Brotherhood Protectors: Carved in Ice (Kindle Worlds)

by Kris Norris

  He drew her even closer. “Slower. Try to match mine.”

  He made a point of exaggerating his breathing, letting his chest expand fully before expelling it. It took a few moments, but she managed to pick up the rhythm, her heart rate finally slowing beneath his hand.

  Bridgette sighed. “I’m so sorry, Quinn.”

  She managed a nod.

  Russel gave her a squeeze. “Do they know what happened? Who shot him?”

  Bridgette glanced at Sam.

  Midnight moved to her side. “Jeremy said Henry’s housekeeper, Gladys, found him around midnight. He was unconscious but breathing. She called 9-1-1, and they rushed him to Harborview. He was in surgery most of the night and is currently in critical condition in their ICU ward. He had his cellphone in his hand.” Sam looked directly at Quinn. “Apparently, he’d tried to call you. A few times.”

  Quinn made a strangled sound deep in her throat before her head bowed forward. “I tossed my phone away after they attacked us at the bar. So, they couldn’t track it.”

  Russel leaned in closer. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. If I hadn’t asked you to do that—”

  “They would have found us even quicker.” She glanced back at him, eyes glassy, chin quivering slightly. “You’ve saved my life more times than I can count. You and Rigs. This isn’t your fault.”

  “It’s not yours, either.”

  She snorted and pulled out of his hold, marching over to the window. She didn’t stand in front it, obviously remembering their instructions to stay clear of the windows and doors. Instead, she glanced out from the side, staring at something up the street. “Is he going to make it?”

  Bridgette patted Sam’s hand, signaling she’d answer. “Jeremy didn’t know. Since it’s gun related, the hospital was obligated to call the police. When your father’s name came up, they called the feds, who notified the attorney’s office shortly after. But the doctors would only say that he was still critical.”

  Quinn nodded, still looking out the window. “I think we all know who shot him.”

  Hank moved forward. “You think it was this Thomas Carlson guy.”

  “I know it was.”

  “Quinn—”

  “It was Thomas. He’s the only one who would benefit. He knows I have evidence—that it’s all over if I get away. But, if he can kill me—kill my father… He’ll get it all. The entire organization.”

  Hank glanced over at Russel, motioning to Quinn with his head. Russel sighed then slowly picked his way over. He didn’t touch her, even though his fingers itched to hold her. Comfort her. Her life was falling apart around her, and she didn’t have any one else to turn to. God, she must have feel alone. Alone and guilty and pretty much like shit.

  He stopped just shy of her. “What do you need?”

  She stiffened then turned to face him. “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing I say can make this better. So, tell me what you need, and if I can give it to you, I will.”

  Her jaw clenched, the muscles in her temple throbbing before she drew herself up. “I need Thomas’ soul burning in hell.”

  “Okay. Then, let’s figure out how to capture this son of a bitch.”

  * * * *

  No. Not going to happen. No fucking way. Over Russel’s dead body. Absolutely not going down like this because it was crazy. She was crazy.

  But there they all were. Standing around talking—planning how it was going to happen. As if it was viable. Reasonable. Well, they were going to burn Plan A. In fact, Russel was going to obliterate Plan B, too. Probably Plan C. He was going to move them straight to Plan W—whatever was as far away as possible from having Quinn be bait.

  Hank had aerial shots of the Blue Moose Tavern spread out across Bridgette’s desk. Had dots spread out—locations he’d have the team setup. The sheriff was nodding away, adding the odd suggestion. They even had a fed—Mark Springer—off to one side, watching. Listening. He’d flown in from Seattle—had apparently been heading the James investigation for the past year. Was eager to take the entire syndicate down, especially Thomas Carlson.

  Except for the part where to take it down, Quinn was right square in the crosshairs. She wasn’t on the front line. She was the front line.

  Russel clenched his jaw. They were soldiers. They were the ones who went into battle. Who took chances. Yet, no one else seemed to see it. Seemed at all worried about sending her in. Alone. Because Quinn insisted that Thomas wouldn’t come close to her if he could place any of them.

