Crazy Beautiful Forever (Dirty Twisted Love #3)

by Lili Valente

Willing her hands to stop shaking, Harley slipped the tension wrench into the bottom of the keyhole and applied only the slightest amount of pressure, fighting to keep from pushing too hard and forcing the pins beneath the shear line. The pick went in next and then Harley closed her eyes and cleared her head and focused on teasing the pins into place.

  She ignored the sweat dripping down her forehead, the heavy drone of the helicopter, and the creeping certainty that a man with a gun was going to show up behind her on the stairs any moment and shoot her execution style. She shoved all the fear and panic away and concentrated on massaging the pins. She felt one go and then two. Three and four clicked almost at the same time and then there was only one to go.

  One pin, one fucking pin.

  “Please,” she begged again, her forehead furrowing and her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she probed the lock in tiny circles, willing the fucking thing to open.

  She was so close, almost there, almost—

  The last pin slipped into place just as a boom exploded nearby, so close the aftershock vibrated the door beneath Harley’s cheek.

  A gunshot. The realization rocketed through her, sending her heart surging into her throat. She wrenched open the door in time to see the helicopter touching down on the landing pad, Clay spinning to face the other side of the roof, and Liam and Marlowe stepping through the door leading to the apartment.

  Jasper was barely four feet in front of them, looking small and terrifyingly vulnerable in his bare feet and wrinkled pajamas.

  Harley screamed his name as time slowed and everything seemed to happen at once—Liam lifted his arm, aiming his gun at the helicopter, Jasper skidded to a stop, his thin arms pin-wheeling as he fought to reverse his momentum, and Clay launched into motion, racing toward the two men. He’d barely made it three steps when Marlowe lunged forward, capturing Jasper around the waist and hauling him back into the stairwell.

  “No!” Harley shouted. “Jasper!”

  She bolted toward her son, but it felt like she was swimming through honey. No matter how hard she tried, her arms wouldn’t pump hard enough or her legs churn fast enough. She could only watch helplessly from what felt like oceans away as Liam fired at the helicopter and then shifted his aim to Clay.

  Another shot echoed through the cool morning air seconds before Clay crashed into Liam, sending them both staggering across the dusty stones. As the two men grappled for the gun in Liam’s hand, Marlowe hurried out of the stairwell behind them and started toward the helicopter, Jasper tucked under one arm.

  Jasper was struggling, kicking and thrashing like a wild animal until he saw Harley and stilled. His eyes went wide with a combination of terror and hope as he thrust arms toward her. “Mama, help!”

  Harley poured on another burst of speed, desperate to get to Jasper before Marlowe reached the pilot slumped over the helicopter’s controls. But the laws of physics were not on her side. She was in the best shape of her life, as fast as she’d ever been, but she wasn’t fast enough.

  She wasn’t fucking fast enough.

  She reached the landing pad just as the helicopter lifted into the air and banked hard to the right, veering out over the bustling city.

  “Jasper!” Her cry was lost in the roar as the chopper rumbled away. Before her shell-shocked brain could fully comprehend that her child had been kidnapped, another gunshot sounded behind her.

  She spun to see Liam sag against Clay, one hand clutching at his stomach. But instead of sliding to the ground, the taller man wrapped his free arm tight around Clay’s waist as he propelled himself backward, toward the ledge surrounding the roof.

  Harley’s scream was still clawing its way up her throat when both men tipped over the ledge and vanished, plummeting toward the ground below.

  Chapter Three

  Clay

  It’s the kind of thing I would do Clay thought grimly as the man he’d shot tackled him, sending them both careening off the roof into the fierce clutches of gravity.

  Or the kind of thing he would have done before he realized that he wanted more than this, more than hate and revenge and taking his enemy down with him when his luck finally ran out.

  As the cold wind rushed past his face, two words pulsed through his mind—Jasper, Harley. The names encapsulated everything he’d wanted, everything he would never have, everything he’d fucked up and destroyed. He stared up at the sun glaring down at him from the pale blue sky, judging him for learning his lessons too late, and waited for the impact with the pavement that would end his life.

