Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

REED

Given how often I'd been in dangerous situations over the years, I was pretty nonchalant about things that scared most people. When a fight was imminent, when guns were drawn, when my protectee's safety was at risk, I didn't panic. I still got a heart-racing, gut-churning, vision-narrowing surge of adrenaline, of course, but through training and experience, I'd learned how to channel it to make me a lethal fighter, a fast thinker, an impenetrable shield.

Put three tiny words on the tip of my tongue, though, and apparently I flailed like a fucking Muppet.

I'd been trying to make Chris smile this morning—my new obsession, since learning the truth about his uncle had understandably brought him low—and when the words "…one of the things I love about you" had nearly slipped out, I'd choked. Almost literally.

But it wasn't the fact that I'd nearly told Chris I loved him that sent me fleeing from the peaceful little caretaker cabin. It was that, when I'd caught myself in the act and given myself a hard mental shake for nearly saying something off-the-cuff that Chris might have thought was sincerely meant… I found that I did mean it. Sincerely as fuck.

I wasn't almost falling for him, I'd fallen. I fell.

I wasn't pretending to be in a relationship, I was in one.

And that… that was fucking terrifying.

"Sunday? Sunday!" Janissey's sharp voice through my phone brought me back to reality—to the unoccupied, scarcely-furnished apartment above the O'Leary Bar and Grill, which Parker had graciously let me use after finding me scowling at the locked door of the library earlier, and to this Zoom meeting from hell, now entering its fourth fucking hour, which I should've been paying attention to. "Thoughts on the assessment Neiman just gave us of your upcoming assignment?" my boss demanded.

I cracked my neck from side to side, eyes on the phone I'd propped on an old Formica kitchen table.

I'd barely heard a word Agent Neiman had said, and I was pretty sure Janissey suspected it.

The upcoming assignment, protecting a prominent scientist named Elena Perez who'd be appearing at an international tribunal in January to testify about a toxic waste dump she'd uncovered. The protectee herself, a 53-year old environmentalist who refused to leave her wife, her dog, or her parakeet behind, sounded like a genuinely good person—which wasn't necessary for me to do my job, but didn't hurt. It was exactly the sort of plum assignment that career agents like me lived for.

And it would require me to relocate to Antwerp for three months. Possibly longer.

"I think Agent Neiman's done a thorough job and given us a lot to think about," I said. "Thank you." The agent in question nodded, clearly pleased by the praise but too professional to show it. "I'll review the notes once we're off the call—it's a little tricky managing this all from my phone—and I'll let you know if I have any questions."

Janissey nodded impatiently, face stony beneath his graying dark hair. "Neiman, Burley, thanks for your time. We'll be in touch."

The two agents nodded and their windows blinked out so that only Janissey and I were left on the call. He immediately sighed. "What the fuck, Sunday? Where was your head during that meeting?"

At home. With Chris. Wondering which cabin he's working on, and what song he's humming to himself. Wanting to watch the gap of exposed skin at his waistband grow as his borrowed sweatpants sink down his hips, and then trace every fresh millimeter with my fingertips and tongue. Missing his stories about his old next door neighbor's brush with a Russian mystic—who "honest to gosh, Reed, predicted the future, ‘cause she said I'd ‘stumble into misfortune' and how else could she have known I'd get distracted trying to sniff snapdragons and trip into that hornet's nest?"—nearly as much as I missed his genuinely insightful views on politics and social issues. Needing to be near him make sure that no one—not Dante's enemies, not vengeful hornets, not Chris's own sweet and impetuous nature—hurt a single hair on his head.

"Do you need respite?" Janissey peered at me through the screen. "Be honest with me. You've been there for nearly two weeks now, and mental fatigue can be?—"

"I don't need respite," I assured him. "I'm fine. Better than ever, actually."

"Yeah?" He lifted an eyebrow. "I hope that's true because I'm moving up the timeline. Dante's signed his plea deal by now, so we don't need to placate him anymore, and since there have been no credible threats against your protectee, I want you on Perez full-time starting next week."

"No." The word was out of my mouth before I had time to think twice, but just like earlier this morning, when I thought about it, I realized I meant it. Huh .

