Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Aringing brought Sloan out of sleep. She looked around, but Jude was nowhere to be found. Typical. She stumbled out of bed, searching for the source of the ringing. She frowned. It was one of the remaining two burner phones. She frowned harder at the sight of Teague’s number on the screen. “Hello?”

“What side of the house are you on?”

She rubbed her face, trying to shake off the last bit of sleep. “What are you talking about?”

“The house on Orcas Island. The one owned by Jude MacNamara, a hit man who has a reputation to keep even me up at night. That house, Sloan—the one you’re currently in.”

Slow dawning horror made her spin to stare at the window. “What did you do, Teague?”

“What it takes to keep you safe. So tell me where the hell you are. Now.”

She shook her head, belatedly realizing that he couldn’t see the motion. “Just leave. We’ll pretend this never happened and it won’t ruin everything.”

“I don’t know if you’re suffering from Stockholm syndrome or just a shitty decision, but you don’t understand what’s at stake. He’s dangerous.”

Yes, he is.She set the phone down carefully and pulled on the first clothing she laid hands on—jeans and a tank top—before picking it up again. “Please don’t do this, Teague.”

“It’s too late.” There was no mercy in his voice. None for her, and certainly none for Jude.

He thinks he’s doing the right thing.She’d underestimated her brother’s reaction when she told him who Jude was, but she hadn’t thought he’d track her down after securing Sorcha, let alone so quickly…Sloan turned and cast a suspicious look at her luggage. “How did you find us?”

“That’s not important.”

Shock temporarily stole her words as she realized what he’d done. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t put a tracker in my things.”

“Where. In. The. House? Tell me or get under a fucking bed, because my men are coming in.”

Jude. She slid through the door and headed for the stairs, nearly stumbling over Jude as he walked up them. He took one look at her face and went from relaxed to on guard. She held up a finger. “I’m begging you, Teague. Don’t do this.” She hung up and dropped the phone to the ground. “We’re in trouble.”

“How much time do we have?” Glass splintered somewhere downstairs, and Jude nodded to himself. “None. Got it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known. I should have.” He glanced over his shoulder and then he was on the move, ushering her into a room she hadn’t been in before. It appeared to be an office of sorts, massive bookshelves framing the windows and a large desk on the other side of the room. He stalked to the bookshelf against the inner wall and pulled, the entire case sliding out to reveal a doorway.

“You’ve got to be joking me.”

“This house used to be owned by a smuggler. He wasn’t as famous as some of the ones back east, but he made sure there was an exit strategy in place. Several, in fact.”

She hurried through the gap after him and waited while he closed the bookshelf. The fit was so close, there wasn’t even a seam of light to give its position away. Jude touched the small of her back, his breath ghosting against her ear. “The walls are fucking thin, so be as quiet as you can.”

“Okay.”

He took her hand, leading her down a set of narrow stairs and then to a second set that seemed to go beneath the house. It was hard to say, but when she pressed a hand against the wall, it was far colder than she expected. We’re below the ground. She shivered.

“We’re almost there.” Jude sounded tense. Focused. But not angry.

He should be. It was her stupid naïveté that had led her not to check her things for a bug. Not that she’d know what one would look like if she found it. She should have considered that Teague would have a way to track her if things went sideways, or if she decided to flee from where he’d placed her.

At the very least, she should have talked to Jude about it.

“Here.” He let go of her hand long enough to open a door, letting the barest light filter in. Outside. She stepped into a cave and looked around. It was just tall enough for her—Jude had to hunch over to get through the doorway and shut the door behind him. They stood on a small rock shelf barely an inch above the water, and there wasn’t any exit readily apparent.

“Jude?”

“You’re not going to like this next part.” He shucked off his shirt and boots. “The ledge out into the Sound is too low for a boat, so we have to swim. It’ll be cold, but not life-threatening.”

“Swim?” She looked back at the doorway they’d just come through. “You’re serious.”

“Sorry, sunshine.” He dropped his boots on the rock shelf and cocked his head to the side. “They might not find the passageway down here, but we can’t take that chance. They’re going to rip that house apart trying to find you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He slid into the water and felt around. “There’s a spot here. You aren’t going to want to stay in the water longer than necessary, August or no.” He paused. “Shit. You can swim, can’t you?”

“Yes.” She shimmied out of her jeans—they would only weigh her down—and followed him into the water. The cold shocked a gasp out of her, but she did her best to focus. “Where are we swimming to?”

Something like approval flared in Jude’s dark eyes. “There’s an inlet if you follow the coastline north. You’ll know it because there isn’t a damn way out of the water until then. Be careful. The currents are a little strange around here.”

His phrasing wasn’t right. Unless…“You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Eventually.” He cast a look up. “There’s something I need from the house first.”

She started to demand to know why he hadn’t grabbed it when they first fled, but the truth hit her. He’d put her first. Getting her out and safe had been his first priority.

Sloan warmed despite the ice-cold water. She wanted to tell him to forget whatever was back there, but some things were worth compromising and some weren’t. Jude had taken a step toward putting his vengeance aside and creating a future with her. If he felt strongly enough to go back for something, she had to grit her teeth and deal with it, despite her fear for his safety.

So she nodded. “Be safe.”

“I will.” He hesitated. “I’ll try not to kill any of your brother’s men, but I can’t make any promises.”

“Thank you.” She pulled him in for a quick kiss. “But do what you have to in order to come back to me safely.” She pushed off before she could think too closely about the danger he was going back into, swimming for the gap in the rock leading out into the Sound. She stuck close to the rock ledge, but she had to stop for a moment in awe as Jude shot past her, more seal than human, his strong arms cutting through the water. He grabbed the edge of the cliff and pulled himself out of the water, scaling it fast enough to steal her breath.

