Power Play

by Landish, Lauren

  And who knew about the stone’s existence? The stone isn’t exactly as famous as the Holy Grail. There haven’t been ten thousand assholes tramping around the Amazon looking for it.

  Answers that only lead to more questions, frustrating us both.

  Coffee, though, that’s universal, and Kyle nods. “Fuck, yeah. Black and forty-weight, if you can get it.”

  I lead the way to the kitchen, looking back as I pass the doorway, “Also, you hun—“

  My question is cut short by a soft pfft-pfft sound and then Kyle’s roar of surprise and pain.

  Instincts take over instantly, my brain recognizing the silenced shots before my ears even register them fully.

  I duck and slide toward the island for cover as Kyle dive-rolls, sliding past me but still ending under cover.

  Even in the dim lighting, I can see his eyes narrow at me.

  I shake my head and silently ask him the same question, Did you do this?

  He shakes his head, and I hear a tiny creak as a cabinet door opens.

  With barely a nod of his head, Kyle and I are on the same page, and he goes around the island one way and I go the other, converging on the small black-dressed shadow that’s creeping through my kitchen.

  Kyle roars again, this time for distraction, and an errant thought races through my mind that I’m thankful I don’t have neighbors because they’d surely hear him and call the police.

  I see Kyle’s fist connect with the masked assassin, the two of them almost dancing as they move across the tile. Kyle drives into the man, smacking sounds of fists hitting flesh sounding loudly through the tiled room.

  The assassin stumbles backward, directly into my arms, and I lift him, preparing to slam him to the ground.

  He’s flailing, fighting against me and fighting against Kyle with obvious training, but he’s overpowered and outmanned. With a grunt of effort, I drop the attacker to the ground, driving my weight on top of him.

  Whoever my attacker is, he slumps semi-conscious as I drive the wind out of him, and I get up, furious that someone dared to attack me in my own fucking house.

  Again. Twice in one night, for fuck’s sake. At this rate, I’m going to be asking Caleb to live here full-time just for the safety factor.

  But something tells me Kyle was telling the truth and he had nothing to do with this. In anger, I give the prone body a kick and he recoils into a fetal position.

  The girls must’ve been woken up by the noise because they appear in the doorway, safe and whole, but their eyes and mouths are wide open as they turn on the lights.

  At least Carly had the wherewithal to grab the gun Kyle left in the office.

  I reach down, picking up the silenced pistol our attacker dropped while Kyle carefully plucks his weapon from Carly’s hands, jamming it into his waistband for now. I do the same with the assassin’s gun.

  With a look, Kyle and I go by standard procedure, picking the guy up and setting him in a chair. Kyle makes quick work of tying him up with some rope I get from the garage.

  “Oh, my God, what’s going on?” Emma finally asks, her eyes going wide.

  She and Carly clasp hands and step back, away from the assassin but also away from Kyle and me.

  We follow, step for step.

  I don’t know what Kyle’s situation is with Carly, but I grab Emma, pressing her against the wall and holding her chin tight to force her eyes to mine. I don’t need her freaking out on me right now.

  “Don’t look over there. Look at me. Just me. Are you hurt?”

  She pulls her wild eyes from the black-dressed man and shakes her head, unable to form words. And though I believe her, I need to confirm for myself so I pull back slightly. I keep her pinned to the wall and trace along her arms, legs, and body with my eyes and hands.

  I can see the tears glittering in her eyes and know she needs the same reassurance.

  “I’m okay,” I promise, showing her my unmarked body. “He didn’t shoot me.”

  The words make me realize that Kyle’s first roar was with the shots, and I look to him. He’s got Carly pulled up tightly against him, but the bright red I couldn’t see on his black T-shirt is visible against her skin.

  “You okay?”

  He nods, his voice rough. “Caught a scratch on my right arm, just a graze. Little gauze and some peroxide and I’m good as new.”

  Carly growls and grabs his face in her hands, more forward than I would think a tiny thing like her would be with a beast like him, but he allows it. She kisses him fiercely and he gives in to her. It’s like she’s melting an iceberg with the heat of her kiss.