"Excuse me?" He laughed in disbelief. " No? "

"No." I blew out a breath. "I can't put my finger on it, but I'm not convinced Chris is safe yet. There's something we're missing. Overlooking. Someone called his name that night at the safe house?—"

Janissey shook his head. "Not your decision to make, Sunday. Things might have calmed down a bit this week, but we've still got a staffing issue?—"

"Yeah," I agreed without hesitation and without regret. "If you pull me off this assignment, you sure will. Because I'm staying here for as long as Chris needs me."

His eyes flared wide as he realized what I was saying. "Sunday," he groaned. "Jesus Christ. You did it again, you bastard. Just like last time."

"Nope." This was nothing like my last assignment. Then , I'd made a choice in the heat of the moment without fully understanding the consequences. Now, I knew exactly what I was doing.

"You're telling me you haven't gone soft?" Janissey rolled his eyes. "I don't believe— what, Eloise? Can't you see I'm in the middle of—? Hang on, Sunday. Well, tell them I'll call them back when I'm—What do you mean ‘gone'? Jesus, Eloise, they called three hours ago? Why didn't you tell me? Yes, it's an emergency! It's a fucking clusterfuck, is what it is. Sunday!"

I snorted, amused. "Still here. Clearly."

His brow creased. "And where the fuck is your protectee? "

Immediately, my heart rate picked up. "Back at the campground, as I told you when I joined the call. What's going on?"

"Dante's missing. He didn't sign his plea deal." His computer vibrated as he typed something into his keyboard. "He's in the wind."

"What do you mean missing ? The Marshals were supposed to?—"

"But they didn't. He disappeared yesterday, those fuckers only informed us this morning, and I'm just hearing about it now." His fingers didn't slow down. "Not my shit show, fortunately. But the Marshals are probably gonna want to send someone there to keep an eye on things, in case Dante comes your way?—"

"An eye on what? My protectee hasn't told his uncle where we are." Chris had said that and I believed him, one hundred percent. "And five minutes ago, you were happy to pull me off this assignment to fix your personnel issues, so is he even really my protectee anymore?—?"

"Don't be naive," he scoffed. "The Marshals have reason to believe Dante will contact your guy, so obviously they'll want to watch him. No better way to do that than by keeping him in protective custody. We'll coordinate?—"

Suddenly Janissey's earlier words seemed prophetic, because this was feeling an awful lot like my assignment back in August. The Powers That Be wanted to use my protectee for their own purposes under the guise of protection.

It had felt wrong then. Now it made me incandescently angry.

I stood and grabbed my phone, already moving toward the door.

No way would I let the Marshals anywhere near Chris, at least until he'd heard about the situation from me and we'd decided together how to handle it.

"Like hell they will," I told Janissey as I jogged down the hall. "You tell the Marshals to keep their asses away from Copper County. They'll only attract attention and blow our cover."

"Your protectee is connected to a crime family, and?—"

"My protectee is not a criminal, and you will talk about him with respect," I growled. "Someone else fucked up here. Go bitch at the Marshals. Understand?"

Janissey blinked up at me in shock. "What the fuck?"

"Gotta go." I pulled open the door to the street and realized it had started raining at some point. Water sheeted off the overhang and ran down the street in small rivers.

"Go? Go where?"

"To protect Chris." I jabbed the End Call button and dragged my keys from my pocket before ducking my head and facing the storm.

I'd parked two blocks down, which hadn't seemed like a big deal this morning but now felt a million steps too far. I should never have left Chris alone?—

"Sunday! Reed!" Watt Bartlett tore open the door to the flower shop and raced out to the sidewalk as I passed. "Where the fuck have you been? I've been looking all over for you."

I shook my head, not slowing down. "I can't talk now?—"

Watt kept pace beside me, long legs eating up the wet pavement. "Well, your husband needed you hours ago, asshole. He's all upset, convinced you're not going to love him anymore?—"

I stopped and turned to stare at him. "Not love him? What?" I glanced around, trying to spot him through the pounding rain. "Where is he? "

"Back at the campground. He borrowed my phone so he could call someone about a family emergency or something. He wouldn't tell me. And I wondered maybe if it was something to do with… well, you being one of Oak's friends ." Watt lifted an eyebrow. "But after Chris's call, he looked like he'd seen a ghost. He cried?—"

" Cried? " Heart racing, I grabbed the front of Watt's shirt, which was already soaked through and cold to the touch. "Did he say who he talked to?"

Watt, to his credit, didn't seem upset by my manhandling. He shook his head. "He didn't, but when he first made the call, I… I might have overheard him say Nicky ?"

