Page 3 of Her Billionaire Protector

“Finish it.” It comes out gruffer than I want it to. Mia’s eyes narrow.

We’re not at my cabin in the woods anymore.

If only she’d stayed.

three

. . .

Mia

We’re nearlyto the elevator when he touches the small of my back and leans in close to whisper in my ear, “Stairs.”

I pick up speed, and pass the elevator doors, but I can tell it’s not enough. In my periphery there’s a flurry of movement. Armin slams open the stairwell door to shove me through. “Run to the bottom. Don’t go outside.”

And he pulls the door closed, before I can argue.

I snap open my purse and consider the Beretta. But I just can’t. Shots fired will jeopardize my cover, years of work.

It’s been hell. The only way I get through it these days is by believing we’re about to close in on Harvey, put him away forever. That’s what’s going to make it all worthwhile. I snap it shut again and turn.

Still, I can’t leave Armin behind either.

I hold my breath and listen and wait. A shot rings out, then another, two short bursts. Screams from the bar.

The door bursts open, and I gasp.

Armin. He yanks the door closed behind him. “We’ve gotta go.” He grabs my hand and drags me down the stairs.

But as usual, I’m dressed for sex work, not for fleeing an impromptu gunfight, so I’m a stomping, echoing mess in the stairwell. He snatches my purse off my arm and throws it over his shoulder. Then he picks me up and throws me over his other shoulder. I open my mouth in protest, but he’s right to fireman-carry me the rest of the way.

We burst into the night air at the same time the upstairs door slams open and footsteps hit the stairs.

“He’s coming,” I warn.

“Hold this.” He hands me his gun. Armin cinches his arms around my waist and picks up his pace. “I need you to get better shoes,” he pants.

The streetlight’s out, and it’s dark in the alley. Probably for the best. He sprints us to the SUV parked behind the dumpster, sets me inside, snatches his gun back, and slams the door shut.

A little wormy guy bursts out of the emergency exit, his head pivoting in all directions. His shoulder is nicked, he’s got a splotch of blood on his sweater. Ahithitman in a raggedy cardigan. Not a top-form killer. Looks like he’s breathing hard. He can’t be one of Harvey’s guys.

This loser’s not worth the rounds. I’d rather dodge this creeper all night every night; if we get a body count out of this little exchange it means I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do, and my designated agent’s gonna be pissed.

And if Armin gets hurt or killed…I don’t let myself finish the thought.

“Let’s go,” I yell. I can’t tell if he hears me. His back is to me, I can’t see if he’s taking aim or not. Finally he turns to open the car door, and a bullet clinks off the driver-side window.

Bulletproof.

He’snot. That was close. I lean to yank on the door handle: I pull and pull; nothing happens. I bang on the window. “Get in the damn car,” I scream.

He was better at taking orders back at his cabin.

I hesitate in the doorway.

I didn’t want this, for Armin to take me to his place. But I live in one of Harvey’s properties, as usual, so we can’t go there. And where else is there, in this filthy city? Harvey’s already got as much of a network here as he ever did in East Greenwich, if not more. Anybody snaps a picture of us, Harvey sees me with the sheriff who tried to put him away, and he’s going to know something’s up.

“Please.” Armin ushers me across the threshold with a nervous glance around, shuts the door behind me and locks it.