”
A smile flirted on her lips. “Lucky you can afford to buy more.” Her smile faded. “I don’t like seeing blood on your skin.” She dabbed at him again.
“I’m fine,” he repeated.
“My place is just around the corner. I’ll clean you up there.” She looked up at Boone. “Can you meet us at the warehouse at 9:30 PM?”
The big man nodded. “Text me the address.” He gave them his cell number.
With a wave, Boone disappeared. Liam let Aspen drag him out of the building. They walked two blocks, then she led them into a nice, pre-war, brick building.
“You’ve got a good building, here,” Liam said. It was second nature for him to assess a property.
“My father’s parents left me this place.”
“Very fortunate for you.”
“Absolutely, or I couldn’t have afforded to live in this part of the city.” She shot him a teasing look. “We can’t all buy fancy penthouses.”
They walked up the central, open staircase, and he heard a door open.
“Aspen, is that you?” a shaky voice asked.
“Shit,” Aspen muttered, pausing on the stairs. Then she raised her voice, half shielding Liam with her body. “Yes, Mrs. Kerber. How are you today?”
“I’m fine.” The old lady squinted at them. She held a white cat tucked under one arm, and Liam could have sworn it glared at them. Shit, the thing looked evil.
“How’s Skittles?”
“Oh, he’s in his cage today. Do you have a young man with you?”
Aspen made a strangled sound while Liam tried to think if anyone had called him a young man in recent times.
“Yes,” Aspen said. “Um, it’s work related.”
“Good afternoon,” Liam said.
Mrs. Kerber smiled. “Oh, such a lovely accent. I dated a Brit once, before I met Mr. Kerber.”
Aspen shoved Liam up the stairs ahead of her. “We really have to go. I’ll see you later, Mrs. Kerber.”
She unlocked her door and practically pushed Liam inside.
“Luckily she’s half blind without her glasses,” Aspen said. “Anyone home?”
Silence greeted them and he heard Aspen release a sigh of relief.
“Who’s Skittles?” he asked.
“Mrs. Kerber’s bird. She lets him out and he escapes sometimes. I usually find him for her.”
“Aspen Chandler, rescuer of abducted people, blackmailed billionaires, and lost birds.”
She wrinkled her nose.
He walked into her place, keen to see it. He was assaulted by greenery. There were clean, white walls, lots of comfy, unfussy lines. There was a big couch that said, “come sit a while”, and plants everywhere—big ones, small ones, draping ones. Some were in giant pots, others in small, decorative urns.
He felt a sense of peace. There were pops of color here and there. A pink jacket tossed over a chair. A spill of books and magazines on the coffee table. A tube of lipstick on the kitchen counter. The kitchen had a tiny island, with two stools.
“Sit,” she ordered.
He shed his jacket. Damn, his white shirt was a write off. Blood had dripped down and soaked into the collar. “I like your place. You have a green thumb.”
“Yes. It started when I was a teenager.”
“Oh?” He detected something in her voice.