My numb fingers slipped off Watt's shirt and I sucked in a breath.

Nicky . There it was. The missing piece. The "something" I'd told Janissey we'd overlooked. The cousin who, in Janissey's own words, was "called Nicky Knives for a reason." The cousin who'd been looking for Chris and, considering he'd managed to get him on the phone, had apparently found him.

"Fucking Christ." I spun around, darting across the street to my car, splashing through puddles.

I heard him mutter under his breath, "He must really love the guy."

"Yes," I snarled over my shoulder as I yanked the door open. "More than you know."

The ride back to the campground took far longer than it should have. The rain poured down in torrents so hard the wipers could barely keep up and slicked the fallen leaves strewn along the twisty road. When I finally pulled into the campground driveway, I didn't slow down, even when the deep ruts made the car bottom out. I skidded to a stop beside the caretaker cabin and dove out into the rain once more.

"Chris?" I screamed as I ran, fear and love making it come out more like a howl. "Chris!"

"Reed!" Dolores ran from the woods, waving her arm. "Hey, Reed."

I ignored her, throwing open the door to the caretaker cabin, but there was no happy smile and big doe eyes to greet me. The kitchen area was tidy, but empty, the bathroom open and dark, and in the bedroom?—

I rushed through the door, grabbed Chris's hand knit sweater from the foot of the bed, and brought it to my nose to inhale. Vanilla and Chris , the most potent fragrance in the universe. I closed my eyes for one second to steady myself, then turned toward the door to question Dolores…

Which was when I saw the gun.

"Where the hell is my nephew?"

Dante Fromadgio looked a lot less intimidating in real life. He was thin and short, with eyes a few shades darker than Chris's, salt-and-pepper hair, and a little mustache. With his khaki pants, plaid button-down, and honest-to-god sweater vest (a twin to Chris's sweater) he might've looked like a retired banker…

You know, if not for the fact that he was holding my backup weapon on me.

I held up both hands. While my gun was in its holster against the small of my back, I didn't dare pull it on Chris's uncle. "Dante?" I said. "I'm Reed. Agent Reed Sunday. From the Division. "

Dante's eyes narrowed. "That doesn't answer my question, son."

I swallowed. "I don't know where Chris is. I'm looking for him, too. I just got word that you'd escaped from the Marshals and came back here to tell him. But a friend said he overheard Chris talking to Nicky?—"

" Christ ." Dante's nostrils flared and his shoulders slumped. "If Nicolas already found him?—"

I lunged forward, grabbed his wrist, and applied pressure. Dante released the weapon with a sigh.

"I wasn't going to shoot you unless you'd hurt my nephew."

"Good to know." I checked my gun before jamming it in the back of my jeans next to my own. "Now what the hell does Nicky want with Chris?"

Dante shook his head tiredly. "Exactly what I tried to prevent, I assume. Nicolas got the idea in his head that I'd have let him take over my business when I retired, if not for Chris. I told Nicolas over and over that my choice had nothing to do with his cousin, that I didn't want that life for either of my boys anymore, that it was time to fix the mistake my father made decades ago." He sighed. "Nicolas didn't believe me. He said he'd prove to me that he was the ‘true Fromadgio' heir. He never understood that being a true Fromadgio had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with honor… or at least it used to." Dante spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know where I went wrong."

"Tell me about it," a male voice said. "I'm in the same boat."

Dante and I turned to see a small, shadowed figure by the open door to the cabin. When he stepped forward into the light from the window above the kitchen sink, I frowned .

"Bob? You should go back to your camper." I moved to put myself between him and Dante. "This isn't a good?—"

But to my shock, Bob looked over my shoulder and lifted his chin at Danny. "Dante."

"Bobby?" Dante's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm retired." Bob shrugged, smoothing a hand over his thinning hair. "Sort of a forced retirement, since the whole thing with Robert Jr., so we bought a camper and ended up here. Kinda weird coincidence, I guess?—"

"Can you two catch up later?" I demanded impatiently. "I'm a little busy trying to figure out where the fuck Chris is?—"

"I can help with that." Dolores appeared in the door, pulling off the hood of her raincoat to fluff her red curls.

"Dolores," Dante said. "You're looking well."

"Dante." She nodded with a slight softening of her face. "I saw your nephew earlier. Actually, both of them."