  Hank paused, looking around the room. “Okay, we all clear? Quinn?”

  Hank didn’t need to ask. He’d gone over the plan half a dozen times. But Russel knew Quinn had committed it to memory the very first time. Her back was rigid, her muscles flexed and primed for battle. And her eyes—shit, they were laser focused. Brimming with fire and determination. Any hint of doubt, or fear, had bled out of her the moment she’d realized she had a chance to take Thomas down. Permanently.

  Quinn nodded. “Clear.”

  Hank grinned. “Good.” He scanned everyone, again, pausing on Russel. “Now, we should… Shit. Ice? It looks like you have something to add.”

  Russel took a step forward, hands fisted at his sides. He tensed every muscle. Anything to keep from marching across the room, punching a hole through their stupid maps then hiking Quinn up on his shoulder and leaving.

  He took a deep breath, repeating to himself that he wouldn’t yell. Wouldn’t make a scene. “I’m just curious when everyone decided that sending a civilian in alone to face an armed man—a serial killing sociopath at that—was a good idea? Because, the last time I checked, we were the fucking soldiers. We’re the ones trained to fight and kill.”

  He spun on Midnight when the man touched his arm. “Don’t even start with me, Sam, because I know damn well you never would have backed a plan where Bridgette walked out into the open and invited the men after her to take a few pot shots.”

  Sam pressed his lips together, glancing at the woman in question before sighing. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have. Would have fought it like a damn banshee. Would have torn everyone in here a new one for even suggesting it. But I also know she would have vetoed my vote if she’d gotten it into her head that going out there was the only way to bring those men down. And there wouldn’t have been a damn thing I could have done about it.”

  “Thankfully, we have other options. Like capping the mother fucker the moment he drives into town.”

  The fed—Springer—stepped forward. “You know we need Carlson alive. We’ve been over this. Ms. James—”

  “Scott. Her name is Quinn Scott, and I don’t give a rat’s ass how many times we’ve been over this. I didn’t just spend the past forty-eight hours keeping her alive so you could hand her over to the bastard who wants her dead! The same man we’re pretty sure put her father in the hospital. She gave you all the evidence she has. That’ll have to be enough.”

  Hank cleared his throat. “Let’s all take a deep breath and remember we’re on the same team.”

  “I don’t need a deep breath. I need a fucking plan that doesn’t have us all standing around while Quinn puts her life on the line.”

  Springer pointed to the maps. “She’ll have protection. Men stationed outside.”

  “And if Thomas decides to just pull a gun and shoot her point blank? In the middle of the bar? Then, what? Because I can promise you that he would have done it back in Seattle if I hadn’t gotten her out of there, first.”

  “As good as the evidence is, we need Thomas to implicate himself and confirm Ms. James hasn’t been a part of any of it, in case we find those accounts and properties she said her father mentioned. Thomas doesn’t know she’s already turned the files over. He believes she’s still on the run. Probably thinks he killed Henry, too. That’s why he jumped at the opportunity when Quinn called him—offered to hand it all over tonight if he agreed to take it and walk away.”

  He grinne
d at Quinn. “You were very convincing, Ms. James. And, if I bought it, Thomas did, too. Opening fire in a crowded bar. Blowing it up. Even shooting her would be a stupid move. There’s no way he could guarantee he wouldn’t be caught on film by a cell phone or a security cam.” He crossed his arms. “I’ve been studying this man for a while. He wants to be king of the James’ empire more than he wants Harlequin James dead.”

  “You’re betting her life on your…assumption. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

  The rest of the men stood there, mouths pinched tight, backs stiff. They weren’t backing Russel, but they weren’t arguing with him, either. He firmed his stance. He could be just as stubborn.

  “Russel.”

  He stilled as Quinn’s voice drew his attention. She’d moved over to him, one hand lifting to rest on his forearm. She gave him a squeeze, and his chest followed suit. Closing in tight, making it hard to breathe, as his heart punched him hard in the ribs.

