Chapter 23
Cowboy stirred, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he cracked open his eyes.
The soft glow of the fire cast flickering shadows across the room, and his head throbbed like someone had used it for batting practice.
His body felt like a single, massive bruise, every breath sending sharp reminders of the beating he’d taken.
He wasn’t even sure who’d hurt him. That was what happened when they got a good shot to the head before they roughed up your body. Confusion on a massive scale, and a memory like a hunk of Swiss cheese.
“Cowboy?” Grams’s voice cut through the haze, gentle but insistent. She sat nearby. In her lap, nestled casually like it belonged there, was a sleek black pistol.
Cowboy blinked, attempting to focus his vision on the firearm but unable to do so. “Grams?” His voice came out rough, his throat dry. “You, uh… planning on going to war?”
Grams glanced down at the weapon and raised a brow. “I’m an O’Malley, Leo. The family fortune wasn’t built on knitting needles, it was built on Signet Firearms. I wasn’t expecting trouble before, but now that I am, I’m prepared to defend myself.”
Cowboy let out a short, wheezing laugh that quickly turned into a wince. “Fair enough.” He tried to sit up, but the pounding in his skull made him reconsider. “Where’s Charlotte?”
Grams’s face softened, but there was a glint of steel in her eyes. “She went to the lighthouse tunnels with Champion, Austin, and Tom.”
Cowboy froze mid-movement, his jaw tightening. He may not remember exactly who got the jump on him, but he remembered enough. “She did what?”
“I’m afraid you missed quite a bit while you were sleeping.” She filled him in on Sarkisyan pretending to be Tom, as well as the chemicals they’d found in the lighthouse.
He ran his hand through his hair and began to pace, the motion doing nothing for his concussion but possibly keeping him sane. “I can’t believe she went out there without me.”
Grams adjusted the blanket draped over him, as if she could soothe the storm brewing in his chest. “Leo, she insisted. She’s worried about you, and about the refugees.
She figured out what Sarkisyan’s planning.
Bombs, tunnels, the whole lot. She wasn’t about to sit here twiddling her thumbs while you were lying here unconscious. ”
Cowboy swore under his breath and bent to grab his shoes. “I’m going.” He attempted to straighten back to his full height, but the room banked ninety degrees and he landed firmly on his ass, back on the sofa.
Grams shook her head. “You’re not in any shape to—”
“I’ve been in worse.” Cowboy gritted his teeth as he stood, the room spinning for a moment before his balance steadied. His ribs protested, his muscles screamed, but none of it mattered. “She’s out there, and Sarkisyan’s still breathing. That’s all I need to know.”
Grams watched him for a moment, then nodded. “There’s one more thing. Austin and Champion arrived safely, but no one’s heard from Deke and, uh, Booger.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Unfortunately, I am not.”
Cowboy reached for his rumpled coat, wet with snow but dry on the inside, and pulled it on. He hesitated, glancing at the gun still resting in her lap. “Grams…”
She gave him a pointed look, her hand curling around the weapon with practiced ease. “I’m not some helpless old lady. The only reason Sarkisyan got the jump on me was because I wasn’t expecting trouble. Now I am.”
Her tone left no room for argument, and Cowboy couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Remind me never to underestimate you.”
Grams smiled, her expression softening. “Good. Now go catch up with your team and bring my granddaughter back safe and sound.”
Cowboy grabbed his boots and jacket, every movement a reminder of the fight he’d lost. But the thought of Charlotte—out there in the freezing cold, facing Sarkisyan without him—ignited a fire in his gut that burned hotter than the pain.
He paused at the door, turning back to Grams. “You’ll lock up, right?”
She waved him off, already tucking the pistol into the pocket of her cardigan. “I’ll be fine, Leo. Now off with you.”
With a nod, Cowboy stepped into the storm, the cold air slicing through him like a knife. His body protested every step, but his mind was sharp, focused on one thing: finding Charlotte and putting an end to Sarkisyan’s plans—no matter what it took to extinguish that threat.
There was just one problem with that plan. Whoever had knocked him out had gotten the jump on him, but he still didn’t think that was a guy as old as Sarkisyan. If he was right, that meant there was at least one other person on this island, and that person might even have Deke and Booger.
He spit into the snow. He damn well knew it would take more than one man to incapacitate two of his team, and that was without even counting himself.
Swearing colorfully, he picked up his pace.
Without a headcount or even an estimate, he couldn’t imagine what his crew was up against—and the woman he loved was right in the middle of what was bound to be some very dangerous action.