Page 133 of I’ll Be Watching You

Cal did the same. That’s when she ran out of the house without the decency to tell us where her boyfriend was holed up.

“We need him alive,” I reminded Cal.

In my ear, I heard Jack. “He’s coming in the back, through a door on the ground floor. We’re ninety seconds behind him.”

“We’re in the living room,” I said quietly. The ground floor was below us.

The cabin wasn’t large, but it was very nice and well laid out. The living room opened into the dining room and kitchen. A staircase to the right went up, and to the left went down.

Cal motioned for me to go up, and he trained his gun on the down staircase as he quickly walked around to the other side of the half wall to provide himself some cover.

I glanced toward the down staircase and didn’t see anyone, so headed up the staircase to the right.

“Gina, I really need more pain meds. Please, baby.”

The whiny bastard was calling from a room to the left of the staircase. The door was partly open.

I peered in to get a lay of the land, but without exposing myself.

Peter Stockman was in a king-size bed, propped up with pillows, no shirt on. A bandage wrapped around his upper arm and shoulder, a small amount of blood had seeped through.

A gun rested on the nightstand. It was within his reach, but he’d have to move quickly to get it. He didn’t look like he was in any position to move fast.

I heard grunts and something crash downstairs. My heart thudded as I thought of Cal and Jack and Luisa. I trusted them; they all were well-trained. But I still worried.

As soon as Peter heard the crash his eyes opened and he glanced at his gun. He made a move toward it, but I pushed open the door, my gun aimed at his chest. “Don’t move or you’re dead.”

He stared at me and scowled. “Fuck,” he said.

He glanced again at the gun on the nightstand.

“Sal Marconi sent a hit man after you,” I told him. “I can leave and let him have at you.”

Another crash had my heart racing faster. Dammit, was I going to have to protect this asshole?

Yes, yes I was. Because he had the answers we needed.

“Don’t let him kill me,” Peter said. “I have money. I’ll pay you.”

Money, I thought in disgust. Klein’s death, Dad’s imprisonment, Liz’s murder all came down to greed. “I want the truth.”

“It was all Mildred’s plan. Everything. I didn’t do anything.”

Again, he looked at his gun.

I slowly approached, keeping my eyes on his, waiting for him to make a move.

And dammit, he did.

He leaned over and his fingers were inches from the gun. But I was faster. I kicked over the nightstand and the gun fell out of his range.

“You are truly an ass,” I said.

He tried to get up, but his sudden movement had ripped open his wound and blood soaked through his bandage. Looking both dizzy and angry, he staggered, then fell to his knees on the floor.

I pushed him down and put my boot firmly on his bare back, my gun now trained at the door.

I heard someone running up the stairs.