Page 169 of Bad Bishop
“And cold,” someone else said.
I rolled my eyes.
“Tiernan said not to let you out of our sight,” a third soldier chimed, his throat bobbing with a swallow. I couldn’t believe the man put fifty soldiers in charge of protecting one tiny woman who never left the house. This was overkill, even for my husband.
“Good thing you are coming with me, then,” my phone sing-songed my words.
Heaving out a sigh, the largest soldier pushed off his seat, draining the last of his Guinness. “Be back in a few.”
“I’ll come with.” A second soldier stood up. Then a third, and, to my horror, a fourth.
God, I couldn’t take them all down.
“I’m not getting into the car with all of you,” my phone declared robotically.
“Boss says four soldiers is the minimum for your security,” mammoth soldier replied.
“I don’t feel comfortable being in a confined space with a bunch of big men. Do you know what happens to men who make me feel uncomfortable?” I arched an eyebrow.
Another round of frustrated scowls ping-ponged in the room.
“Ah, shite.” The mammoth soldier, who was also the highest ranking one, tore his jacket from the back of his booth and stomped to the door. “Make it quick.”
I followed him, waiting while he pulled the car from the garage and rounded it to the front of the pub. I slid into the back, right behind the driver’s seat.
He started driving down the street, taking a turn right into an intersection.
Heart thrumming, I pulled my gun out of my waistband and pressed it to the back of his closely shaved head. He froze. I cocked the gun.
Pushing my phone screen into his face with my other hand from behind, I pointed at the address the attacker had sent me earlier in the day. “Floor it,” I said vocally.
He gulped, nodding once.
Ten minutes that felt like two hours later, I hopped out of the car before he even made a full stop, still aiming the pistol at him. There wasn’t much he could do to chase me. He was armed to his teeth, but he knew moving a hair on my head would land him in all of Dante’s circles of hell.
I moved quietly in the night. The port was an abandoned cluster of warehouses sitting in a deserted harbor. The stench of stale weed, piss, and human decay hung in the air. Whoever had invited me here knew Hunts Point well enough to choose this strategic location. The buildings were all flat-roofed, two-storied, arranged in a U-shape. If you stood at the center of that U, you were a plain target.
My husband knew that, which was why I spotted him almost immediately, moving sleekly close to the walls of the buildings, disappearing into crooks, checking his surroundings calmly. It was possible my attacker was not going to show himself to Tiernan, but it was extremely unlikely said attacker was going to slip under Tiernan’s radar this time.
I scanned my surroundings for a hideout the way my husband had taught me and settled behind a broken-down car that slumped on the side of the port. It was rusty and loaded with old shopping bags inside. I had a good view of Tiernan, though. And that was what mattered.
My husband stopped in an alcove, pulled out his phone to check it.
Smart boy.
I needed him alive.
The baby kicked inside me, demonstrating his disapproval at my quick heart rate. I wasn’t stupid. I figured Tiernan forwarded my messages to himself to communicate with the attacker. They were likely texting now.
I noticed the duffel with the money my attacker asked for sitting in the center of the U.
A shadow danced across the roof above Tiernan’s head. My eyes snapped to it. A person. Dressed all in black, wearing a balaclava. He was army-crawling across the roof, a rifle in his hands. Because he wasn’t standing up, Tiernan couldn’t see him.
But I could.
The person aimed their firearm at Tiernan, but he had a terrible angle. My husband knew better than to make himself vulnerable. Still, if this was a seasoned sniper, it was game over.
If it were Tiernan on the roof, he’d take the shot and kill him in a heartbeat.