  But the ground came too soon. One moment he was falling, the next, he was slamming into the other man’s chest.

  He hit so hard that he bounced back into the air, giving him a split second to glance down and see the railing of a balcony below him. He reached out, latching on to the iron bar with both hands, gritting his teeth as all one hundred and eighty pounds of him continued to fall. As his body weight hit, the drag tested his grip. His fingers slipped and his chin knocked against the metal railing hard enough to send a ringing sound through his head, but he held on as the other man continued his tumble toward the ground.

  Seconds later, he heard the heavy thud of a body colliding with concrete and a collective cry of shock from the ground below.

  He craned his neck over his shoulder to see the man he’d shot spread-eagle on the pavement eight stories down, surrounded by early morning commuters and pages of fluttering newspaper someone must have dropped. The knowledge that he could have been right there beside the man—would have been if not for luck and quick reflexes—sent bile rushing up his throat.

  But there wasn’t time for gratitude or weakness. He had to get back in play.

  Marlowe had Jasper. Clay would swear he had heard Harley screaming their son’s name before he fell, so she was probably in danger, too, and the drug lord’s people were no doubt swarming around the building. He had to get off this balcony, back to the roof, and reach Jasper and Harley before it was too late.

  Jaw clenched, Clay shifted his attention back to the railing and began hitching his weight from side to side, getting a better grip on the cool metal. He flexed his arms and was about to pull himself up and over when something heavy landed on the balcony on the other side. The thud-ump sent a sharp vibration through the latticework he clung to.

  A second later, Harley’s face appeared above him, her arms reaching down to grab his wrists.

  “Don’t let go!” Her eyes were wide and her fingers dug into his skin hard enough to bruise. “I’ll pull you up.”

  “Did you just jump off of the roof?” he barked, glaring up at her, relief and fear coursing through him at the same time.

  “There was no other way to get to you,” she said, voice rising sharply as she glanced past him, no doubt seeing Marlowe’s thug sprawled on the ground below. “Grab onto my wrists. I’m stronger than I look, I won’t let you fall.”

  “You could have broken both of your legs,” he snapped. “Or your neck!”

  “Just let me help you, asshole,” she shouted, tears rising in her eyes. “There isn’t time for this and if I have to watch your head explode all over the concrete, I will never forgive you. Now take my fucking hands!”

  “I don’t need your hands.” He winced as her fingernails began to test the integrity of his skin. “Just let go and get out of the way.”

  Harley hesitated, fear and anger warring in her expression until Clay added in a softer voice, “It’s okay. I’m not going to fall, I promise. Just move away from the railing and I’ll be on the other side with you in two seconds.”

  She cast a sharp, worried look over her shoulder toward the apartment before turning back to him with a ragged sigh. “Fine, but don’t you dare fall.”

  Her fingers slid from his arms and she backed away until only the top of her wild curls were visible against the stone of the building above her. Locking his abdominal muscles, Clay chinned the railing and swung his leg up and over the top. A moment later he landed lightl
y on the right side of the balcony.

  He barely had time to exhale before Harley was in his arms, squeezing him tight enough to knock the wind out of him all over again.

  “I thought you were dead,” she sobbed against his chest, her fingertips digging into his back as if she meant to claw her nails in and never let him go. “I thought I was watching you die, you fucking asshole!”

  “It’s okay,” Clay said softly, folding his arms around her. “It’s okay, I’m—”

  “It’s not okay!” She pulled away from him, her hand balling into a fist that she slammed into the center of his chest, going from hugging him to hitting him so fast all he could do was grunt in surprise. “You were kidnapping Jasper! You were taking him away from me and now Marlowe has him.” Her mouth trembled as she pointed to the air above them. “He took him away in the helicopter and he might kill him and it’s all your fault.”

