“Is it work?” she asks as I guide her out the door and down the hall to the exit.
“Yeah, but it can wait. You come first.” I clasp her hand in mine and open the door to the elevator bank. “You and the baby will always come first.”
“It’s so good to hear that.” She squeezes my hand, her palm so small in mine.
“Just the truth, sugar. That’s what you get from me.” A pang of guilt hits me when I say it, mainly because I still haven’t told her the truth about what I do for a living. I tried to, but I honestly didn’t try hard enough. That’s not something you whisper late at night. It’s a conversation we should have face to face where I lay it all out so she can decide if she … If she what? If she wants to leave? That’s not happening. I’ll never let her walk away from me. I can’t.
“What?” She cups my face as we ride the elevator down.
“Hmm?” I meet her gaze.
“You just got this worried look on your face. It scared me. Are you okay?”
“Don’t be scared.” I kiss her palms, one after the other. “I never want you to be afraid.”
“Okay, so what’s upsetting you? Are you still worried about the baby?”
“No. I mean, a little, I guess. I suppose it’s normal to worry. But you’re healthy and I’ve got the pics. I’ll get them framed.” I pat my coat pocket.
She smiles and gets on her tiptoes to kiss me. “I love you, Logan.”
I meet her smile with my own. We kiss until the elevator slows and stops. Someone must’ve pushed the lobby button, because we’re not at the parking level yet. Right before the doors open, I hear a sound. One I’d know from a dead sleep or in the middle of a skydive. Gunfire.
I instinctively step in front of Quinn and push her behind me.
“Logan!” She squeaks as more gunfire sounds in the lobby.
I pull the blade from my boot, the only weapon on me. I have a small arsenal in the car, but bringing a gun to a baby appointment didn’t seem right.
Screams echo, and the sound of people running are all around. I pull Quinn to the side of the elevator carriage, keeping my body in front of her, and I slam my palm against the button for the parking garage. My brain’s already done a quick calculation of the safest place in this melee, and it’s in this metal elevator shaft.
The doors finally start to close as I see an operative round the corner ahead of us, his Uzi pointed right at the elevator. He lifts the gun to fire, and without even thinking, I rear back and hurl my blade straight for his head. It embeds between his eyes, and he falls, his gun firing up into the ceiling as the doors close.
Quinn screams, and I turn and pull her into my arms as we move downward again.
“Shh, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sugar. I swear.”
“What’s happening. What … What? Why did you have a knife? How did you …. How did you throw it like that?” Her voice shakes. “Who was that man with—”
“Listen closely, Quinn. When the doors open again, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I need you to stay behind me. I’ll keep you safe.” I pull her back and stare into her terrified eyes. “If I fall, you keep going. Understand? No matter what, you get to the car and take off. Get back to the house. You’ll be safe there.”
“If you … if you fall?” she cries.
But we’re out of time. The carriage slows and stops, and I push her behind me once again.
As the doors open, I see a dark shape hurtling toward us, the silver glint of metal in his hand.
13
Quinn
What the heck is happening? My mind races with images of what I saw. My husband killed someone. He pulled a knife out from somewhere and killed that man. His reaction was so fast and without a second thought. He was moving before I even realized there was danger.
I continue to stand behind Logan. Even though I want to cling to him, I don’t. I know he needs to be able to move. Because something might happen to him if he can’t.
He told me to leave him if I had to. That if he went down I needed to continue on. I didn’t have time to agree to anything. Even if I did, I don’t think I’d be able to leave him. Holy crap, I can’t even compute what is happening right now.
I wrap my arms around myself, remembering it’s not only Logan and me anymore. As always, I’ll do as he tells me. I think he’s always had this fear someone might kidnap me or something. I mean, you see it in movies all the time. Where criminals go after rich people's wives and children and hold them for ransom. That’s what must be happening here. Someone is trying to take me from him.
“Sir, we're clear.” I hear Ben’s familiar voice. I peek out to see my husband take the gun Ben is holding. Ben immediately draws another. Logan reaches for me, grabbing my wrist.
“You drive.” He tosses Ben the keys to our SUV after he pops the locks and shuffles me into the back seat. He follows me in, then reaches over, clipping my seatbelt on.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Logan says calmly as Ben speeds out of the parking garage.
“Honest?” I respond with a burst of hysterical laughter.
“Look at me.” Logan’s big hands start to roam all over my body. “Are you hurt?”
“Stop it. You’re not getting any right now.”
“You think I’d let Ben see any part of you and not carve his eyes out?” Finally some emotion plays across his face.
“That’s what makes you mad? I’m gonna smack you.”
His lips actually twitch as if I didn’t just threaten him.
“Fine, I’m not going to smack you. But I might fantasize about it.”
“Sir.” Ben draws Logan’s attention back to him.
“We got a follow?”
“No. Safehouse?”
“Yes,” he responds, his attention coming back to me. His hand comes out, his fingers slipping around the back of my neck. He pulls me toward him as he closes in at the same time.
“I’m not kissing you.” I say when we’re a breath apart. I’m not doing anything until he starts explaining things.
“Sugar.” My name comes out pained, breaking my resolve.
I press my mouth to his, kissing my husband. His fingers dig into my hair, and he deepens the kiss. It quickly turns darker as he tightens his hold on my hair, pulling it a bit. His mouth dominates mine. When he finally breaks the kiss, we’re both breathless. My lips are tingling from the way he took my mouth. I know I’ll be feeling the kiss for a few minutes.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him, knowing that’s what he needs.
“They could have killed you,” he grits out. That tight lid he has on his emotions is popping off. I let out a squeak when his hold tightens even more on my hair. “Fuck, sugar. I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine,” I reassure him again. “About the hair,” I quickly add in there. “What I’m not fine about is you keeping secrets.”
He sighs heavily. “I’m going to tell you everything once we arrive at the safehouse.”