He’s magnificent.

She pushed forward again, all too aware that she wasn’t in any sort of shape to be able to swim indefinitely, even with the exercise she’d been getting since living in Callaway Rock. Already her muscles cried out in protest, her breath coming in short gasps.

She almost sobbed with relief when the inlet came into sight. She swam harder, fighting her way to the tiny rock beach. It took a few minutes to figure out where Jude had hidden the boat—it was cleverly disguised as a boulder beneath some shrubbery—and uncover it.

Then she sat down, cold and shivering despite the relatively warm day, to wait.

*  *  *

Jude hated knowing Sloan was alone in the water, but there were things in that house he couldn’t leave behind. Not even for her. He moved through the trees, more ghost than man despite his soaked pants. He expected some sort of resistance, but the fools had been so focused on getting into the house, they hadn’t set a perimeter. An amateur mistake and not one they’d have made if they really understood the threat he was.

He climbed a tree with perfectly placed notches. It was one of the only ones he’d allowed close to the house, exactly for this reason. He moved across the branches to the roof. The widow’s walk on the third floor appeared only decorative, but there was a narrow staircase leading down directly to the first-floor pantry. It was the perfect place to hide valuables—something the original owner of the house utilized. Jude had taken a page from his book and stashed his bag in this room every time he stayed here. The worst that could happen was a fire, and even if it did, he could grab his shit and escape into the trees.

The bastard who’d built the house had been a paranoid fuck, something Jude appreciated, especially considering his current circumstances.

He could hear the O’Malley men moving through the house below him, their frustration evident. They’d trash the place before they were through. A pang went through him at the thought. He might only come here a few times a year, but this was one of the few places in the world he considered safe. It never would be again—and not just because he’d never set foot in the place after today. It was being defiled by the men below him, tearing the place apart and leaving their imprint everywhere.

He should have known that nowhere was truly safe.

The truth was that there would always be someone gunning for him—gunning for her. Should have considered that her brother would put a tracker on her. He hadn’t considered a lot of things when it came right down to it. That was his fuckup. She was new to the game. He’d been living it his entire life.

Jude slipped through the small door and worked his way down to the first floor. He was in the process of sliding the pantry wall back into place when footsteps sounded at his back. He twisted as the enemy’s gun came up, grabbing his wrist and pointing the pistol away from him.

Then he saw the man’s face.

Micah Jones.

This wasn’t an O’Malley man. This was a motherfucking Sheridan.

Micah opened his mouth, likely to call for help, and Jude let go of his wrist long enough to punch him in the gut. Warring thoughts slammed through his head as he punched Micah again.

I promised Sloan I wouldn’t kill anyone.

He’s not an O’Malley.

He’s also barely more than a kid. He wasn’t even alive when my family was killed.

Thatstopped him. He pocketed the handgun and shoved Micah to the ground. The idiot kept trying to stand, obviously not recognizing a losing battle when he saw it. It would be so fucking easy to just put a bullet in his brain and be done with it.

He pistol-whipped Micah, and this time the man lay still. Finally. Jude headed for the back door, looking to get the fuck out before he had to kill someone. It wasn’t only because of his promise, though he was just getting used to the idea of maybe being worthy of a woman like Sloan. Murdering his way through her brother’s men wasn’t the way to go about putting them on the right path forward. He was past the point of thinking that it shouldn’t matter what Sloan thought of him. It did. He cared about her, and fuck if he’d do anything to hurt her if he had any other choice.

Killing her brother’s men would hurt her.

Killing Colm Sheridan would hurt her, if only because it would forever cut her off from part of her family.

Painted myself into a goddamn corner with that one, didn’t I?

The only warning he got was a slight exhale behind him and a shift in the air. Jude threw himself sideways, slamming into the wall as none other than Teague fucking O’Malley flew past him. The man barely missed a beat, drawing his gun on Jude. “Where is my sister?”

Jude measured the distance between them. Close enough that he had a chance at disarming the man before he got a shot off. Far enough that it wasn’t a guarantee. Jude looked up, tracking the sets of footsteps searching. Another six men at least. He could throw himself out the window to his right, but he’d leave a trail of blood straight to the boat that any fool could follow. The back door was a better bet, but he had to go through Teague to get there.

Shit.

“Your sister made her choice.”

Teague shook his head. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. I’d like to hear her say it herself.”

“You did on the phone not too long ago. Who’s to say you’ll listen any better a second time?” Jude inched toward the door. He could rush the other man and hope for the best. He might get a bullet for his trouble, but as long as it didn’t hit anything vital, he had a better chance of covering the blood trail from a single wound than he did if he went through the window. Best chance I’m going to get.

“If you’re who you say you are, I know what you’re here for. I don’t even blame you.” Teague followed him with the gun, the barrel not wavering in the least. “But the fact remains—if you’re looking to hurt my sister or my wife, I’ll bury you.”

Jude could respect that, though hell if he wanted to. It was so much easier to hate everything about the Boston underworld before he started meeting the players one-on-one. Before Sloan. Jude took another step to the side. “I would never hurt Sloan.”

“Holy fuck.” Teague’s eyes went wide. “Don’t think you can play that card with me. I know my sister. She would never choose someone like you—not willingly.”

“Guess you don’t know Sloan as well as you think.” He rushed the other man. The gun went off and fire exploded in his side, but he didn’t stop. Jude kicked Teague’s knee out, then slammed a fist into his face. He didn’t go down, but he was stunned long enough for Jude to run through the door and into the trees. Each step hurt like a bitch, but he didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, didn’t do anything but keep one hand on his side to keep the blood blossoming there from hitting the ground.

The pain didn’t matter. The fucking wound didn’t matter, either.

All that mattered was getting back to Sloan.