Page 7 of Breaking the Rules
“Ankle,” he told her, this time in Russian.
She found the clutch piece on his left leg. It was a thirty-eight and wouldn’t hold up long against whatever semi-automatics her friends up the hill had. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“You have any ideas who would do this? ’cause they sound serious.”
In the dark, she could just barely make out his headshake.
She wasn’t buying that but didn’t have time to run an inquisition. She’d go in blind. “Stay here and stay alive,” she told him.
“Petra?”
“She’s safe. Your buddy Yurgei got her on a boat. They’re probably across the lake by now.”
“Whoareyou?”
Waverly flashed a grin. “I made a couple of spy movies,” she said.
She left him under the canoe and darted around the stand into the edge of the woods. She waited for the hail of bullets, but none came. They were probably pulling out. If this had been a kidnapping attempt, they knew they were shit out of luck and it was only a matter of minutes before some serious law enforcement came knocking.
She stayed off the path, away from the lights, and battled her way uphill over rocks and tree trunks. She paused every thirty seconds or so to close her eyes and listen, but the night was quiet.
Waverly pulled herself onto the deck at the far end of the house and belly crawled under the teak table. Lights were on in the house, but they had been when they left. There was no movement.
Holding the gun in both hands, she moved to the patio doors. Seeing no movement inside, she slid the door open. The gun battle had happened here, she gauged from the broken glass and blood. Upstairs all the way to the right, she spotted one doorway open, a spray of bullet holes decorating the wall around it. Grigory’s office.
Shit. Dante had been snooping, and that’s probably exactly where he went.
She cleared the room, stepping around debris and puddles of blood. There had been wounded, but no bodies.
She ran up the stairs, heart pounding. Would she find Dante? Was he alive?
She sprinted the length of the walkway to Grigory’s office door. There was blood here, too, but no body.
There were lights turning into the driveway. Someone was coming. Waverly ran down the hall into her room. She grabbed her phone and bag. There was no time to search all three floors of the house. She hustled back to Grigory’s office, did one final sweep, and finding nothing, let herself out the balcony door.
By the time the new arrivals pushed through the front door, Waverly was two-hundred yards into the woods on her phone.
She stumbled once and pressed on. She found a spot against a boulder under the cover of a copse of pines and pulled out her phone. “Kate, I need a way out and a lift.” She closed her fingers around the coin she wore on the long chain. The sharp pain in her side drew her attention, and she probed it. When her fingers came away wet, she swore. “I think I was shot.”
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Waverly closed her eyes on the lounger. Where the hell was Dante? It had been five days with no contact. Was he dead? Was he hurt? Was he being held prisoner?
If the studio knew, they weren’t spilling it. They had a cover story for him though. According to the entertainment news, Dante was enjoying an impromptu vacation in the Seychelles cementing speculation that his relationship with Waverly was once again on the fritz. The news about Petra had been just as vague and less than truthful. There were reports that after a home invasion by an unstable suspect in Lake Tahoe, Petra was on lock down in a safe, undisclosed location. It was clear that someone was doing major clean up on what must have been a shit show on all sides.How many players were there?she wondered.
Dante had to be alive, Waverly told herself. He wasn’t just a pretty face. He had the skills and training that an intel officer would have, but he also knew how to talk himself out of any situation. He was alive, and she would find him… and kick his ass for making her worry. But he was out there. And she was going to drag him out of whatever deep shit he’d gotten himself into. They were partners, friends. He was the first man she’d trusted since Xavier.
Waverly needed answers, and if no one was going to give them to her, she was going to go out and get them herself. She wasn’t the helpless kid she’d been. Now, she was just as dangerous as the bad guys.
But right now, all she could do was heal and wait. She let the sun and the warm breeze soothe her mind until it floated away into dreams. Dreams that Xavier invaded. His hands stroking her skin, his voice, rough and raspy. Those brown eyes that held the fire of a thousand hearts.
Something woke Waverly where she dozed on the lounger. Even before she was fully conscious, she knew she was no longer alone. She was slowly reaching for the gun she had tucked under the magazine at her side when he spoke.
“Nice rehab, Angel.”
CHAPTER THREE
Xavier Saint, all six-feet-three-inches of him, leaned against the trunk of a palm tree looking entirely too relaxed. He’d finally grown out his military haircut. Now his hair, a shade darker than the dirty blond she remembered from years ago, was worn short on the sides and longer on top in a stylish cut. He was missing his trademark dark suit and instead wore golf shorts and a short sleeve white button down. A very nice watch flashed on his wrist, and aviators covered his eyes. He had a day or two’s worth of stubble covering that granite jaw.
