Chapter 16 Sean
SEAN
The kiss still burns on my lips as we walk through the hotel lobby toward the parking garage. I can feel Maeve trembling beside me, her hand tucked into the crook of my arm, and I don't know if it's from what happened on that balcony or the overwhelming evening she's endured. Probably both.
I shouldn't have kissed her. I definitely shouldn't have put my hands on her the way I did, shouldn't have felt the soft warmth of her skin under that dress, shouldn't have swallowed down her quiet gasps like they were oxygen and I was drowning.
But Christ, I did. And now I can't stop thinking about how she felt pressed against me, how her fingers dug into my shoulders, how she looked at me with those wide blue eyes full of want and confusion and—
"Sean?" Her soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Are you all right?"
I glance down at her. Even exhausted and overwhelmed, she's worried about me. It does something to my chest, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar.
"Fine," I mutter. "Just want to get you home."
Flynn is somewhere behind us with the rest of security, I’m sure, even though I can’t see them. He's good at what he does—staying close enough to protect but far enough back to give the illusion of privacy. The parking garage is quiet as we enter it, our footsteps echoing off the concrete.
I know the minute we get inside that something's wrong.
The awareness hits me like a punch to the gut. It's too quiet. The attendant who should be at the booth is missing. There's a smell in the air that doesn't belong—something chemical and sharp underneath the usual garage stench of exhaust and oil.
"Maeve." I stop walking, my hand moving to her waist. "When I say run, you run. Understand?"
Her eyes go wide. "What—"
I see the wire.
It's barely visible in the dim lighting, running from under our car to a vehicle parked two spaces over. My blood turns to ice.
"RUN!" I roar, grabbing Maeve and hauling her backward as hard as I can.
We make it maybe ten feet before the world explodes.
The blast picks us up and throws us like we weigh nothing.
I twist mid-air, trying to get my body between Maeve and the ground, and we hit hard.
The air punches out of my lungs. My ears are ringing, everything muffled and distant.
Heat washes over us in a wave, and I can smell burning rubber and gasoline.
Maeve is under me, her face pressed against my chest. I can feel her shaking.
"Are you hurt?" My voice sounds strange and far away. "Maeve, are you hurt?"
She shakes her head against me, and relief floods through me so intensely it's almost painful. I push up onto my knees, my body screaming in protest. We need to move. Car bombs are almost never alone—there will be shooters, men waiting to finish what the explosion started.
As if summoning them with the thought, I hear the screech of tires. A van comes around the corner, side door already open. I see the barrel of a gun.
My years of training take over instantly. I grab Maeve and drag her behind a concrete pillar as bullets start pinging off the ground where we were just lying. She's gasping, her hands fisted in my jacket, and I need her to stay down, stay safe, while I handle this.
"Stay behind me," I growl, pulling the gun from the shoulder holster under my jacket. "Don't move unless I tell you to."
I lean around the pillar and fire three shots in rapid succession. One hits the driver—I can tell by the way the van swerves. Another takes out the shooter in the side door. The third hits the windshield, but I'm not sure if it connected with flesh.
The van screeches to a stop. Doors open. I count four—no, five men pouring out.
Where the fuck is Flynn?
As if hearing my thought, gunfire erupts from the opposite side of the garage. Flynn. Thank Christ. One of the men goes down, then another. That leaves three, and they're spreading out, trying to flank us.
"We need to move." I grab Maeve's hand. "When I say go, you run for that black sedan. Keep your head down. Understand?"
"Sean—"
"Do you understand?" I grip her chin, forcing her to look at me. Her face is pale, her eyes huge, but she nods.
I fire twice more, providing cover, and Flynn does the same. "Go!"
Maeve runs. She's fast, I'll give her that—her heels clicking against concrete as she sprints. I'm right behind her, my body positioned between her and the shooters. I feel a bullet whiz past my head, too close, and return fire without thinking.
We reach the sedan—the other car that security brought here—and I shove Maeve toward the passenger side. "Get in and stay down!"
She yanks the door open and throws herself inside.
I move around to the driver's side, firing toward the remaining shooters.
Flynn is making his way toward us, using cars as cover, his movements efficient and deadly.
Gunfire is erupting from other angles, too—the rest of our security, spread out to make it harder for them to focus their fire.
