“Please listen to me, Duncan,” I whisper. “Whatever you do after this—fire me for insubordination or kick my ass to the curb—I don’t care. I care that your sister is in that room, with a guy who will kill her if we startle him.”
He holds my gaze. Holds it so fast it’s hard to keep from looking away. His chin dips, just a little. Then he glances at the door.
“We need a distraction,” I whisper. “Get Findlay away from her without making him think someone’s in the apartment. I can do that. When he opens the door, you’ll be waiting—”
I stop. My gaze swings to the door. A moment ago, the imposter had been interrogating Isla. But now he’s stopped.
I take one cautious step toward the door, holding my breath as I listen, tensed for the muffled sound of pain. Instead, the knob turns.
I backpedal, my arms going out to shield Gray. He’s a layperson, and it’s like one of those video games where cops have to take out the shooters without killing any bystanders. The principle is hammered into my brain. Protect the bystander.
This works much better if the bystander is willing to be protected. I fall back, arms going up, knife in hand, and suddenly there is no one behind me. For a guy of Gray’s size, he moves like a damned ghost. That knob turns and somehow, he’s in front of me, and I’m backpedaling into shadow like a helpless maiden.
Findlay steps out. He’s heard a noise, right? Our whispering must have been louder than I thought. That’s the obvious answer. But no, Findlay strolls out, the door opening to block the big guy lunging toward him, and there’s a near-comical moment where I think it’s going to smack Gray in the face. It doesn’t. Because that’s when Findlay hears or senses something. He glances over, almost nonchalantly. And he sees Gray.