Chapter 4

Chapter Four

W here the hell were the cops?

Violet had called them a good five minutes ago and there was still no sign of them. Given that Noah was right and the main sheriff’s office was only a few streets away, she’d expected someone to arrive almost immediately. Or maybe the sheriff’s office wasn’t who answered emergency calls. Maybe it was the other cops. The city police?

She growled in frustration. The American legal system was confusing, and she didn’t like to be confused. She also didn’t like hiding outside on the street while her partner was having all the fun inside the building. If anyone was going to shoot somebody, it ought to be her.

Violet eyed the two sedans parked across the road, their engines still running. Four men had climbed out of each, which she thought was overkill. They’d had three big guys squished into the back seats like sardines in a tin. How many men did it take to kill one housebound woman? Pathetic.

The drivers were cautious, constantly scanning the roads around them, meaning it was impossible to sneak up on them. Pity. Because she would have enjoyed pistol-whipping them into a coma.

She tried to remember if it was illegal to shoot them. Noah would know. But Noah wasn’t there. Surely she’d be justified in shooting them, seeing as they were bad guys waiting for their armed friends to kill an innocent woman. If that wasn’t the definition of an accomplice, she didn’t know what was. Violet wished she’d watched more American crime shows and less reality TV. If she had done, she might know whether she had the right to shoot the drivers.

There was nothing for it but to ask her boss, so she pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Rochelle Davis.

She answered straight away. “Talk to me.”

“Eight armed guys in the building. Two waiting outside in cars. No gunshots so far. Noah’s stuck in a panic room with our client, who’s out cold from overmedicating her flu. No sign of the cops yet. What I want to know is, can I shoot the drivers?”

A second’s silence, then, “No. You can’t shoot the drivers.”

“How else will I distract the guys inside and delay them from getting away? They’re bad guys. Doing bad things. Surely that’s justifiable cause or whatever the hell it’s called.”

“This isn’t a Hollywood movie. We don’t shoot first and ask questions later. We obey the law. Stand dow?—”

Violet hung up. It was clear she wouldn’t get any help from Ms. By-the-Book. Her phone vibrated as she put it back in her pocket. Ignoring what would no doubt be another pointless call with their team leader, she scanned the surrounding buildings, searching for a distraction. Something to flush the hit men back out into the open.

But nothing jumped out at her.

“Shut up!” the thin guy shouted. “I heard something.”

The Demons stilled, listening.

Noah grabbed the glass of water from the counter and crouched beside Annabelle. He placed his gun on the floor and raised her head with his left hand while pressing the glass to her lips. It was a desperate and pointless effort. She was sick and needed to cough. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do about that. Still, he had to try.

“Sip,” Noah whispered to Annabelle.

Her eyes were unfocused, and her body was limp. She was barely awake, and the heat radiating from her was ferocious. With a feeble mew, she tried to do as he instructed.

“I don’ hear nothing,” one of the guys said.

“Just fucking listen,” their leader ordered. “It came from behind me.”

With a glance at the monitors, Noah saw the four men turn toward the back wall.

And the panic room.

Noah focused on Annabelle again. She was completely out of it and burning up. As her lips touched the glass, she coughed again. Only this time, much louder.

They were caught.

On the monitor, as one, the four men strode straight toward them.

“She’s in the wall,” the leader said.

“Secret room?” one of the men asked.

“Gotta be behind the mirror,” another said.

Annabelle had stopped coughing and was sipping the water now. Her eyes were closed, and she was fast asleep again within seconds. But the damage had already been done. Noah lowered her to the floor and, still crouching behind the barrier, swiveled to face the door. His wrists resting on top of the wooden desk, he aimed his gun at the door.

Sweat pooled in the small of his back, but his breathing remained steady and his mind calm and focused. There was no point in thinking about the odds of getting out of the panic room alive. He had a job to do. That was all that mattered. An image of his boys flickered in his mind, but he ruthlessly pushed it aside. They knew he loved them, and thinking about them now was only a distraction. His heart clenched at the thought of never seeing them again, but he swiftly locked those feelings away. Feelings could get you killed.

As the men knocked on the wall surrounding the mirrored door, Noah glanced at the screen. All four men were frowning. One of them hooked his gun into his jeans and grabbed hold of the mirror. With some effort, he ripped it from the door.

“Look what we have here.” The leader smiled maliciously. “Open it,” he ordered the guy next to him.

The guy looked baffled. “How? There’s no handle. There’s nothing.”

“Fucking idiot.” The leader ran his hand down the wall beside the door, easily locating the thin seam that revealed the pressure panel that opened the door.

He pressed.

Nothing happened.

The door was locked from the inside.

“Bitch,” he muttered. “Ram it.” He gestured to the other Demons.

The biggest one took a few steps back and ran at the door.

It felt like the whole building shuddered. But the door held fast.

“Frame’s gotta be reinforced,” the big guy said.

