Sonata (North Security 3)

“I’m fine here. Your brother needs you. Go.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“I’m not going to be responsible for his death.” She reaches up to cup my cheek. “And I’m not going to let you feel that guilt. Help him.”

Love is a bastard. It doesn’t fight fair. “Samantha.”

“I know the exits. I know the protocol. I’ll be safe when you get back.”

There’s a crackle over the radio. My brother needs me, and damn it, I need him. I press a hard, uncompromising kiss to Samantha’s lips before I open a door in the stage and help her step down. It leads to the cavern, where Webb is stationed. I take off at a sprint.

Even though it may already be too late.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Fire fighters in Paris do underwater training beneath the Palais Garnier. The brigade’s motto is sauver ou périr, which means save or perish.

Josh

Every mission is a suicide mission when you don’t care about dying.

That’s what my brother never understood. He’s always wanted to live. Bethany knows. I think it’s why she keeps her distance from me. She may not know precisely why, but she senses the darkness inside me. Smart girl.

The night was too quiet. The men under our command started the night full of tension. With every passing song, with every round of applause, the alertness left them—like air being let out of a balloon. They still waited at their post, but they didn’t expect violence.

I always expect violence. That’s why I’m good at my job.

&nbs

p; The concert ends. There is zero air in the fucking balloon. That’s when light flashes on the roof of the pharmacy across the street. It’s not an electronic kind of light. Not a phone or a flashlight. It looks like a mirror reflecting the moon. That’s some old-school KGB shit, like Morse code or invisible ink. I calculate the angle it would take for someone to see it and round the corner—in time to see a man wearing black drop from the building.

I pull my weapon, but he gets a shot off first—with the dull sound that accompanies a silencer. Pain blasts through my arm. Motherfucker. I chase him around the corner, wondering how many bastards he brought with him.

The back of my mind works through the strategy. How did he get onto the roof in the first place? We’ve had this building locked down for a week. Unless he’s been up there before then. Hiding in one of the many crevices. Pissing into a water bottle. Jesus.

He sprints around a corner, and I follow him. Dead end.

A wild glance behind him.

I straighten. “Gotcha.”

He raises his pistol. I pull mine, but he’s not pointing it at me. He shoots himself in the head. No capture. I bend down to check him for ID. Nothing. Every mission is a suicide mission if you aren’t afraid to die. I pick up his weapon. It’s Russian made. I bet the serial number has been filed off. A search of his pockets reveals a radio. We can use this to find the others. As long as we get someone alive, we can turn them over to the State Department and lift the threat to Samantha. I raise my hand to speak into my watch.

A burst of pain at the back of my skull.

The world goes dark.

Samantha

The caverns look like a sewer. Unfortunately, Liam was right about that. They don’t smell amazing, either. The only good news is that there’s a walkway out of the water. I climb down a metal ladder and wait at the bottom, worrying over Josh. He’s kind of an asshole, but I still love him like an uncle. Or a brother, I suppose, if I’m really going to marry Liam.

I love you. I want you. I need you. Marry me. Whatever you want I’ll give to you.

There’s no time to feel joy over his proposal. It sparks in my chest anyway, inappropriate in this moment of danger. What could have happened to Josh? I want to hope for a communication malfunction. Or maybe confusion over the procedure. I hope he’s going to be found in a stairwell with a French countess, shirking his duties so he can have sex. Anything would be better than finding out he’s hurt.

Voices echo off the stone around me. My blood turns to ice.

Water laps softly against the edge. More voices. I’m not alone down here.