“Not remotely.” He swallows hard. “But everyone at Quantico receives basic training. Plus, I did three years with the counterterrorism unit before I switched to organized crime. Seen more than one suicide vest in my day.”
“Oh,” I murmur, swallowing. That’s oddly comforting.
“The wires on this belt… I’d need the bomb squad to confirm, but there’s not enough time… we have about forty seconds before we’re due in that kitchen.” He glances up at me. There’s an edge of desperation in his eyes. It scares me. But quite not as much as the deep rasp of his voice when he asks me a question.
“How much do you trust me?”
I don’t hesitate. “Conor Gallagher, I would trust you with my life.”
“Good.” His hand reaches out and wraps around mine. With a squeeze, he turns to look at the house. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
* * *
With the Eggpassed off safely into Kaufman’s big hands, Conor and I step through the front door of my perfect house. We walk hand in hand to the kitchen, not speaking. I can feel the tension radiating through his body, just as I’m sure he can feel the fear thrumming through mine.
The Evanoffs are waiting for us.
Righty is gripping his assault rifle. Lefty has both hands wrapped around his Glock. I’m certain they’re going to shoot us stone-cold-dead as soon as we step over the threshold.
Thankfully, I’m wrong.
There’s a terse silence as the four of us face off from opposite sides of the kitchen.
“Didn’t I already kill you?” Righty asks Conor, smirking. “I could’ve sworn I shot you in the chest this morning, outside that safe house.”
“Can you really call it asafehouse, though, Vlad?” Lefty’s voice is smug. “It wasn’t too hard to torture the location out of that Fed we caught following us yesterday.” He pauses, and leans forward, his eyes on Conor. “You know, you should really train your men better. Any Bratva would die before betraying his brothers.” He pauses. “Then again, your agent died as well. I know, because I watched the life drain out of his eyes after he told me where to find the Hunt bitch.”
I glance sharply at Conor, horrified by this news. I don’t want to believe it’s true, but I know it must be. Lefty’s earlier words are ringing in my ears.
I’ve already killed four FBI agents this week.
Conor’s face is utterly blank, but his eyes are lethal. I’m stunned by his self-control. Stunned he doesn’t pull out his gun and shoot these assholes where they stand.
But he can’t.
Not without losing me.
“Next time you try to kill me, I suggest you make sure I’m actually dead,” Conor tells them in a scary voice. “Or I promise you, I will take great pleasure in hunting you to the edge of the fucking earth. I will make sure my face is the last thing either of your see before I send you straight to Hell.”
I shiver at the burning conviction in his voice. I have no doubt he means every word of that vow. Judging by the way the Evanoffs start shifting like skittish horses, I’m not the only one, either.
“Where’s the Nécessaire?” Lefty barks. Even from here, I can see the sweat on his brow. Despite his angry tone and show of bravado, he’s nervous.
“If you think I’d just walk in here with it and hand it over, you’re sorely mistaken.” Conor shakes his head. “We’re going to settle a few things, first.”
Righty aims his gun directly at Conor’s chest. “And what’s to keep me from killing you right now? I’ll be sure not to miss this time.”
I stop breathing.
“I assumed you wanted the Egg.” Shrugging lightly, Conor somehow manages to sound totally unruffled. As though they’re discussing their favorite sports teams or TV shows. “If you kill me, that will never happen. My agents will storm this house. You will either die or be taken into federal custody. You’ll never see Russia again, let alone breathe free air.”
Grudgingly, Righty lowers his gun again.
I resume breathing.
“What are you proposing?” Lefty snarls. “Let me guess — you want us to surrender quietly.”
Conor shakes his head. “No. I want to offer you a trade.”