The stocky guy tapped the wall again and slowly grinned at the others. “Doesn’t sound like the walls are anything but plasterboard.”

The leader did a chin lift, signaling for them to step back.

Noah’s stomach tightened as he watched them line up in front of the panic room door.

As one, they raised their guns.

And fired.

As the world around him exploded in a barrage of bullets, Noah threw himself over Annabelle, praying the barrier would protect them. She coughed, but the noise was lost in the sound of battle and carnage. Dust filled the air. Debris flew. Noah jerked as a searing pain registered in his left calf muscle. He glanced back to see a rip in his jeans and blood on the denim, but there was no time to do anything about it. A stray bullet struck the toaster oven, propelling it off the counter and into his back. He grunted in pain, his ears ringing as shots boomed and echoed in the small room.

Then suddenly, silence.

With a grimace, Noah clambered to his heels and took aim at the entrance. Bullet holes peppered the wall and the door. He swallowed hard, trying to clear the dust from his mouth. The stench of gunpowder and destruction heavy in the air. Behind him, Annabelle coughed and gasped to breathe.

“Bitch is still alive.”

There was a thud.

No point in checking the monitors. They were in pieces, along with everything else in the room. His attention shot to where one of the men was attempting to kick his way through the compromised wall. Noah took aim and fired. A squeal came from inside the apartment.

“She shot me. The bitch shot me!”

“Shut the fuck up. She only got your foot.”

A figure passed in front of one of the larger holes but was gone before Noah could shoot.

“Hard to see through the dust, but looks like she’s holed up in the corner. Loco, kick the wall in. We’ll cover you.”

Noah ducked behind the barrier as more gunshots rang out. In the midst of the gunfire, a heavy thud hit the wall close to the corner where they hid. With his eyes scrunched against the dust-thickened air, he aimed at the spot directly above where someone was kicking a hole.

His bullet passed straight through the flimsy plaster.

A grunt. A thud. And the shooting stopped.

“Fucking bitch shot Loco!”

There was a scuffle on the other side of the door. “He’s dead! She fucking killed him.”

“What the hell’s going on up here?” a new voice shouted.

Great, the rest of the group had arrived.

Now there’d be seven men shooting at the panic room.

Noah reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow, and his hand came away bloody.

Damn.

He glanced back at Annabelle, who was now wide awake and huddled in the corner, staring at him in terror and confusion. Tears traced through the dust on her cheeks.

“She’s in there,” the leader shouted. “Get something to break through the wall. We’ll cover you.”

Noah took a breath and steadied his gun. A few more shots, and he was out of ammo.

Where the hell were the cops?

Violet was running on fury by the time the shooting stopped. From her position in the alley, she’d seen flashes of gunfire through the windows on the top floor of the building. Noah was in there. Trapped. With eight guys firing at him.

And she was stuck outside, her hands tied by their new boss. Her previous boss, Callum, would never have told her not to shoot the bad guys. He’d have told her not to get caught.

It wasn’t like there was anyone to see her shoot anyway. The streets were empty, and the cops were nowhere in sight. For all she knew, any help she could offer her partner was useless now. He might already be dead.

The world was painted in a wash of red.

She was a doer, not a waiter.

Her eyes bore holes into the cars in front of her.

And then it hit her.

Her goody-two-shoes boss told her not to shoot the drivers. She hadn’t said anything about their cars. Violet raised her gun. Aimed. Fired. If the drivers happened to get shot accidentally, well, that wasn’t her fault.

Her first shot struck the engine of the lead car with cool precision. Steam rose from its hood, and the driver screamed like a baby. He stuck his arm out of the window and shot wildly. Aiming for nothing. Hitting everything.

Violet aimed again. This time, she took out his wing mirror. As a string of expletives filled the air, she turned her attention to the second car and fired. Jackpot. The car’s alarm went off just as the first driver blasted his horn.

That should get some attention.

With a smile, Violet slipped back into the shadows.

Gunshots sounded from the street below. A car horn blared. Right on top of that, a car alarm went off.

Noah listened to the men inside the loft.

“Somebody’s shooting up our vehicles!”

Noah silently gave thanks to God for Violent Lee.

Above the noise of the cars, he heard sirens, growing louder as they drew nearer.

Now he could have kissed his partner.

“Five-O’s here. We gotta go,” someone said.

“What about the girl?”

“We’ll get her next time,” their leader said. “Do you hear that, bitch?” he shouted. “You’re dead. We’re coming for you. We’ll burn you out if we have to. Fucking bitch!”

There was the sound of running footsteps, slamming doors, and louder sirens.

Noah stayed in position, staring at the door, his gun ready. He couldn’t take any chances that one of the gang would stick around to finish the job. Annabelle moved behind him, slipped her hand beneath his jacket, and curled it into his T-shirt at the small of his back.

The hand shook.

“Noah,” she whispered, her words slow and filled with confusion. “I think somebody’s shooting at us.”

And even as the pain from his injuries began to register, Noah smiled.