One of the shooters breaks from cover, running straight at us. I put two bullets in his chest, and he drops like a stone.
Flynn reaches the car and dives into the back seat. "Drive!" he shouts, throwing me the keys.
I gun the engine and slam the car into reverse. Bullets spider-web the windshield as I punch the accelerator. We shoot backward, and I wrench the wheel, spinning us around. More bullets hit the car—I can hear them pinging off metal—and then we're out of the garage and onto the street.
"Everyone alive?" Flynn pants from the back seat.
"Yeah," I grit out, weaving through traffic. My hands are steady on the wheel, but my heart is jackhammering against my ribs. I glance at Maeve. She's curled into herself, her arms wrapped around her middle, staring straight ahead. "Maeve. Look at me."
She turns her head slowly. There's a cut on her cheek, blood trickling down toward her jaw, and rage floods through me so intense I nearly black out from it.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"I—I don't think so." Her voice is small and shaking. "Sean, what—"
"Not now." I need to get her somewhere safe, and make sure no one is following us. Then I need to figure out who the fuck just tried to kill my wife.
The drive back to the house takes an hour that feels much longer.
I check the mirrors constantly, taking random turns, making sure we're not being tailed.
Flynn is silent in the backseat, and I know he's doing the same, his eyes scanning our surroundings.
I hear him tapping on his phone, rendezvousing with the rest of our security.
By the time we pull up to the house, Maeve has stopped shaking, but she's gone eerily still. I don't like it. I come around and open her door, and she flinches when I reach for her. Something in my chest cracks.
"Let me help you," I say quietly.
She looks at me for a long moment, then takes my hand. Her fingers are ice-cold. I help her out of the car and she sways. I catch her without thinking, pulling her against me.
"I've got you," I murmur. "You're safe now."
She makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. "Am I?"
I don't have an answer for that.
Inside, I settle Maeve on the couch while Flynn does a security sweep of the house with Jack and the other men who arrived right after us.
She sits there with her hands in her lap, still in that night-sky blue dress, looking like a ghost. I crouch in front of her and reach for her face, gently tilting it so I can see the cut on her cheek.
"It's not deep," I say. "I'll clean it."
"Okay."
Her voice is too flat. Too empty. I head to the bathroom and grab the first aid kit, and when I come back, Flynn is standing in the doorway with his phone to his ear, speaking rapid-fire. I catch enough to know he's calling in reinforcements, more security for the house.
I kneel in front of Maeve again and start cleaning the cut. She doesn't flinch or react at all, and it worries me more than if she were crying.
"Maeve," I say softly. "Talk to me."
"What do you want me to say?" She finally looks at me, and her eyes are hollow. "Someone just tried to kill us."
"I know."
"With a bomb."
"I know."
"Why?" Her voice breaks on the word. "Why is this happening? My family is already dead. What more do they want?"
I don't answer, because I'm not sure she's ready to hear it, and all I have are theories that formed on the drive home. I finish cleaning the cut and apply a bandage, my movements gentle. When I'm done, I sit back on my heels.
"I won't let anything happen to you," I tell her. It's the only truth I have to offer.
She laughs, and this time it's definitely bitter. "You can't promise that."
My jaw tightens. "Watch me."
Flynn ends his call and walks over. "More security will be here in ten. I'm going to make some more calls." He looks at me meaningfully. "You two should talk."
Then he disappears down the hallway, leaving us alone.
I should put distance between us. Instead, I reach up and tuck a strand of red hair behind her ear. She closes her eyes at the touch.
"Go upstairs," I tell her quietly. "Get some rest. I'll stay down here."
"I don't think I can sleep."
"You need to try."
She opens her eyes and looks at me, and there's something raw in her expression. "Will you... will you stay with me? Like you did the other night?"
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to say no. To maintain distance. To protect her from myself as much as from the threat outside these walls.
But I find myself nodding. "Yeah. I'll stay."
She stands, and I rise with her. She's unsteady on her feet, and I offer her my arm. She takes it, and we walk upstairs together in silence.
In her room, she disappears into the bathroom, and I hear water running. I stand by the window, looking out at the dark grounds, my mind racing. The bomb. The shooters. This wasn’t random violence. This is targeted. Professional.
Brennan.