Chapter 3

Chapter Three

N oah ran a hand down his face as he watched Annabelle lose the battle with sleep. She was out cold by the time her head hit the bed, her feet still on the floor. He took the phone off speaker and held it to his ear. This assignment had gone to hell. What should have been a simple protection job had turned into an armed siege. He wished he’d ignored the call from his new boss and gone to the Irish bar as planned. Or better yet, quit Benson Security when he left London.

“Where are you?” he asked Violet, keeping his voice low because he was aware that the room wasn’t soundproof. His partner had proven that not five minutes earlier.

“In the alley across the road, behind a dumpster. I was watching the street when the cars arrived. They split up, taking the back and front entrances to the building, so I headed down the fire escape between the buildings and scaled the fence.”

“You called the team?”

“Of course I called the team. What did you think I’d do? Go all Rambo on their backsides and take them out one at a time?”

That’s exactly what he’d thought. “Okay, that’s good,” he said into the phone.

Behind him, Annabelle snored gently.

“What about the cops?” he asked Violet.

“On their way. I called it in as an armed robbery.”

He thought for a second. “The alarm didn’t go off.”

“Told you it was a piece of crap.”

Noah looked around the small panic room. There was a desk with two monitors attached to the wall above it. Beside it was a tiny kitchen area with a hot plate, toaster oven, sink, and cupboards he assumed were stocked with the basics. There was a single bed against the wall that faced the door, and the remaining wall held a set of shelves filled with bedding and clothing. A portable toilet sat beside the shelves. On a shelf, next to the door, was the first aid kit he’d just raided, a flashlight, a personal alarm, and an old pistol that had clearly never been maintained.

It would have to do.

“I’ll try to barricade us in,” he said, aware time was short and running out fast.

“Just don’t make any noise,” Violet said. “You can hear pretty much everything inside that room. Those walls won’t stop any bullets, either. She’d have been better off hiding in the claw-foot tub in her bathroom.”

“Yeah, I figured as much when you were going postal on the door.”

“Should’ve carried her out when I told you to,” Violet said. “I’ll do what I can from out here. Don’t get shot.” The line went dead.

As Noah tucked the phone back into his pocket, he studied Annabelle, wrapped up like a burrito in the heirloom quilt. She was completely vulnerable, unable to defend herself or her home.

“Good she has you then,” said the voice only he could hear .

Noah wasn’t surprised to see the ghostly image of his dead wife standing at the end of Annabelle’s bed. Therese had been appearing in his imagination since the day they buried her. At one point, thinking he must be going crazy, he’d sought professional help. The therapist had reassured him he wasn’t seeing ghosts; he was simply processing his grief the way he knew best—by creating an imaginary friend.

Yeah, that sounded perfectly sane.

“I don’t have time right now, Therese,” he muttered as he switched on the monitors above the desk.

“If I’m not real, why do you talk to me?” She rolled her eyes dramatically while tapping her bright red nails on the arm of her black leather biker’s jacket.

As images from inside the building appeared on the screens, Noah turned his attention to them instead of the woman he’d fallen in love with before he’d been old enough to understand the word. Today, she wore her “My Cousin Vinny” outfit—lots of black leather and tight, tight leggings that showed off her shapely legs. It didn’t take much effort for Therese to channel Marisa Tomei’s ballsy Italian American character from the movie. It came to her naturally. Damn, but she’d been sexy as hell when she dressed like that…

He shook his head and focused on the building’s security setup. One camera covered each floor, one the main door, another the back door, and one the stairwell.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

There were far too many shadowed corners where assailants could hide. A wireless keyboard and mouse sat on a shelf under the monitors. Noah set them on the desk and tried to bring up an audio feed. There wasn’t one.

Violet was right. The security system was a piece of crap.

On the screens, he could see eight armed men: four in the stairwell, heading straight for Annabelle’s apartment, and four sweeping the first floor. It was clear from watching them that this wasn’t the first time they’d done this kind of thing. They were focused, organized, and worked well as a team. These guys wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if they found a target. And plasterboard walls sure as hell wouldn’t stop their bullets. The panic room was more of a death trap than a safe haven.

