Chapter Twenty-Four

It had been too long.

He’d left Claire alone for far too long.

“Luke, slow down.” Weston took the stairs behind him, urging him in a soft voice.

Easy for him to say. Could Weston slow it down if it meant leaving the woman he loved unguarded for even a minute?

He didn’t take the time to answer; instead, he opened the door to Claire’s floor and swept over the area in front of him with narrowed eyes. It looked empty, just as it had been before.

But something was different.

The air...there was a charge in it. Someone else was there, out of sight.

Claire was talking. He could just make out the sound of her voice. And while Luke wouldn’t put it past her to hold a full conversation with the cat—

He took off, moving as swiftly as he was able while staying silent.

He should’ve known. How had he not seen this happen?

His gun was drawn; the sound of his brothers whispering in his ear as they kept track of one another’s locations was mere background noise as he zeroed in on his target.

And the man who’d just aimed a gun at her chest.

“You’re dead,” Ballard spat.

Luke took it all in at once, all in the time it took his heart to beat.

Ballard looked like death, which was fitting considering who he was and what he’d done. Soaked in sweat, shaking, chalky.

And Claire. In spite of the semiautomatic that was now pointed at her chest, she looked...

Triumphant.

Luke mimicked Ballard’s position, aiming at the man’s head. He didn’t want to have to go that far, especially since he didn’t want to take the risk of Claire being shot, but if it meant distracting Ballard long enough to spare her life, then he’d stop at nothing.

Which, he feared, was Ballard’s mode of thinking as well. He would stop at nothing to end Claire’s life.

“Ballard. It’s over.”

Ballard turned his head just enough to take in the sight of Luke aiming at him. “You’re right. It is. But not for me.”

“Yes. For you.” Ballard returned his gaze to Claire. “Hey, I’m talking to you,” Luke barked. “Look at me, Vance.”

Ballard snorted. “Don’t turn that tactical knowledge on me. Using first names, trying to talk sense. Letting me believe you’re on my side, that this can all end well. We both know it won’t.”

“I need you to look at me, Ballard.” If he felt more comfortable with last names, then so be it. “You’re right. We both know this won’t end well. But you’ll only make it worse if you shoot her.”

“Worse?” Ballard laughed—it had an edge to it, threatening to cross over into something like madness. “Worse than what? If what she told me is true and the entire police department has the files now, I’m finished. But I can at least know I made her pay. I can take that memory with me, at least.”

“You wanna make her pay?” Luke glanced at Claire just long enough to take in the sight of her, trembling and wide-eyed. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Ballard longer than that.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. I guess I would, if I were you. I’d want to make the person responsible for my downfall suffer for what they did to me.”

“We can agree on that, then.”

“But killing her isn’t the answer. I’m serious,” he insisted when Ballard laughed again. “You end her life, it’s over. It’s finished. She’s gone. That’s not suffering, is it?”

Ballard was silent, though the gun remained unmoving.

“Now, shooting me? Killing me? That’s suffering.”

“No,” Claire whispered.

Luke shot her a look. This wasn’t the time for her to try to be heroic.

“Are you listening, Ballard? Do you hear what I’m saying? You shoot me and she’ll suffer.”

“Why would she?” There was that sneer Luke had expected. “Don’t tell me the two of you are in love.”

“I’ve loved her since we were kids. You were right,” Luke admitted with a sigh. “There was a connection. Thanks to a convenient name change when I was adopted, there was no way for you or your men to figure out how we knew each other. Your instincts were right on the money, though. I’ve loved her since we met in a foster program years ago. She remembered me and came to me for help.”

“I thought so.”

“Yeah, you’re a smart guy.” Luke looked at the gun in Ballard’s hand. “I love her, and I think she might love me, too. But even if she doesn’t, you know her well enough to know that she’ll blame herself for the rest of her life for getting me killed. Do you see what I’m saying? Kill her now, and it’s over.”

Luke pointed his pistol at the ceiling, his other hand raised at shoulder-height. “Vance. Look at me.”

“Don’t do this!” Claire begged.

“Quiet.” He maintained his focus on Ballard. It didn’t matter at this point whether he aimed at the man or not. Getting a shot off at Ballard would still put Claire in danger—he might squeeze the trigger as his body reacted to being shot.

Luke could just about see the wheels turning in the man’s head.

He wanted to hurt Claire; he wanted to see her suffer.

Wanted to watch her die in front of him for taking away everything he’d ever held dear. All his power. His prestige.

“Shoot me and she’ll crumple like a dry leaf,” Luke promised. “And let’s face it, Vance. I’m just as responsible for this as she is. More so, even. If it wasn’t for me, she never would’ve made it this far. You would’ve caught her long before now and put an end to this. I’m the one who hid her. I’m the one who worked the fake-out with the detectives.”

“And you know what?” he concluded with a grim smile. “I loved every second of it, because it meant giving you what you deserve—making you pay for what you’ve done.”

Ballard looked from Claire to Luke and back again.

The gun didn’t move. Didn’t even tremble.

It wasn’t working. None of what Luke tried was working.

