The Resurrection (Unlawful Men)

“In the car, Beau,” Fury barks, moving his big body to shield me. I muscle my way past him, determined.

“Back off, Ollie,” I warn.

“Do we have a problem?” A man, suited, an FBI agent if ever I’ve seen one, joins Ollie, giving everyone a tactical flash of his gun by casually pulling one side of his jacket back.

“I don’t know,” Ollie murmurs, turning his narrowed eyes onto Fury. “Do we?”

I can see it now. Ollie’s revenge on the horizon. His ego set to be restored. “We don’t have a problem,” I grate, taking Fury’s arm and trying to move the unmovable man. Of course, he doesn’t move.

“Do you have a license for that firearm?” Ollie asks, now refusing to look at me.

I close my eyes and inhale some patience. Ollie knows what he’s doing, and a second later, his partner has drawn and aimed at Fury. “Get your hands on the roof of the vehicle,” he bellows. “Do it now.”

I turn my condemning stare onto Ollie’s sneering face. “Don’t do this, Ollie.”

“Why? Will your boyfriend and his friends attack me again?”

“Hands on the car!”

“Fuck this,” Fury mutters, drawing and aiming too, prompting Ollie to quickly arm himself as well, followed by Tank.

“Oh shit,” Rose whispers.

“Stay where you are, Zinnea,” I order, feeling her meltdown brewing, her gasps constant. “It’s okay.” I glance past Ollie and his partner, seeing the man I recognize from the picture exiting the store. “Fuck,” I hiss, just as my phone starts ringing. “I need to answer that,” I say calmly.

“Don’t move,” Ollie’s partner yells, his forehead glistening with sweat. “Do not move.”

“I really need to take the call.” I hold up my cell, showing them, before slowly lifting it to my ear. “James.”

“Where are you?” he asks, his breathing strained.

“Walmart. We have a situation.”

“Put the phone down, Beau,” Ollie orders, his nostrils flaring.

“Is that Burrows?” James asks.

“Yes.”

“The guy in the picture?”

“Leaving the store.” I just get my words out before Ollie lunges forward and snatches my cell from my hand. “You do not want to make enemies of them, Ollie,” I say quietly, and because I know him, I recognize the hesitation in his eyes. I divert my stare to the exit doors of the store again, scanning, searching, as my cell rings persistently in Ollie’s hand. I see the blue-suited guy getting into a silver Audi. God damn it.

I could draw my own gun and add another to the mix. Or . . .

I move fast, throwing my arm out and disarming Ollie, ignoring the shooting pain that flies up my arm. I spin the gun and aim it at his chest, and he staggers back, stunned. “Not lost my touch, huh?” I say through my teeth. “Now there are four guns, and three of those are aimed at you two. Be wise,” I warn, and Ollie’s partner sensibly lowers his to the ground by his feet. I dip and pick it up, tucking it in my purse. “And your car keys.”

“Beau, come on,” Ollie yells.

“Do it!”

Nostrils flaring, his chest expanding from his inhale, he dips into his pocket and pulls out his keys, tossing them at my feet. “Rose, Zinnea, get in the car.” I collect them up and move toward the Range Rover, opening the passenger side door as they both scuttle toward me and slip into the back. Fury and Tank, guns still aimed, get in the front. “My phone,” I say, holding out my hand, eyes on Ollie, daring him to refuse.

His chest puffing, his jaw tight, he lays it in my palm. I get in the car. “Let’s go,” I order, relaxing slightly as I sit forward, putting myself between Tank and Fury upfront. “Follow that silver Audi.”

“What?”

“Do it,” I order, answering James’s call.

“What the fuck is going on?” he barks.

I don’t know where to start. “I think I might be a wanted woman,” I say, prompting a huff of sardonic laughter from the Vikings. “So if we could go back to St. Lucia sooner rather than later, that would work for me.”

“Beau,” he retorts, full of warning. “Talk.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” I say, going into defense mode. “The guy in the picture was leaving and Ollie and his partner pulled their guns on the twins.”

“What did you do?”

“Disarmed Ollie.” I cringe, waiting for him to yell at me. “And now we’re following the guy in the picture I sent you.”

Quiet. I don’t like it. I look nervously between Fury and Tank, noticing they look as tense as I feel. “Burrows?” James asks.

“I took his keys.”

An inhale. “I’m not happy,” he says calmly.

I knew he wouldn’t be. “We’re keeping a safe distance.”

“Pull back,” he orders, so loud the whole car hears. “Now.”

Fury’s foot eases off the gas immediately, and the distance between us and the silver Audi grows. God damn him. There’s little point trying to convince my personal protection officer to ignore James. I’m sure he has a strong desire to keep breathing. “Who is he?” I murmur, despondent.