Page 7
Technicality
TEAGUE
We walk through the dense woods from Alain’s expansive estate toward his nephew’s mansion. How Christophe has lived so close to that monster for so long, I have no idea. If I weren’t inextricably tied to the man, I’d have bounced a long time ago.
But I am.
So, I’m still here. Sifting through the family businesses and sorting out details that no one fucking wants to dive into. And I have a front row seat to the shit and depravity that brought a bright smile to a horrible man’s face. Watching that light dim into fear made my fucking day.
Did I lie when I told her he was dead? Maybe, but it was honestly a technicality. There’s no way he’ll be anything but cold, gray, and lifeless by the time Christophe leaves that estate tonight.
The weight of that deception is heavy. This woman in my arms, not so much.
Though hearing her voice—that sad, timid sound so heavily laced with unimaginable fear and anxiety—damn near brought me to my knees. But she has that power over me. She has for a very long time.
The back of the mansion is lit up like it’s Christmas, or like a jail break is in full swing and the perimeter lights are the only hope of finding the escapees.
I don’t like it. It’s going to draw too much attention. Bring the wrong people to us. People looking for information and willing to do whatever it takes to get it. And they’ve already amassed a laundry list of vile things they don’t lose any sleep over to get what they’re after.
Nothing like being up against the zero-conscience brigade.
I’ve done some sketchy shit in my life—had to in order to do my job—but even I have limits.
Or I did.
But now? For Truie? Those limits may as well be fractured fairy tales.
I pause in the shadows, the expansive lawn in front of me, lights glaring. This isn’t good. The minute I step out of the darkness, I’m a sitting duck.
A tremble, more like a shiver, slides through Truie, and she burrows further into me. I didn’t think she could get any closer, but she manages. Almost like she trying to crawl inside me.
“Cold or scared?” I ask, voice low and eyes scanning. My weapon is within easy reach, but if I need it, I have to let go of the woman in my arms, and I don’t know that I can. Even if it’s to protect her.
“B-b-both?” She’s killing me, this one. But hearing her voice, finally after so, so long, is like a birdsong. I mean, I’ve heard it, but always in quiet conversation with Winnie when I was out of her line of sight. Never when she could see me. Never directly to me.
“I need you to wrap your arms around my neck. Can you do that for me?” I get a nod this time, but nothing else. That’s good enough for now. “Hold tight. I have to grab something quickly, and then we’ll get moving again. Get you in the house, warm and safe, yeah?”
Delicate arms unfurl from where they’ve been tightly tucked against my chest, trapped between our bodies. One spools over my shoulder and wraps around my neck, a cool dry palm against my heated skin.
With more strength than I could’ve ever imagined her possessing, Truie pulls herself higher on my chest, twining her other arm around me, and holds on for dear life. Like I’m the only thing between her and the monsters who have been nipping at her heels.
“You solid? Don’t let go unless I tell you.”
Her face is tucked into the crook of my neck, arms holding her securely to me. If it weren’t for the trail of bodies already being cleaned up behind us, and the fact that I’m reaching for my gun, this moment could almost be sweet. Romantic. I like the feel of her wrapped around me.
I shift, trying to take some of the burden of support from her, and pull the Glock from the small of my back.
I speak into my comms, “Kill the lights. I’m coming in.”
“Sir?”
“From the back. I’m coming across the lawn and have Miss Cochonette with me. I need the lights taken down and the back entrance ready to breach.” I want to rip out someone’s throat for the simple fact that she was able to slip out of the house undetected. I want to lay the guy who was supposed to protect her low and offer him the opportunity to feel the same swirl of panicked fear-riddled anxiety I imagine Truie felt leaving the house, stealing across the lawn, finding her way through the woods, all to what? Kill Alain? Was that her goal? How did she know what we were doing or where we were going? How did she get a fucking gun? I have so many questions.
The okay comes quickly as the lights blink out, shrouding us in darkness and providing cover for our trek across the exposed expanse.
My eyes never stop moving. Every shift of light, every sway of the trees surrounding us, every single thing is noted, assessed, and filed away.
The relief that crashes over me as I push through the back entrance and into the hallway is almost a shock to my system. I’m not ready for it. I don’t want it yet. I need the buzz to maintain my focus.