  “Harley, I—”

  “It’s all your fucking fault!” Her words ended in a liquid growl as she began to cry in earnest, but she managed to punch him twice more—in the chest and the stomach—before her tears got the better of her.

  “We have to find him,” she sobbed, swiping at her cheeks with shaking hands, clearly trying to regain control. “We have to find him before Marlowe hurts him.”

  “We’re going to find him,” Clay said, refusing to consider any other scenario. “But first we have to get out of here without getting killed. I’m sure Marlowe left people behind and I have no idea if there is backup close enough to get to us before they do.”

  He reached down, patting his pajama pants, relief flooding through him as he felt the familiar bulge of his phone still in place. “Let me call my people. The sooner they know Marlowe has the chopper, the sooner they can start tracking him down.”

  He tugged the phone out, flicking it open and dialing as he put a hand on Harley’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s going to be okay. Just stay with me.”

  Before she could respond, Regina, the extraction coordinator, clicked onto the line. “We’ve lost radio contact with Shawn. Where are you?”

  “I’m on a balcony,” Clay said, glancing up. “I think on the eighth floor of the apartment building, but I can’t be sure. I ended up here after I was pushed off the roof. Marlowe and his people got to us before we could take off. I don’t know for sure, but I think Shawn’s dead.”

  Harley nodded, a pained expression on her face as she turned to pace back toward the balcony railing.

  “But the region was supposed to be clear,” Regina said. “Our intelligence had Marlowe and his key players in Madrid just two days ago.”

  Clay’s jaw clenched. “Well, either the intelligence was wrong or Marlowe decided to take a last minute trip to Prague. He was here, Shawn’s dead, and I would have been too if I hadn’t gotten lucky on the way down to the ground. The man who pushed me is all over the pavement right now.”

  “Do you need medical attention?” Regina asked, the sound of typing underscoring her voice.

  “No, but I need someone on the ground and in the air,” Clay said. “Marlowe grabbed my son and took off in the helicopter a few minutes ago. He knows better than to think he can steal a U.S. government chopper and get away with it, so I doubt he’ll stay in the air long. But as long as he is, he’ll be easy to track. We’ve got to get to him before he hurts Jasper.”

  “We’ll do everything we can,” Regina said, “but we’re short staffed in the area. We had a team ready to meet you in Germany, but I don’t have the people on hand here to get you out and track a—”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Clay shifted closer to the sliding glass doors, cupping his hand around his face as he peered into the apartment beyond. He couldn’t see much aside from a small living room and entryway, but if anyone were home, surely they would have noticed the drama going on outside by now. “I’ll get myself to one of the safe houses. Throw everything you’ve got at Marlowe. I’m not sure which direction he went, but—”

  “North,” Harley cut in, hurrying back to his side. “He went north and it looked like he was flying straight out of the city. They have to hurry.”

  Clay relayed the information and held the line while Regina contacted the two undercover operatives stationed full time in Prague. She was back in less than a minute, making Clay grateful for the professionalism of his colleagues. Things at the CIA weren’t always above board, but most of the people he worked with would move mountains to help another agent.

  “I’ve got two men on the ground now,” Regina said. “They’re heading north out of the city. I’ve got another team tracking the helicopter on satellite. I’ll let you know the moment I have news. Now get out of there. Marlowe never goes in without security and if they realize you’ve killed one of their own they’ll be even more determined to even the score.”

  “I know,” Clay said grimly. “I’ll touch base when I reach the safe house.” He ended the call and turned back to the sliding door, testing the handle, pulse leaping when the glass pane slid smoothly open.

  Another piece of luck.

  With a few more, they might make it out of here alive.

  Chapter Four

  Clay

  Clay turned back to Harley, touching his finger to his lips before motioning for her to wait on the balcony while he checked out the apartment.

  He moved soundlessly into the space, taking in a drab, masculine-looking couch parked before an old-fashioned box TV. Staying close to the walls, he made his way into a sparsely decorated kitchen with a card table shoved in one corner and dirty dishes sitting in the sink before easing down a dim hallway toward what he guessed were the bedrooms.