  He brushed some hair back, keeping his touch light. Gentle. Completely at odds to how he felt. “I know you think I’ve been overly protective. Or paranoid. Or that I’m overstepping my bounds, but… Quinn.”

  She smiled at him, and that spotlight appeared. Beaming down from heaven. Lighting up her face like the Fourth of July or Christmas. She was so beautiful. So strong and determined, and he couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not after coming to terms with the fact he’d fallen in love with her. He didn’t care that it was quick. That people would say he was crazy. He felt the rightness of it in his bones. His soul.

  She glanced at the others. “Can we have a moment?”

  His teammates seemed to vanish. Just disappeared into the walls or maybe Quinn had snapped her fingers and done it for them. He wouldn’t be surprised. Only Springer stood glaring at them for a minute before grunting then taking a few steps away.

  Russel looked around then focused on Quinn. He knew she was going to try and talk him down. Convince him that this was a completely reasonable plan. But he wasn’t being swayed that easily.

  “Look, Quinn, I know I don’t have the right to make decisions for you, but—”

  “Do you know how many times anyone has ever stood up for me?”

  He frowned. That wasn’t what he’d thought she’d say. “No.”

  “Once. And that was you in that bar weeks ago. Sure, my dad dealt with any of the men who stepped out of line after the fact, but not like this. Just when I think you can’t impress me more, you do something that blows me away.”

  “Then, you understand why this is a horrible idea. The worst in the history of bad ideas.”

  She stared up at him for a long time, eyes searching his, her hand still resting on his forearm, before looking down. “What I know is that I spent ten years hiding. Pretending my father wasn’t destroying lives because I was afraid. Not just that Thomas or men like him would come after me. Hurt me. But that people would find out. Discover who I was. That they’d know I wasn’t brave enough—strong enough—to take a stand.”

  She raised her other hand and stroked his jaw. “Then, I met you. One of the last truly good men in this world. And everything changed. You were willing to risk your life without even knowing what you were facing. In the truck, when you turned to me and said you’d come into the café with me… That’s when I realized I couldn’t pretend any longer. That if I ever wanted to have a real life—one that allowed me to be with a guy like you—I had to make a choice. I’m not saying it’s been easy. And, if you weren’t so damn stubborn, I’d be dead. But this is my chance. To step up. To do the right thing. To quiet those voices in my head.”

  He placed his hand over hers. “You don’t have anything to prove.”

  “Maybe not to you. But I do to myself. I know it’s dangerous. And I’ll admit. I’m scared. You’re absolutely right. I’m not like you or Hank or Midnight. I’m not a warrior. But I know Thomas, and I can do this.”

  “Quinn. Please.”

  “Teammates, right? That’s what you said. That we’re teammates, and teammates have each other’s back. I’m not alone, Russel. I’ve got your team backing me up.”

  “And if Thomas decides to simply pull a gun and pop you in the head? If he doesn’t care about security cameras or that you might have backup? Then, what?”

  Rigs appeared at their side. “Then, I take the bastard down. I swear, if he so much as twitches, he’ll be dead before he draws.”

  Russel flexed his jaw. Fuck, he hated this. “How am I supposed to just let you walk in there?”

  Quinn smiled. “Rigs told me yesterday that you’re the reason he and the other Special Ops soldiers could go in without being afraid of what would happen. Because they knew, if the mission went sideways, you’d be there to get them out. So, you see? I don’t have to be afraid because I have this kickass PJ on my side, just itching to ride in and save the day.”

  “I can’t raise the dead, sweetheart.”

  “You won’t have to. Because I have an even better weapon.”

  Russel arched his brow.

  She tiptoed up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I have you. Not the soldier, Ice, but the man. And I’m pretty sure Russel’s fallen in love with me. So, I know he won’t let anything happen to me, because he needs me to come back, so I can tell him I love him, too.”

  Then, she kissed him. Not all tongues and teeth like when they’d made love in the shower. Just a delicate press of her lips on his. A soft brushing of skin. And he felt it down to his toes.