“Stop trying to play the hero, Patterson.” Ballard snickered. “I’m not impressed with your mind games. And if you’re responsible for this, then you deserve to suffer just as much as she does. I think making you watch her die before you do should be apt punishment.”

“No!” Luke shouted and lunged, knowing he wouldn’t be fast enough.

He wasn’t fast enough.

But someone else was.

Khan.

“What the—” Ballard let out a cry of pain and surprise when claws dug into his arm. The cat had leaped from the backpack to protect his owner, latching onto Ballard’s gun arm, and holding on for all he was worth.

And that was all the time Luke needed.

He threw himself at Ballard, driving him to the floor where they landed in a tangle of arms and legs.

The man barely noticed since a cat who thought he was a dog still held on tight, claws sinking through Ballard’s sleeve. “Get it off! Get it off!” he screamed.

Luke pried the cat free and set him loose while he pinned Ballard to the floor. “You’re finished,” he spat, disgust and rage finally coming to the surface now that Claire was out of this monster’s crosshairs.

“No!” Ballard struggled, still holding the gun now pinned between them. He kicked, screamed, bucked in the effort to throw Luke off him. “No, this isn’t how it ends!”

Luke took hold of his wrist, pressing hard with two fingers just below the heel of his hand. No matter how a person fought to hold their grip on an object, there was no fighting that pressure point.

Ballard’s hand fell open long enough for Luke to snatch the weapon away. He slid it across the floor before delivering a sharp blow to Ballard’s jaw, knocking him unconscious.

It was over.

What a weak, pathetic monster he’d turned out to be.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A familiar pair of thugs ran from the corner office with their guns drawn—it had to be Ballard’s, Luke realized, and probably had a separate entrance. That was how he’d managed to get up here without them knowing about it.

Weston had been waiting by the stairwell all along and jumped into action, followed by Chance and Brax.

When one of the thugs aimed at Chance, Weston drove his head into the man’s stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs before they both hit the floor. He took the man by the wrist and slammed his hand against the floor once, then twice, before the gun fell free.

Chance and Brax made quick work of the second attacker, who quickly realized he was no match for two skilled gunmen at once. He raised his hands, dropping his pistol. He might have even looked relieved that it was all over. Chance zip-tied him while Weston did the same with his thug.

Claire. Where was she?

Luke stood, allowing his brothers to make short work of the unconscious Ballard. He looked around, his chest heaving. “Claire?” he panted. “Where’d you go?” There hadn’t been any shots fired. What could’ve happened?

She emerged from under one of the nearby desks with Khan in her arms. “Is it over?”

Emotion swelled in his chest. He nodded, opening his arms. “It’s over. Thanks to that attack cat you’re holding.”

Weston laughed. “There I was, wondering if it was a good idea for you to bring him with us.”

“Good boy. Good boy.” Claire’s tears soaked into the cat’s fur while Khan licked his paws like he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, like he hadn’t saved his owner’s life.

Then again , Luke thought as he took them both in his arms, it could’ve been pride in a job well done . He thought it might’ve been, knowing the cat in question.

“I thought I was about to lose you.” Now that it was over and he was holding her trembling body next to his, he could admit that much.

“You thought that? You thought it?” Her eyes were sharp when they met his, sharp enough to surprise him. “What did you think you were doing back there? Offering yourself up to him. You know he could’ve killed you, right?”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen.” He smoothed sweaty hair back from her forehead and cheeks. “So long as I knew he didn’t have you in his crosshairs, I could’ve taken care of myself.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“You doubt me now, Kitten?” He pressed his lips to her forehead, eyes closed, thanking anything and anyone listening that the woman in his arms was exactly who she was.

Even now, having come so close to dying, she would think to scold him for putting himself in harm’s way.

“Cops are a minute away,” Brax announced with a satisfied smile.

That smile lasted only a second before the stairwell door burst open and a team of security guards poured onto the floor.

“So much for security.” Chance smirked, his hands raised. He approached the men and explained what had taken place, that the police were on their way and all would be settled when they arrived.

Luke was only dimly aware of this as he held on to Claire. He had all he needed right there.

“Did you mean what you said?” Her voice was muffled, her mouth near his shoulder, but he heard the hope there.

“I said a lot of things. Which thing in particular?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Loving me.” She lifted her head, her baby blues searching his. “Is that true?”

“You don’t know by now?” He had to laugh in disbelief. “Do you think I go to these lengths for just anybody? Because I’ll tell you right now, I don’t. Only for people I love more than anything else in the world.”

Tears filled her eyes, but they weren’t the tears left behind after a close call.

They held joy. Wonder. He knew how she felt.

“You know I love you, too, right?” She giggled softly, a little giddy. “I can’t believe I never said that before now. I just figured you knew.”

He kissed her softly, tenderly, a kiss filled with every hope and dream he had for their life together.

And it would be spent together, because he couldn’t remember how he’d lived without her.

And he certainly couldn’t have imagined a future without her.

He didn’t want to try.

But that would have to wait, since now the sound of sirens filled the air. They had some serious explaining to do to the police.