Chapter 4

LUC

“Why not? Seems like the fact that I live and breathe is a problem to you.” I smiled. I’d seen in her eyes earlier that she could like me, but now she rolled them at me.

I would have continued, but the door opened and Sinclaire came in, looking flustered.

“Taylor, we have a situation—Montgomery’s gone,” he blurted out.

Amelia shot up out of her chair. “What! How?”

“He’s not in his cell.”

“That’s insane.” She flew over to him and went straight out the door.

I followed them, curious. This was a police station, so how in the hell did a guy who’d just been arrested and detained for several hours just disappear?

We went down to the cells, questioned the guards, and then went into the interrogation rooms.

It was frantic.

Amelia walked up to a large bald guy named Kayle who was at the booking desk. Another guy named Patrick stood next to him looking like he was ready to shit himself. He was on surveillance, and apparently there was no footage for the last five hours. It had been wiped. How does that happen?

Well, I knew how, I just didn’t know why.

“How could you let this happen? How did he just escape?”

“With help,” I said matter-of-factly.

She shot me a sharp look, turning on me. “How dare you? You just got here and you’re implying that someone here helped him.”

“How else would he escape?” I shot back. “This isn’t the wild west where you can just chisel through the bars and jump on a horse. Give me some other explanation.”

“I was here the whole time and saw nothing,” Kayle said, holding his hands up.

“And I was here in the surveillance room,” Patrick jumped in.

“So then someone who shouldn’t have been here was here,” I asserted. “Anyone like that around?”

“I’ll ask the questions here,” Amelia said sharply.

“Forensics was here,” Patrick answered. “Left about half an hour ago. They were the only ones around.”

“We can place him here half an hour ago?” Amelia asked.

“Yes, I went to check on everyone in row nine,” Kayle replied.

“Half an hour’s a long time, boss,” Sinclaire stated. “Man could be anywhere by now.”

“The street surveillance—can we get that?” Amelia suggested.

“I’m on it.” Patrick rushed into the small back room behind him.

Amelia walked off in the opposite direction, Sinclaire in tow like he knew what she was doing. I simply followed because I didn’t have a clue. I would have thought it best to see what surveillance there was first then move, but maybe this was the cop way.

They went outside the precinct building to the parking lot, looking around there and then on the main street. She walked out into the middle of the road, looking around while Sinclaire crossed to the other side.

It must have been my years of experience, my years of having guys try to kill me on a weekly basis, because when I heard that sound, that distinct sound of burning tires and the screech of wheels on asphalt, I immediately knew what it was and what we needed to do.

The road was clear, but rest assured there was a car tearing down it going way over the speed limit. It was a slick black sedan, and it was heading straight for Amelia, who was too engrossed in her search to take note of it. I saw what was going to happen and moved into action before my brain could register what was about to take place.

She turned at the sound, the car now so near she wouldn’t have escaped on her own, and just as it was about to hit her, I launched myself forward, knocking her out of the way and down to the pavement so hard I thought I crushed her.

She screamed on impact as her head hit the ground.

“Are you o—”

A single gunshot stole the words from my mouth.

I looked up just in time to see Sinclaire drop to the ground, blood darkening his white shirt.

Amelia screamed again.

***

AMELIA

Hollow and numb—that was how I would describe the way I felt.

I was hollow and numb, and I couldn’t think straight or form words.

I’d sat beside Sinclaire’s bed since the minute the doctors had told me it was okay to go in. They’d removed the bullet and said if it had been an inch closer to his heart, it would have killed him instantly. I took some comfort in hearing that for what it was worth, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet, not by any means.

Sinclaire was in a coma and was having difficulty breathing. He had all kinds of tubes attached to him and was on life support. I couldn’t believe I’d joked around with him just this morning, so lighthearted and carefree, telling him he couldn’t have me. I hoped he didn’t think that meant I didn’t care.

I cared a lot. I did. He was my friend, a guy I trusted with my life—a life I might not have if Luc hadn’t saved me.

I was still wrapping my head around that. The man had jumped into the road to save me from a car that was on its way to run me over and kill me. Then the people in said car had shot Sinclaire.