Glancing around, he established that the desk was the only solid piece of furniture in the room. He had to move fast. In mere seconds, any noise he made would give them away. He flipped the desk onto its side, forming a barrier between the door and the most protected corner of the room—the area beside the kitchen.

Therese nodded approvingly. “Good idea. Barricades always work in Westerns.”

“This isn’t a movie,” he muttered as he gently lifted Annabelle and placed her on the floor behind the barrier. She didn’t stir, which was a blessing. With any luck, she’d remain asleep and silent for the duration.

Next, he propped the mattress against the desk as an extra layer between them and any bullets that came their way. It was the best he could do. At least their position took them out of the direct line of fire if the men found the door and aimed at it.

Now all he could do was wait.

Therese gazed down at Annabelle with sympathy. Her emotions had always been written all over her face. It had been one of the things he loved most about her. There was never any guessing where he stood with his wife.

“She must be so lonely,” she said. “My heart breaks for her.”

Noah took up position beside Annabelle and drew his weapon, keeping his eyes glued to the monitors. Four men sneaked into the loft, spreading out to sweep the vast space, their guns aimed and ready.

“You need to take good care of her, Noah,” Therese said.

“I’m trying.” It was barely a whisper. “You’re distracting me.”

“Well, excuse me!” She glared at him. “If you die here, I will kick your ass in the afterlife.”

“Noted.”

The vision of his wife faded, leaving only the woman sleeping on the hard floor beside him. She emitted a gentle little snore that seemed far too loud in the enclosed space. Noah froze, waiting to see if anyone had heard. A bead of sweat made its way down his spine as he watched the men draw closer to the panic room. One gun against four wasn’t good odds, especially when one of the men carried a semiautomatic weapon.

Time stretched out in agony as Noah waited. Shouldn’t there be sirens by now? The cops were only blocks away. Instead, all he heard was the muted movements of the armed men as they searched the loft.

Noah watched them open the two doors on either side of the panic room’s entrance. They were so close that he could hear their every word through the paper-thin walls. Guess now he had audio to go with the cameras. If they made it out of this alive, the first thing he’d do was rip out her security system and replace it with something that actually did the job.

“Nothing,” one of them said as he came back through the door Noah had assumed led to a closet. “Coupla empty rooms. No girl.”

“Where the fuck is she?” a tall, thin man demanded as he turned his back on the camera.

The patch on the back of his sleeveless denim jacket came into focus, and Noah’s stomach tightened when he read the insignia—Demon Brothers MC. He let out a slow, silent breath. What the hell had Annabelle witnessed that had the Demons after her? This wasn’t good. This was as bad as it could get. The gang had been in its infancy when he’d been a cop in Atlantic City, but the tales he’d heard about them turned his stomach. They weren’t the largest motorcycle club in the States, but they were one of the deadliest.

Noah clenched his teeth, fighting back the anger that could cause him to make a mistake. He needed a calm head. Needed to focus. He’d deal with the assistant DA later and ask why she’d failed to mention the Demons’ involvement when hiring his team. Even a last-minute job required a briefing on the essentials. And knowing who they were up against was definitely essential.

“She gotta be hiding.” A short, stocky guy with tattoos running up the back of his neck and onto his bald head gestured around the room with his gun. “She’s too scared to leave the building. Stoop said she ain’t been outta here in years. Gets sick if she tries.”

“Then we search.” The thin guy motioned to his fellow Demons. “Loco, Runner, rip the place apart. Bone, call the guys, fill them in.”

The stocky guy nodded and pulled out his phone as the other three spread out and started searching. They weren’t delicate about it either. They overturned the bed and emptied the kitchen cupboards, and anything in their way was knocked down and trampled on.

Beside Noah, Annabelle stirred, disturbed by the noise. He watched her closely, ready to stop her from talking if she surfaced. How, he didn’t know, but he’d figure it out. However, after a few seconds, she settled, and Noah could breathe again. He returned his attention to the monitors.

Just as Annabelle coughed.