  It’s a surprising peek into their dynamic.

  Emma seems to have found her tongue and whispers, “Who is it?”

  Her eyes glance toward the masked figure, and it’s the most important question in the world right this moment.

  Kyle guards the girls while I approach our prisoner, who’s still half slumped over. I pull the mask off and don’t recognize the man.

  But judging by the sounds behind me, they do.

  “That’s Matt! Claire’s partner,” Emma says. Confusion and shock color the declaration.

  I glance back to her and the split second of question in my eyes is distraction enough for Matt to make his move. Apparently, he’s been playing possum and is good at it, too.

  He surges from his seated position, having gotten free of the restraints somehow, and plows into me, driving me chest first into the kitchen island.

  We wrestle, struggling around on the floor, and I feel the gun slipping out from my waist as he makes a grab for it. I fight him desperately, trying to keep control of the pistol, not only to avoid myself getting shot but also to protect Emma and Carly.

  This is between me and him. Whoever sent him, whatever he’s doing here, this is about me.

  Not Emma.

  I sense Kyle joining the tussle, his powerful grip on my shoulder pulling me back and his other pushing at Matt to separate us. But the anger is burning hotly and I fight to disable Matt myself.

  “He’s got the gun!”

  I no sooner shout the warning than a shot goes off and heat blooms across my belly.

  Chapter 43

  Emma

  The shot might as well be a gonging church bell for the impact it has on my heart.

  Time stops flowing and clicks by in frozen frames.

  I scream out and Kyle grunts, “Fuck.”

  There’s a moment of stillness, where I can physically feel the loss of everything I thought I’d finally found with Nathan.

  But a tiny seed of denial fights through the pessimism and breeds hope.

  I pray to anyone and anything listening . . . please let Nathan be okay. Please let him live.

  Kyle grabs Nathan with brute strength, pulling him back, and I see the blood, my gorge rising.

  No, no, no, no.

  What seems like a lifetime later but is probably mere seconds, Nathan moves, his eyes wrinkling as he winces. “I’m good. Got some powder burn, but it didn’t hit me. It must be . . . him.”

  I can see it now that there’s space between them. Matt’s belly is half torn open beneath the tight black shirt he’s wearing, the fabric looking wet and slick as the blood gushes out with every slowing heartbeat.

  But all I can think of is Nathan.

  Now that I know he’s okay, you’d think my heart would slow a bit, but the sight of a shot man bleeding out on the kitchen floor is panic-inducing in a completely different way.

  Kyle kicks the gun away from where it fell when their fight took the turn for the worse, and it skitters across the tile.

  Nathan doesn’t give Matt a moment’s reprieve, grabbing his collar and demanding, “Who sent you? Why?”

  Matt’s look is one of pained anguish, his voice rough and stilted as Nathan drops to his knees, pulling off his shirt and pressing it to Matt’s belly. “I had to. He made me. He’ll send another. Wants it.”

  “Who? What does he want?” Nathan shak
es Matt, whose eyes are starting to roll in his head.

  He slumps under Nathan’s hand, and after a moment, Nathan lets Matt down slowly. I’m not sure how to feel, part of me glad that Nathan survived another assassination attempt but confused, with more questions than answers filling my mind, and horrified that I just watched a man get shot in the stomach.

  Maybe it’s just shock that’s overwhelming me.

  “When will this nightmare of a night end?”

  Fate seems to answer as the back door bursts open, banging against the wall from a powerful kick.

  “Hands up! FBI!” Claire moves in, fully engaged in the badass boss mode I always figured she had but have never truly had occasion to see.

  Her service weapon is trained on Nathan, who’s still looming over Matt, but her eyes flick to Kyle, who is the only one armed in the room. He’s already raised the pistol, his reactions even faster than I could imagine.

  I can see the moment where she has to choose to aim at Kyle, can see the hesitation because though Kyle is armed and the obvious threat, she wants to nail Nathan.

  That’s what she wanted all along, why she sent me in to his party in the first place. Maybe not literally like this, but on some level . . . maybe? It’s a dark thought about my sister and I have to hope a false one.