"You saw Chris and Nicky?" I demanded. "Where?" I was not used to being the person with no information and I didn't like it one bit, especially when the safety of the man I loved—and hadn't told yet—was on the line. "And how the hell do you know our campers?"

"This is Robert Evanovich—" Dante nodded at the man.

" Evanovich? " I repeated, feeling my head begin to spin. " You're Robert Evanovich?"

"Senior," Bob corrected. "Important to clarify that, since my son got himself arrested for dealing and bookmaking, amongst other unsavory things." He shook his head in disgust. "No honor in this next generation."

"Where's Chris?" I repeated, trying my hardest not to pull both guns and start shooting .

Dolores's expression was a mix of sympathy and hard-eyed determination. "Chris came over to the RV this morning for online shopping, but when I got interrupted, he skedaddled. I came to check on him a couple hours ago and he seemed kinda nervous-like—on account of the storm, I figured. I invited him back over, but he never showed. His email was open on my laptop—a message from Nicky begging Chris to call. I can only assume he did?—"

"He did." I scrubbed both hands through my hair. "Fuck."

"Yeah. Once I saw Nicky's name, I put two and three together real fast. I came back to warn Chris… and that's when I saw Nicky holding a gun on him in the woods." She shook her head. "Didn't like Nicky before, but now…?" She shook her head angrily.

"Nicolas and I are going to have words," Dante promised.

I stared at him in disbelief. No, Nicky was going to end up behind bars for a very long time, if I had anything to say about it… assuming he hadn't hurt Chris. If he had, all bets were off.

"Do you know where they went, Dolores?" I prompted. "Did you see Nicky's car? Or which direction they headed."

"I was getting to that part." She lifted one red eyebrow. "Cabin 13."

"Cabin—? Holy shit! He's here ? He's at the campground? You saw them?" I demanded. When she nodded, I headed for the door.

Bob blocked my path. "Hold up, kiddo. We need weapons and we need a plan?—"

"Kiddo?" I snorted. "No. You don't need shit. I am a trained Division agent, and I need to go?—"

"Bobby's right," Dante interrupted. "Three… we ll, four," he corrected with a nod at Dolores, "against one is a lot better odds. And I'm sure as hell not going to sit around waiting, Mr. Trained Division Agent, since Chris got kidnapped on your watch. So either take us with you, or we'll go ourselves."

I shook my head as I pulled out my weapon to check it. What the fuck had my life come to that I would be leading an extraction team of two old men and one very opinionated lady?

"We care about him, too," Dolores said firmly.

Because of course they did. Because Chris was… Chris. Gorgeous and warm and so fucking good , he attracted good feelings to him like a magnet.

Too bad he attracted trouble, too.

"Fine," I agreed because I didn't have time to argue. "But you three will follow my lead."

Dante looked like he would protest, but Bob laid a hand on his arm. "Do as he says, Danny. He's the man's husband, for fuck's sake."

"Husband?" Dante's eyes widened, then narrowed. "The hell he is."

Because Chris eventually would be my husband, if I had anything to say about it—and, yeah, that was a mind-fuck revelation I did not have time for at the moment—I leaned toward Dante and bit out, "Get used to it."

Then I headed for the woods.

Cabin 13 was nestled in the center of a grove of fir trees not far from the edge of Watt Bartlett's orchard. Our run through the forest was mostly silent, thanks to a thick carpet of pine needles, and the trees grew so thickly, the ground was barely damp, which helped us move faster… but "faster" was a relative term when you were traveling with The Centrum Silver Squad .

I drew my gun as we reached the clearing in front of the cabin, but Dante grabbed my wrist to stop me.

"What the fuck?" I hissed, yanking it away from him.

"No guns," he said firmly. "Those are my nephews in there."

" Chris is your nephew. Nicky is the asshole who's got a gun on him," I corrected.

But Dante shook his head insistently. "Nicolas is…" He sighed. "There's no denying he's gone down a bad path. And maybe that's my fault. But he's still my boy. And I don't want him hurt."

I'd wondered how Chris had become the person he was, growing up with Dante as an uncle. Now I could sort of see the resemblance… though it seemed Dante's belief in the goodness of humanity only extended as far as his family.

"Stay back and stay out of my way," I told him.

Staying behind the tree line, I crept around to the south side of the cabin, where there were no windows, and darted across the small lawn. The grass was spongy and slippery but I managed to keep my footing… barely.

