Page 60 of Heir of Ashes

I memorized the way his brown hair curled just a little at the ends, the sharp angles of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrows, and those thick lashes framing eyes that could pierce through any façade. The killer smile. The considerate little things: pulling out a chair for me, slathering cream cheese on a bagel, carrying my bag. The anger when I was beaten, the promise of retribution for what had been done to me.

Something must have shown on my face because his expression sobered, and I found myself under similar scrutiny.

Did he feel like fate kept giving him the slip too?

“It smells good,” I said, looking down at the coat and tracing my finger over the soft material.

He came forward, stopping right in front of me, causing my heart to leap wildly inside my chest. He waited until I looked up and met his eyes before taking my hand and, without a word, pulling me up into a gentle embrace. I went willingly, my arms circling his neck and his my waist. My head rested on the crook of his neck. Tension I hadn’t known was there eased, leavingbehind a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt for a very, very long time.

It was such a comforting, tender gesture—a gesture he no doubt used on other women. Some of the tension returned with the thought. I stepped back, my hands sliding out of his after a moment. He kept hold of my gaze before stepping away and looking at Rafael’s back.

“We’ll leave tonight,” he said in a casual tone.

I had the impression he was going to say something else, but just then we heard the ding of the elevator. In a hotel, that should have been a normal sound.

Except for the footsteps coming down the hall.

Lots of them. Like, at least half a dozen moving in unison.

Like marching.

Like trained soldiers.

We turned to face the door, instinctively backing away. My stomach roiled like waves in an angry sea, my mouth went dry. My inner alarm screamed for me to run, but I knew it was too late.

We were still backing away when the march stopped right outside. We reached the desk, and Logan stopped. I inched sideways to give him maneuvering room. Rafael was up and armed, and without looking back, Logan grabbed the pistol Rafael handed him.

Silence.

Then the door blew inward with a deafening boom. Splinters, dust, and debris filled the air as a chunk of the wall above the door crumbled.

Pandemonium followed. Screams erupted from everywhere. The fire alarm blared loudly, mingled with the wails of children and the frantic rush of feet. A agitated voice tried to restore order, but the panic was widespread—upstairs, downstairs, every floor was affected.

We remained where we stood, bracing for the inevitable, listening to the tumultuous sounds of terrified people. There was nowhere for us to go but through that door. We waited for what seemed like hours. But the hotel could only accommodate so many people, and eventually, the commotion began to die down. Soon, there were no more running feet. The fire alarm fell silent after that. Logan raised his weapon, aiming at the door. Behind us, Rafael readied his shotgun. They would shoot anyone foolish enough to come in. Logan tried to push me behind him and although I stayed back, I refused to let him shield me with his body. I wanted to hide, yes, but I would never use someone—especially Logan—as a shield, and that was exactly what he’d be. Anyone standing in front of me would be nothing more than collateral damage.

To my left and behind me, Rafael pumped his shotgun, the noise as loud as a thunderclap. Neither Logan nor I stood in his way.

“Mr. Graham,” a familiar voice called from the hall.

My shoulders jerked, and my eyes widened. I gripped my hands together in apprehension. The trembling that followed was due to sudden, paralyzing fear. I took a step back, denial clawing at my mind. Since Logan was to my right and front, Rafael was the only one who noticed my reaction.

“Mr. Graham. I know you’re there. I am Dr. Michael Dean, Chief Director of the PSS. I believe you have something of mine. Hand it over, and we’ll leave without any bloodshed.”

A nervous voice protested indignantly, “Bloodshed? Sir, you said this was a suspect apprehension situation. I believe I’ll have my assistant call our attorney now and—”

The voice cut off abruptly by a muffled thunk.

My heart pounded in my chest, an enraged beast wanting to escape. Logan gave me a questioning look, and I tried tosmooth my expression as best as I could. I didn’t want him to see how much Dr. Dean’s presence affected me.

Rafael hissed as Logan shouted, “She doesn’t belong to you!”

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Graham,” Dr. Dean said calmly. “I’ll be brief and to the point. You’re not in a position to argue or refuse. Give her to me, and I’ll let you live. Refuse, and you will die. There are two power rifles currently aimed at both of you from across the building. Ask Mr. Sanchez if you don’t believe me, but keep in mind that if he tries anything, my men have orders to remove any obstacles in their path. If I give them any signal, they will open fire. Any sudden or suspicious moves on your part will result in gunfire.”

Logan growled low in his throat, and Rafael confirmed, “Two laser beams. One on each head.”

And there it was—a red dot in the center of Logan’s head. A quick glance at Rafael showed him standing to the right of the open window, out of the snipers’ range.

“My men will come inside now to collect my property. I trust you will cooperate?”

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