  He passed a darkened bathroom—more masculine smells, probably a bachelor in residence—and a linen closet before coming to the end of the hall, where two open doors revealed a small office on the left and an almost equally cramped bedroom on the right. Both were empty.

  He turned back to fetch Harley from the balcony, not surprised to see her already padding down the hall behind him.

  “I told you to stay put,” he tossed over his shoulder as he moved into the dimly lit bedroom, hoping the man who lived here wore a size twelve. He could get away with running through town in his pajamas—he’d seen college kids wearing similar clothing as they shuffled in and out of the coffee shops yesterday—but he had to have shoes.

  “Fuck you,” Harley whispered as he slid open the wooden door to the stranger’s closet. “See if this guy has a gun or anything else we can use as a weapon. If we run into Marlowe’s people on the way out, they’ll shoot first and ask questions never.”

  “No guns that I can see.” Clay pulled out a pair of size eleven tennis shoes—close enough—along with jeans that looked about his size. “There are a couple of hockey sticks shoved in the back, but that’s it.”

  “I’ll look in the hall closet.” Harley started out of the room, but Clay called after her—

  “One gun isn’t going to do us any good against five or more of Marlowe’s men. Our best chance is to slip by them unnoticed. Here, try this hat on.” He grabbed a faded black ball cap from the top shelf and tossed it her way as he shoved his pajama pants to the ground and stepped into the stiff jeans. They felt like they’d been line dried and practically stood up by themselves, but they reached all the way to his ankles.

  “You don’t call the shots anymore,” Harley said though she snatched the cap from the ground. “Thanks to your brilliant planning, Jasper was kidnapped.”

  Clay stripped his sweat-stained tee shirt off and exchanged it for a gray sweatshirt. “If Jasper and I hadn’t been up on the roof, we would have been in our beds when Marlowe showed up, just like you were. We wouldn’t have had a chance.” He snagged a ball cap for himself before he turned to her, the fact that she wasn’t in her pajamas penetrating for the first time.

  “I wasn’t in bed.” Rage sharpened her features as she stuffed her hair beneath the ball cap. “I was on my way to the airport to stop you fr
om taking Jasper when I saw Liam and Marlowe by the bakery. I hid, trying to figure out what to do next. That’s when I saw the helicopter and put two and two together.”

  Her fingers moved to the front of her jean jacket, doing up the buttons, concealing the lace tee shirt beneath. “I ran as fast as I could, trying to get to the roof in time to warn you, but the door was locked. I had to pick the lock. By the time I made it out, it was too late.”

  Clay finished tying the too tight shoes and shoved his pajama pants and tee shirt to the back of the closet. If this guy was like most confirmed bachelors, he wouldn’t notice that his second best pair of sneakers was missing—or that he had someone else’s dirty clothes in his closet—until long after Clay and Harley had left the country.

  “I fucked up,” he said softly, meeting her gaze across the rumpled beige bedspread. “But I was on my way down to the apartment to get you when Marlowe shot the door open. I wasn’t going to leave you behind.”

  “Bullshit,” she snapped, eyes shining. “You are a liar and I will never trust you again. Never.”

  “We don’t have time to argue right now,” he said. “But I’m not lying. You can ask Jasper when he’s back with us. We were on our way to wake you up so we could all take a helicopter ride.” He swallowed, fighting a wave of emotion. “He was so excited.”

  “I’m sure he’s not excited now,” Harley said, swiping her tears from her cheeks with shaking hands. “I’m sure he’s scared out of his mind and I’m holding you accountable for every second that he suffers. And if he doesn’t come back to me—” Her words ended in a choked sound as she fought to swallow.

  “He’s coming back,” Clay said. “Two agents are on Marlowe’s tail right now. They’ll be waiting to take him into custody the second he touches down.”

  “If he doesn’t come back,” Harley continued, ignoring his assurances, “then I will kill you. I will watch you bleed out and not shed a single fucking tear. Do you understand me?”