I moved around the corner to the western side of the cabin and, with the worn cedar shingles biting my palms, I flattened myself to the wall. I stepped cautiously toward the single window.

I heard the voices before I got close enough to peer in.

"—all your fault, Chrissy." Nicky's voice was shrill and fast. "I don't want to do this, okay? But they're going to arrest me. Me ! This shit never would have happened if Uncle Danny had left the business to me as he should've."

"You keep saying that. And I keep telling you, he could have left it to you. I wouldn't have cared." Chris sounded a little scared and a whole lot angry, but unhurt. A bolt of relief nearly brought me to my knees. "I didn't even know this side of his business existed. All I wanted was the Cellar."

"You can't have one without the other. Jesus, Chris, you're so fucking stupid. All those years…"

As Nicky went on, I crept closer to the window. The bottom sill was level with my shoulder and I wished like hell I had a mirror so I could look inside without letting Nicky know I was there. But because luck was on my side—and Nicky was kind of an idiot—he'd turned on the camping lantern Chris had brought out here after he'd disconnected the electricity. I was able to see in far better than they could see out.

Unfortunately, what I saw was not good.

Chris was huddled into one corner of a dilapidated wooden bench built into the wall of the cabin, his hands tied behind his back and his glasses askew on his nose. Chris had taken out most of the wood paneling on the walls and ceilings earlier this week so he could update the wiring and replace the ceiling fan, which meant he was propped against rough timbers, sharp nails, and a bunch of electrical wires that were no longer stapled to the studs.

Watching him track movement on the other side of the room, the side I couldn't see, it seemed that Nicky was pacing back and forth across the small space, probably agitated and definitely dangerous, while Chris was a sitting duck.

"…and once you're out of the way, Uncle Danny will stop caring about trying to ‘restore honor to the family' before he dies. In fact, he'll have every reason to stay in the game." Nicky laughed. "For revenge."

"I d-don't know what you're talking about." Chris fluttered his lashes the way he did when he was lying. If his hands had been free, I was sure they' d have been fluttering a mile a minute. "Please, Nicky, tell me the whole plan. In detail."

I closed my eyes. Chris wanted Nicky's villain monologue, and I knew why. Because when we'd talked about John Ruffian, I'd told him if a villain monologues it gives his captive a chance to get free.

Jesus fuck, I loved that man. I loved that he was planning his own escape. And I wasn't going to let him out of my sight for a solid month after this.

Make that two months.

Make that forever .

I just needed Nicky to walk past the window so I could get a clear shot…

"My plan ? My plan is to fucking get rid of you. You have any idea how hard it's been to watch Danny go weak because of you? You got in his head." Nicky's voice hardened as he tapped his temple with one blunt finger. "You and your sweet-and-innocent bullshit."

"Ah, Nicolas," a voice at my shoulder whispered sadly. I didn't bother turning since I knew who it was. "So misguided."

"Danny's not weak," Chris said firmly. "He's a good person."

" He's a good person ," Nicky sing-songed. "Do you have any idea the things he's done? No. Because he never trusted you enough to tell you the truth. And now he's trying to get out of the game and leave me with nothing . But guess what? That's not happening. I'm calling the shots now, the way I should have been all along."

Chris's jaw clenched, but he didn't reply, and I'd never been happier that the man disliked arguing (except with me) because it meant he wasn't provoking Nicky further.

Nicky continued his rant. "Evanovich doesn't wanna be in prison any more than I want to go, so I tipped off his lieutenants about your location. They're still loyal to him. In fact, Yuri's on his way. He's gonna get rid of you and make it real clear who's responsible for your disappearance. And as soon as Danny hears the Evanoviches got you, boom !"

His bark made Chris jump and I growled under my breath.

Bob bit out a muttered curse. "Yuri better hope he's not involved in this. Dolores and I are gonna go find out." He hesitated. "You guys okay without us?"

Okay with losing two members of the Centrum Silver Squad in the middle of a hostage situation?

I grunted an affirmative.

Bob pulled Dolores back toward the path through the trees.

"N-Nicky," Chris said. "Uncle Danny's going to be really angry?—"

Nicky snorted. "No shit. He'll be fucking furious. That's what I'm counting on. See, if he's angry enough, he'll give up this plea deal bullshit so he can get revenge on the Evanoviches. No plea deal, no testifying, and Evanovich will almost definitely walk. It's a win-win-win for everyone… except you, I guess."

