The bullet hit Cooper, driving into his side and tearing through his body. Gabrielle screamed even as Cooper felt his body falling.
“You should’ve just left her,” Deuce snapped. “Then I could have taken you out, one at a time, all nice and slow, just like I planned.”
Cooper tried to pull his gun from the holster. Blood pumped from him, soaking the floor.
“Cooper!” Gabrielle reached for him.
He jerked out his weapon.
But Cooper didn’t get the chance to fire that weapon. Because Deuce grabbed Gabrielle, and the man who’d worked side by side with Cooper pressed his gun to Gabrielle’s temple.
“I don’t like using a gun for my kills.” Deuce’s voice was low and hard, with a lethal edge. “It’s just not personal enough. Death should be personal, don’t you think?”
Cooper dragged himself to his feet. The bullet was still in him, and the wound burned as the blood dripped down his body.
He stared into Deuce’s eyes.
Deuce smiled. “If you don’t drop your weapon, I’ll kill her right now.”
Cooper let his weapon fall.
“Good,” Deuce praised. The fingers of his left hand were wrapped tightly around Gabrielle’s throat. Too tightly. “Now walk back into your apartment. Nice and slow.”
Keeping his eyes on Deuce and ignoring the pain, Cooper retreated, walking backward into his apartment.
Deuce followed, still with that tight grip on Gabrielle. When they were all inside Cooper’s place, Deuce told Gabrielle, “Lock the door. We want to make sure we don’t have any unwanted guests.”
Cooper saw her fingers tremble as she obeyed.
He could barely contain his fury—and his fear. Deuce had been the one to kill Lockwood? McAdams? The one to attack Rachel?
“You know, perhaps I’ve been wrong all this time...” Now Deuce’s voice was considering. Mild and calm—just the way the guy was when they were playing cards.
Only this wasn’t some card game.
This was life. Gabrielle’s life.
“I thought it was better to kill the women they loved, then let the agents suffer until I put them out of their misery.” Deuce thrust the gun barrel harder against Gabrielle’s temple. “But making you watch while I kill her, oh, I think that is going to be even better...”
* * *
MERCER GLARED AT Thomas Anthony. The agent was wounded, but they’d patched him up.
For the moment.
If Mercer found out that Thomas was the rogue in his group, he’d do more than just wound the guy.
I’ll destroy him.
“I’m not changing my story, Mercer,” Thomas said. The guy’s voice was even. No sign of rage or fear darkened his face. “I went to warn Rachel because I thought she was a target. When I left her, she was fine.”
“And why’d you think she was a target? That part, I just don’t see...”
“Rachel hauled me out of that prison camp. She stayed with me, telling me I had to fight, that I had to live, for nearly eight hours straight.” Thomas stared steadily back at Mercer. “I heard the docs saying I was a dead man. And I heard her—telling me to live. The way I figure it, I owed her.”
Mercer let his brows climb. “You owed her a knife to the chest? That was your way of saying thanks?”
Thomas’s jaw tightened. “I owed her protection. When I heard about the profiler’s theory, I knew I had to warn Rachel.”