  “Claire! It’s okay. It was Matt. He tried to kill Nathan!” I try to explain, but my voice is shrill, laced with hysteria, leading her to dismiss my words.

  Nathan suffers no such nerves and calmly holds his hands out wide as he stands and speaks to her. “Claire, Matt was hiding in my kitchen. He tried to shoot me. Hit Kyle in the arm. We fought, his gun went off, and he was shot. I’m trying to find out who sent him.”

  He slowly moves back down to Matt, and Claire aims the gun back to Nathan when Kyle lowers his, slowly setting it on the floor and kicking it away.

  “Step away from him.”

  But Nathan doesn’t back off. He needs answers and is willing to risk Claire shooting him to get them.

  “Who?” he demands of Matt.

  But it’s no use. In the moment of delay with Claire, he’s died.

  Nathan’s eyes go dark as he glares at her. “You cost me time. Time I needed to get information.”

  Claire spits back coldly, “You seem awfully calm about just killing an FBI agent, Mr. Stone.”

  “The FBI’s using assassins on civilians now?” His words are barbed and laced with venom, but they do give Claire pause.

  “Tell me what happened.” She hasn’t lowered her gun, but at least she’s listening.

  It’s a step in the right direction because this is such a big clusterfuck I can’t imagine how we’re all going to leave this room alive.

  Well, not Matt. But the rest of us.

  “Claire,” I start, moving toward her, but she instinctively aims at me.

  I see the flash in her eyes at the movement, though, and know it kills her to do it, but her training is all about risk assessment, and right now, we’re all a risk.

  Even me, her sister.

  Nathan growls and shoves me behind him. “No, me. I’m the one you want. Aim at me, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  She levels the gun at Nathan, a challenge in her eyes but also the smallest glimmer.

  She’s so imbedded in what she thinks she knows about Nathan that she wants him to make a move.

  But she’s wrong, so wrong.

  “Talk fast.”

  Nathan nods, all business. “I came home and discussed business with Kyle here in my office.” I’m surprised he’s covering for Kyle, and judging by the slight lift of Kyle’s brow, he is too.

  But Nathan forges ahead before Claire can ask questions about that. “We came into the kitchen, and Matt popped off two silenced rounds. He missed. You can find them in the door frame or wall, most likely. Clipped Kyle with one, too. We wrestled for the gun and it went off. It got him instead of me. I was questioning him, and he said, ‘He made me. He’ll send another. Wants it.’ That’s when you barged in.”

  Claire is looking for holes, for answers. “Wants what?”

  Nathan’s answer is sharp, and more than a little hostile. “I don’t know. You interrupted my interrogation.”

  She nods toward the chair and ropes. “That’s what you’re calling that? I notice you left that part out of your story.”

  Nathan scoffs and kicks the chair over. “Hell yeah, we tied him up. But he got free. That’s when we fought. I was trying to not kill him, though I was well within my rights to do it. He was trespassing with ill intent. Self-defense.”

  Claire’s eyes do meet mine then, the question clear. “He’s telling the truth, Claire,” I confirm, doing my best to keep my voice level and unpanicked, even if I feel anything but. “That’s what happened. I don’t know what Matt was doing here today. Do you?”

  Though she stays stoic, I know my sister and see her internal startle as she realizes what we’re saying. “I have no idea,” she finally admits painfully. “I’ve just been watching the house, coming by a couple of times a day, hoping I’d catch Emma here as soon as you two came home from traipsing all over to play Lara Croft. I heard screaming and came around the back to investigate.”

  She finally lowers the gun and the room breathes a collective sigh of relief. The power dynamic instantly changes as well, Nathan taking the reins.

  “I’m calling Caleb,” Nathan says, grabbing the phone. “He may have wanted some alone time, but this sure as fuck takes precedence over a pussy pity party.”

  I only hear his side of the conversation, but at first Caleb seems pissed at being disturbed when we only just got back.

  Nathan keeps it short. “Come now, and bring Jake.” That seems to be a turning point, and Caleb realizes it’s serious because Nathan repeats, “Yes, Jake. Now.”

