Page 71 of Vicious Betrayal

"I don't think anything," I say, stepping back into the hall and gesturing toward the bathroom door across the hall. "I know what I saw in Greece. Take your shower."

She stares at me, her blue eyes searching my face for anything she recognizes, any trace of the man who loves her. She finds nothing. I make sure of it.

Her jaw tightens, and she turns away, walking past me into the bathroom without another word. I close the door firmly and lock it.

"Twenty minutes," I say through the wood. She doesn't answer. A second later, I hear the squeak of the faucet and the sound of water.

I walk back into the bedroom. On the nightstand, a pair of earrings are sitting next to the lamp. They're diamond studs with a small sapphire dangling from each one. She wears them just about every day, unless she's dressing up for something.

I take the earrings down to the kitchen island, set them under the overhead light, and find the kit I need in a drawer. Inside is a jeweler's loupe, a set of fine-point steel tweezers, and a strip of small chips for tracking.

I'm going to do my best to keep her from running off, but she's terrified, and I know how determined she can be when she wants something. I need to be able to find her if she gets away from me.

It doesn't take me long. Before I hear the water shut off, I've finished slipping one of the chips behind the stone dangling from the earring and re-secured it. I stand, getting ready to head upstairs… and hear a small chirp from the perimeter sensor.

I shove the earrings into my pocket and peer out of the edge of the window. A ways down the gravel drive, I see the shape of a dark SUV, headlights off.

They've tracked us down. The icy cold in my veins shifts to adrenaline in a rush. Oksana's phone is here. Oksana is here. If they get ahold of us now, whatever arrangement she was working on will go through, and Declan, myself, all the men who look to us for protection, are fucked.

I slip my gun out and make sure a bullet is chambered. Then I hurry up the stairs, quietly, and unlock the door to see her standing with a towel wrapped around her, her blonde hair dripping wet down her bare shoulders, water glistening on her collarbones.

When she sees the gun in my hand, all the color leaves her face. She gasps, stumbling back against the edge of the sink, her eyes wide with sheer terror. "Cormac⁠—"

"Move," I bark, grabbing her elbow and maneuvering her into the bedroom where her bag is. "Get dressed. Now."

"What is it? What's happening?"

"Feds are coming," I tell her, my voice hard as I back toward the landing, keeping my eyes on the windows. "Put your shoes on, or you're running barefoot through the woods."

She doesn't freeze, to her credit. She drops the towel—and fuck, I still can't help looking at her in the moment before she pulls her underwear and jeans on—and yanks a T-shirt and cardigan on.

A heavy thud rattles the front porch downstairs. They're trying to break in.

"Down the stairs and head to the back," I order, catching her by the wrist and pulling her out onto the landing. "Stay behind me. If I shoot, you drop flat. You understand me? Don't even think about trying to go to them or shouting for them."

I couldn't hurt her even if she did, but she doesn't need to know that right now. I put enough threat in my voice, and she nods frantically.

We hurry down the stairs, and I urge her toward the back of the house, getting into the kitchen just as the front door gives way with a violent crash. Shouted commands echo up from the foyer.

I don't look back. I steer Oksana straight into the attached two-car garage. The garage is dark and freezing. An unmarked four-wheel-drive SUV is there, keys in the box on the wall.

I yank the passenger door open, shove Oksana into the seat, and slam it shut. I hit the manual wall release for the overhead garage door, and dive behind the wheel. The garage door rolls up with a screech of rusted steel springs.

"Rear of the house!" someone yells from the yard. "They're in the garage!"

I turn the key, and the engine roars to life. I slam the gear into drive, stomp the gas pedal flat, and surge forward. The rear tires smoke before getting traction, and we burst out of the garage, almost hitting an agent rushing toward us, weapon drawn. A single gunshot cracks behind us, the round punching through the rear panel with a sharp metallic ping.

"Get your head down!" I roar, reaching across the console with one hand and shoving Oksana down. She curls into a ball beneath the dashboard, her hands clamped over the back of her neck, sobbing into her knees.

I cut the wheel hard to the left, skipping the main driveway entirely, and launch the car toward the service road that cuts through the treeline. Mud sprays into the air, but the car doesn't get stuck. Behind us, the headlights of the feds' car come on, cutting through the dark as they start their pursuit.

The world narrows down to the need to escape. I know the back roads around here fairly well—I've had to bring men out here before for questioning—and I take old service roads and cut through the woods, counting on the car to be able to handle the terrain. Eventually I kill the lights, taking us deeper into the woods, and I watch as the headlights of the feds' car sweep the road before continuing on.

They've lost us.

I wait for several minutes, and then start toward the road. Oksana is still curled up tightly in the seat next to me, her breathing ragged.

"You can sit up," I say quietly. My knuckles are white against the steering wheel, my chest tight and burning from the surge of adrenaline. "They're gone."