  Russel rested his forehead on hers. “You don’t fight fair.”

  She chuckled. “Pretty sure you started it. I’ll be okay. And you, Rigs, Midnight, Hank, and Swede will be there to back me up. Thomas won’t know what hit him. I need to do this, Russel. And I need to know you’ll be part of it.”

  “Damn straight because there’s no way I’m letting you go, now.” He forced himself to step back—release his fingers one by one then tuck his arms at his side. Hardest damn thing he’d ever done.

  He turned to Springer. “I swear to god, if anything happens to her, I’ll hold you personally responsible. And I can assure you, that won’t end well for you.”

  Hank sighed. “Down, Ice. We don’t need you threatening a federal officer.”

  “Not a threat, Montana. Just a fact. Fine. Let’s get this insanity started before I change my mind and take Thomas out the second I see his lying face.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Nine fifty-five. Five minutes to showtime.

  That’s what Quinn told herself as she sat at the table off to the right side of the bar. The one her “team” had specifically chosen for her. They’d talked about sight lines. About emergence egress points and target analysis. She’d nodded. Acted as if she had a clue what most of it meant because all she really needed to know was that Thomas would walk through that front door in under five minutes, and she’d finally get a chance to send his murderous ass to jail.

  Or better yet, the asshole would try to hurt her or abduct her, and Rigs or one of the other men would put a bullet between his beady little eyes. She knew Russel was itching to. That letting Thomas live wasn’t part of Russel’s end game—not when they all knew the man could still get to her. Hire someone from within prison to kill her.

  But they could worry about that later. After they’d successfully executed their plan because, while she wouldn’t admit it, especially to Russel, she wasn’t convinced this was going to be as smooth as they thought—despite the caliber of men backing her up. Thomas might not be a soldier. He hadn’t trained for brutal missions in dangerous places. But he wasn’t some low-level gang member, either. He was part of a highly successful criminal organization that had managed to evade federal prosecution for over thirty years. He was smart. Efficient. And Quinn knew he’d have a backup plan. Several, maybe.

  He’d anticipate she wouldn’t come alone, and just thinking that she might get one of Russel’s friends hurt—or, god, killed—at
e at her. That wasn’t even considering anything happening to Russel, because that… That messed with her brain too much. Made it impossible to think. To focus. To breathe. She’d chosen this path, knowing she might not make it out the other side alive. And she’d accepted it. But losing Russel…

  She couldn’t go there. Couldn’t imagine continuing on without him. He was right. It had been insanely quick—a month, in technical terms, but only days, really. Days spent by his side, under his protection. But it didn’t alter the fact she’d fallen in love with him. Had known, from the moment he’d held her in his truck, begging her to let him help her, that she’d stumbled upon the kind of connection that happened once in a lifetime. And, after living like a ghost, she wasn’t going to waste another moment worrying about whether anyone else would understand their feelings.

  All she needed was Russel. Which meant taking this fucker, Thomas, down.

  Four minutes.

  She folded her hands on the table as she scanned the crowd. She had a feeling Thomas would send some of his men in ahead. Have them scout out the bar—see if they could place anyone she’d brought with her as backup. They wouldn’t. Hank’s team was too good. Rigs and Swede had ventured into the bar an hour before her. She’d caught one glimpse of them when she’d walked in, then they’d just disappeared. Rigs was supposed to be playing pool in the corner behind her, and she knew he was there, somewhere. But damn if she could spot him.

  And Swede. She half wondered if he’d gotten himself painted to blend in with the wall paneling—like those dancers sometimes did. Their entire bodies done up to resemble part of the scenery—because he was just…gone.

  According to their “plan”, Midnight would be up on one of the rooftops. He’d tried to argue that Rigs should be there—something about him being a better shot—but Rigs had shaken his head and calmly stated that Midnight was equally skilled and the best fit. That he would blend in with the biker crowd on account of his scars. Also, that Midnight had been there before, and they couldn’t chance someone might recognize him and somehow out him.