  Without another word, he hangs up. “Caleb will be here in ten minutes.”

  * * *

  After Nathan’s phone call, we manage to get everyone moved into the living room, which helps us girls with the whole lack of a dead body in the middle of the floor. Even Claire, who I know has seen dozens of dead bodies, seems understandably affected by it being her partner lying motionless this time. Carly and I huddle on the couch, untouched tumblers of scotch in our hands, as Nathan and Kyle stand facing Claire like some sort of Old West showdown.

  Thankfully, Caleb and Jake arrive in minutes, and I wonder how close they live. Claire has been demanding answers and Nathan has been putting her off, saying he’ll tell the story once his brother gets here.

  Caleb struts in like he’s making a red-carpet appearance, obviously confident and trying to throw a few more ripples in the pool, probably to break the tension.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, what’s shaking?”

  But he catches the tight vibe of the room, that jokes aren’t going to lighten the mood, and immediately drops the act. “All right, what do we have here?”

  Caleb’s eyes narrow at my sister. “FBI, huh? You don’t look like an FBI agent.”

  “Like I haven’t heard that before,” Claire sneers dismissively. “It’s 2019, asshole. Agents can look however they look as long as they can shoot.” She doesn’t lift her gun, but I see it twitch slightly like she’s fighting the urge to aim at Caleb. “Shirts up. Spin.”

  Caleb’s grin is pure flirt, machismo, sex, and eye rolling goofiness all rolled into one. “If you wanted to see me topless, all you had to do was ask.”

  But he and Jake pull their shirts up, spinning to let Claire visually check for weapons.

  “Pants legs too,” Claire says, all business. The guys slowly bend down, hiking up each leg to show they don’t have weapons stowed in their boots either.

  “So do I get the same? Are you going to pull your shirt up and do a spin for me? I apologize for not bringing any cash,” Caleb jokes.

  Claire flushes in anger, and for once, she looks like she’s going to shoot someone besides Nathan. “I’m already armed and dangerous. No need for me to h
and out free tit shows to prove it.”

  Caleb laughs loudly and talks sarcastically out of the side of his mouth, eyes on Claire. “Emma, I like your sister. Probably better than you, even. Not that I like you in the least.”

  I roll my eyes at his antics, knowing it’s his schtick to make people underestimate him. I saw how smart and slick he was in Brazil.

  Claire cuts her eyes to Nathan. “Spill it.”

  Nathan looks at Caleb, who keeps his face relatively impassive for him, although I can tell he’s got plenty of questions.

  “Kyle and I have been talking tonight,” Nathan starts with a sigh. “By the way . . . Caleb, Kyle. Kyle, Caleb. Jake, can you go take a look in the kitchen? No touching.”

  Jake nods, turning to go, but Claire calls out again, “Don’t touch him.”

  Jake looks from Claire to Nathan and then disappears down the hall.

  Nathan starts, “Like I was saying, we’ve been talking. Anna was Kyle’s fiancé. He’s been investigating her murder, the same as we have Dad’s. Some pieces we were each missing, the other had. And now, we think whoever killed Dad also killed Anna. They were hits. And with a hitman dead in my kitchen—”

  Caleb interrupts, “A what, where?”

  Nathan gives him the short version of our kitchen calamity, Caleb’s eyes twitching as it sinks in what he could’ve lost tonight.

  Nathan finishes, “I’m guessing it was Matt who made the hits on Dad and Anna.”

  Claire makes a weird noise in her throat, shaking her head. “He didn’t kill Michael Stone or Anna Russo. You did.”

  Nathan glances back at me, not asking for help but maybe permission to be harsh with my sister. I nod, knowing that Claire is hard-headed. It’s one of her best qualities, that stubbornness that got her through school, helped her become an agent, and makes her good at her job. But no matter how many times I’ve told her that Nathan didn’t have anything to do with the deaths, she doesn’t believe me.

  It’s too much of a paradigm shift for her. And the only way Claire changes her mind is with a little directness and maybe a shove in the right direction.