What a damn day. All that action, and in the meantime, Montgomery had gotten away. I hadn’t gone back to the station to see if there were any updates because I’d just been sitting at the hospital. I couldn’t leave.

Sinclaire’s family was…well, he was a little like me in the sense that he didn’t really have a family. He was a guy who’d left behind a past full of shit to make a new life for himself. His parents were deadbeat drunks and addicts who didn’t care about him. Like me, he was an only child and didn’t have any cousins, aunts, or uncles.

Guns—I carried one, but I hated them. They could singlehandedly change people’s lives. My mom, my Uncle Antonio, and my cousin Bernardo had all been taken from me as a result of guns, and now Sinclaire was in a coma because of a drive-by shooting.

I was reminded of that time from years before. It had been so long, but it always seemed like just yesterday when I had been given a wakeup call. It had been a rude awakening that displayed the truth of the lies that made up my life.

Antonio and Bernardo died first, then Mom. It was too much to happen in a short space of time, but there was a reason for that—the life of crime. It was to be expected from the life that came with living in a mobster family, and not just any mobster family.

Unknown to me for more than seventeen years of my life, I was part of one of the most terrible crime families in Chicago and the surrounding area, and my father, my actual father, was the Don.

Raphael Rossi.

He was my father, the mafia boss. In true Godfather style, he was ruthless, the kind of man who would never forgive and never forget. It was the second time in one day I’d found myself thinking about him, more times than I had in a while.

The door opened and Luc came in holding two Starbucks cups in his large hands. He’d gone to get more coffee. I figured I must have had six cups since arriving.

His eyes landed on Sinclaire, scanned the monitors, and then darted back to

me.

“Sorry I took a while. They didn’t have the tea I wanted in the café.”

“Tea?”

“Chamomile, for you.” He came over and handed me the cup.

I took it but looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You got me chamomile tea?”

What kind of guy gets chamomile tea?

“To relax you.”

I simply stared at him. “Coffee would have kept me awake.”

“You don’t need to be more awake. It’s nearly nine-thirty.”

I widened my eyes in shock, not having realized it was so late. We really had been there all day.

We…Luc and I.

Considering how truly, truly rude I had been to him earlier, I was surprised he’d not only risked himself to save me but also stayed with me. He didn’t know either of us, not me or Sinclaire. He didn’t have to do any of what he’d done today.

“I should still have coffee. I need to stay awake.”

“You need to go home.” He nodded. “You’re in shock and you need rest. Plus, you’re injured yourself.” He motioned toward my head.

I’d hit my head badly, but it was nothing to shout about considering what could have happened to me and what had happened to Sinclaire.

“I’m fine.” I took a moment to gaze into Luc’s bright blue eyes. He was only standing a breath away from me. Apart from when he grabbed me to knock me out of the way of the speeding car, it was the closest we’d been.

“Thanks.” I hadn’t said it yet. When his brows rose slightly, I thought I should clarify. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Partners, right?”

I held his gaze then looked away. I’d never gotten the chance to call Max or message him. The day had been too intense.

“I guess.” He might have saved me, but I didn’t want him to be my partner. It felt like that meant Max was never going to come back.

With Sinclaire in this condition and Max away, practically half of our team was out of commission. That left me, Jefferson, and Holloway. They’d been out investigating all day, trying to track the gunmen. I knew having someone fill in for Max shouldn’t really bother me, but it did.

“That doesn’t mean I like you,” I added, just to make it clear.

A smooth half-smile inched across his lips, and I felt terrible for thinking it was sexy. I shouldn’t have been thinking something like that while in the kind of situation we were in.

“God forbid.” He sat down in the chair next to me. “Drink the tea and I’ll take you home.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Someone should see that you get home safely—someone, as in me.”

“I can take care of myself,” I answered, not wanting him to see that I was actually quite shaken up by what had happened. I never needed anyone, and the guys kind of just left me to myself because I was nearly as macho as they were.

At the moment, though, I didn’t feel as strong.

“We can all take care of ourselves, but every now and again it doesn’t hurt to have someone watch your back.”

I pressed my lips together. “I’m staying. Sinclaire doesn’t have any family, and

the guys won’t get to see him until tomorrow.”