Page 131 of Unruly

What would honestly be coming back to him?

“What’s that old saying?” Cross asked.

At the same time, Rick’s voice in his ear confirmed, “Jason took his shot. Hit, target down.”

“What saying?” Vlad asked. “You Americans drive me insane with your isms.”

“Mmm. Only because you don’t understand them, you piece of Russian shit.”

“Now—”

“Too little, too late,” Cross interjected, his gun adjusting and his finger wrapping the trigger. “That’s the saying. You waited too long to make a second move. Now, Vlad, it is too little, too late for you.”

In his scope, he saw the form move.

Likely to turn and face the window.

At the same time, Rick said, “Shot taken. Hit, target down.”

“I will ruin you, boy,” Vlad said into the phone, “never forget that it will be done.”

Right.

“Famous last words, asshole. Wave for me?”

Deep breath in.

Finger tight.

Between the heartbeat.

Cross took his shot.

“Shot taken. Hit, target down.”

Catherine paced the length of the hallway in the foyer of the brownstone. Another week or so, according to the contractor, and they would be back in their own home. Never again would a bullet be able to pass through their bottom level walls or windows. And apparently, Cross ordered special bulletproof glass for the upstairs windows, too.

Honestly, that wasn’t what had Catherine pacing or still awake.

The purr of a familiar engine outside the brownstone made her steps falter. She stilled, listening to make sure it was in fact who she thought it was. As the garage door lifted to let a vehicle into the underground parking, she let out a slow breath.

Never did she think her husband could fail.

Never did she distrust him.

Never.

However, that didn’t stop her from worrying.

Less than three minutes later, Catherine met Cross as he came up through the garage entrance. In the hallway between the living room and kitchen, she simply stared at him for a long while. She kept a good five feet of space between them while they stood looking at one another in silence.

He no longer wore the black attire he had left the house in. His hair was slicked back as though he had been running his fingers through it recently. In his gaze, she found exhaustion and restlessness.

Nothing unusual for Cross.

Yet, this whole event was anything but normal.

“You’re still up?” he eventually asked.