I could see about five dozen holes in Nicky's logic. For example, at this point, if Danny backed out of his plea deal, he'd end up in prison for the crimes he admitted to, not back in Jersey re-taking the reins of the family business. And if Danny was hell bent on revenge against the Evanoviches, wouldn't that make him more motivated to testify?

I could see Chris recognized these flaws, as well, but he pressed his lips together and managed to look suitably scared.

"D-Danny's smart," Chris said, injecting a wobble into his voice that I was almost sure was fake, but still made my stomach plummet. "He'll remember how you were upset at me before he left. He'll know you were involved."

"Nah. Danny thinks you and I are chill. He told me that as long as I left you alone, he wouldn't rat me out to the Feds and he'd even take the hit for some of the shit I did. All those bribery charges he copped to? That's me ," he said proudly. "But after he left, I got to thinking and I've decided that deal isn't gonna work for me. Took me months to track you to Vermont, but I did it. And my guy was this close to grabbing you, too. Did you really think anyone wanted to buy one of your stupid charcuterie platters?" He laughed… but then his laughter died. "But then you took off again. I managed to find you in Springfield?—"

"You didn't find me, Nicky. I told Mrs. Rose who told you," Chris said, sounding disappointed. "It was my mistake."

"Fuck you, Chris. You didn't find me, Nicky ? Uh, yes , I fucking did. I just didn't realize your neighbor would be armed and have a whole fucking crew who was equally strapped?—"

"You didn't hurt him, did you? Is Kenny okay?" Chris demanded.

"When the cops came, the grandmother claimed my guys were invading her home." Nicky sounded disgusted. "Like the old bitch didn't have a gun under her housecoat. Four of my guys got arrested that night. That's on you, too."

"I think it's on you ," Chris whispered.

"So fucking smug. Even soaking wet and tied up, you think you're better than everyone?—"

Nicky, his dark water-slicked hair and his skinny form encased in a green tracksuit he'd borrowed from an old episode of The Sopranos, stepped toward the bed with his gun arm raised like he was going to pistol-whip Chris.

Absolutely fucking not .

I drew my gun, got him in my sights, and?—

Dante knocked into me, throwing me off balance.

"No," he whispered fiercely. "I told you, no guns. He…he won't actually hurt Chris. He's just trying to scare him. See? You heard him yourself, he's waiting for Yuri."

"I swear to fucking God, if you try that again, I'll shoot you too," I hissed back, pushing him aside to reclaim my spot by the window.

Dante was right—Nicky had apparently just wanted to see Chris flinch—but I didn't care. I'd have happily shot him to eliminate the risk. By now, though, Nicky had moved to the far side of the bed. From this angle, my aim would have to be perfect to hit him without hitting Chris. I couldn't risk it. Fuck.

"N-no, Nicky, I don't think that," Chris whispered, ducking his head. This time, the fear in his voice was real. "I really don't. I always wanted to be your friend. I wanted you to like me. I gave you chance after chance because you're family. And that was my mistake too. You know, Reed is probably on his way to save me right now?—"

I was. I was right here. And his belief in me meant everything. I raised my weapon again. If Nicky moved just a fraction of an inch…

"Reed?" Nicky laughed, lowering his arm and shaking his head as he walked away. "You mean your bodyguard? Oh, shit, you're hilarious. No way he'll find you before Yuri arrives."

"Reed is probably on his way to save me," Chris repeated calmly. "But it doesn't matter. Because I am not weak. Reed helped me see that. And I can save my own d-damn self."

After that, two things happened simultaneously.

First, Nicky froze in shock in the center of the room—probably as stunned as I was that Chris had actually used fresh language—and I took aim.

Second, and more importantly, Chris propelled himself off the bench, yanking one of the exposed wires with him. Since the wire was no longer attached to the studs—or to anything , except the ancient ceiling fan suspended from a single joist in the center of the room—when he pulled, the wire lifted the fan a couple of crucial inches, and when he let the wire go, the force was strong enough to snap the rusted bolts attaching the fan to the joist.

The fan came crashing down on Nicky's head and his gun went flying…

Like something out of one of those motherfucking inconceivably unrealistic episodes of John Ruffian.

"I am never going to diss that show again," I muttered. Then I ran around the cabin, took the two steps to the front door in a single leap, and finally, finally , got my arms around Chris.

I was not letting him go again.