“So you can call Archer and tell him not to come?” He barks out a startling laugh, but he ends it by rushing closer and slamming his lips to mine.
His tongue invades my mouth, and his kiss swallows down my gasp of horrified surprise. Before I get a chance to respond, to bite his tongue off and spit it to the ground, he pulls back again and smirks.
“Run, Minka Mayet. Run away and save the child.”
“Safety?” Tears burn my eyes. “You swear?”
He places his hand on his heart and drops his chin. “A Malone promise is absolute.”
“Hold on, Mia.” I spin on my feet and duck as I run, lest one of Felix’s friends gets trigger-happy and shoots without thought.
I charge straight toward the hangar doors with my heart in my throat and my lungs seizing. My lips tingle from another man’s violent kiss. My stomach rebels, and my muscles fill with lactic acid. But I push forward and break through the two security guards with a crash, so my lungs empty and my head swivels on my neck hard enough to give me whiplash.
Then we emerge into the sunlight to find my car engulfed in flames.
“Shit!” I skid to a stop, then I turn and head toward the north. Past the building and into the rocks surrounding the bay. “Let’s go, Moo.”
“I want my daddy!” She screams the words and telegraphs to the world where we are. “Minka! I want my daddy.”
“I know, baby.”
Stopping for only a moment, I shimmy Mia to my front so her legs wrap around my body and my arms are better able to hold her, then I take off again and rush toward the copse of trees in the distance.
“I know you’re scared, sweetheart. But I need you to be quiet.” My feet ache and my legs burn, but I race across uneven, rocky ground and use one hand to catch us as we climb. “Just close your lips, okay? Can you do that?”
ARCHER
“On three,” I whisper and point toward the door.
We’re outside a suburban home—one we’ve already visited during this investigation, but now Stan’s car sits out front, situated beside a half-dozen other cars, trucks, and motorcycles.
At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if Carlton Cohen and his crew turn up as well.
“One.” I raise a finger; for Fletch at my side, and for Brady, who acts as backup. “Two.” My voice is barely discernable, but my team knows. They understand their instructions.
Get inside. Preserve as many lives as we can manage. Apprehend our killer.
“Three. Go!”
I lift my boot and chamber my leg, then slamming my foot down on the front door of Mrs. Boyd’s home, we rush through the front entrance and emerge into the living room to find the woman and Anton sitting on the couch, terror in their eyes, their hands in the sky, while prowling the space in front of them, Stanley passes off a gun to his friend so fast, the move would make most cops question if he ever held it at all.
Stanley has come with a half-dozen of his closest thug friends, but the house remains intact. No blood. No violence. No charges to be laid as far as I’m concerned.
“The police have arrived.” Smug, Stanley turns to me with a vicious half-smirk. “Anton Creed has something to tell you.”
“We were doing the right thing by the baby!” Mrs. Boyd sobs now that we’re here. Like we’re going to save her from the likes of Stanley Mathouson and his crew. “Melly was making a mistake! She was with the wrong people—she would have raised that baby with the likes ofhim!” She glares at Stan, then whimpers when he smiles. “She could have raised the baby with Anton! She could have fixed her family and done the right thing.”
I look to Stan and ask the one thing I need to know. The one thing that could make any of this somewhat redeemable. “The baby?”
“Asleep.” With a gritted jaw and rage in his eyes, he nods toward the hall. “A little yellow, and really small.” He swallows. “But she’s okay.”
“She?” I look back at Anton and shake my head. “You’re under arrest.” Then to Melissa’s mother. “And you too. Officer Clay will read your rights and list out the charges we intend to bring forth.” Then I break away from the room and charge into the hall.
Fletch on my heels. My phone vibrating in my pocket.
My heart thuds powerfully fast, and my breath races as I search from one room to the next, following the gentle sounds of a lullaby on repeat.
Mrs. Boyd’s cries fill the hall. They bounce off the walls and slam at my back. Anton’s shouts of anguish will probably land him a deal with the DA in regards to his state of mind, while Melissa’s mom is likely to do more time, because she provided the insulin, she conspired to change her daughter’s mind, and when she wouldn’t listen, she ended a young mother’s life and dumped her like last week’s trash.