CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Ava
“I really like your sister,” I say, during the slog of a drive home from the Upper West Side hospital where Sabine had her baby. A beautiful boy they named Aiden Ewan Hart.
“Sabine likes you, too. I can tell,” Griffin chuckles. “Did you see the look on Ewan’s face finding out he’s the godfather?”
“That was a very sweet moment.” I squeeze Griffin’s hand.
What a character my sister-in-law is. Her accent is thicker than my husband’s! The new mom looked amazing and was already walking around. She didn’t look heavily pregnant before and didn’t look like a nine-pound screaming baby came out of her hours ago.
My hand keeps finding my stomach. I wonder how I’ll carry and look afterward. Something tells me Griffin won’t care if I gain weight or don’t lose it right away.
“Did Ewan really try to kill Grayson?” I was shocked to hear that story as part of the request for him to be the godfather.
Griffin clears his throat. “Um, yeah. Ewan sort of threatened him.”
Those Quinlan brothers were tough customers as far as who they wanted for their sister. Grayson is a billionaire .
A stab of exhaustion hits me just when Griffin’s townhouse comes into view.
He follows my gaze. “Are you happy in this house? Do you want to buy something else? Something you can pick out and feel like it’s yours?”
I shrug. “You didn’t live here too much longer than me. I feel like we grew into the place together.”
“I feel the same way. I like the house. A lot.” He smiles warmly at it.
And yet, he’ll move for me.
“I like it, too,” I say, leaning against his shoulder in the backseat. “Maybe in a few days we’ll consider which bedroom to make into a nursery?”
The air seems to leave Griffin’s lungs. “Wow. This is real.”
I suspect most first-time dads are nervous and tend to freak out. “I’ll make an appointment to see a doctor now that this is out of the way. I’ll ask Isabella for a recommendation. My last gyno visit was on a warship by a navy nurse practitioner.”
The Escalade stops and Griffin opens his door, not wanting his guards to do it.
“I’m coming with you.” He squeezes my hand and helps me out of the car. “That’s not up for discussion.”
As we step toward the house, Zeke emerges from the SUV’s front passenger seat. “We’re doing our foot patrol up and down the block, boss,” Zeke says to Griffin about his and Ace’s nightly routine.
He and other guards rotate an overnight shift in the house each night. Without exception.
“Fine,” Griffin says.
“Have a good night, Mrs. Quinlan.”
My heart skips a beat whenever anyone calls me that. “Good night, Zeke.”
I glance and see Bourne, my guard, following them. Inside the house, all I hear are my bootheels clicking softly against the marble floor in the foyer.
“Are we alone?” I ask.
“Aye. Bridget and Jon left hours ago at their usual time.”
Griffin grabs my ass and my center clenches. With a hungry gaze, he rasps, “I could fuck you right here on the floor.” His warm breath against my neck soaks my panty.
Griffin can fuck for an hour. We’ve been going at it like we’re on a conjugal visit. But we’ve got approximately fifteen minutes until the guards return.
I inhale his scent, my cheeks heating up. “Griffin,” I moan, drawing him closer to me.
“My office. Right now. I’m fucking you on that desk until you scream my name.”
But a noise already coming from Griffin’s office here on the main floor stills us both.
“Did you hear that?” I whisper in a tight voice. With sharp eyes, I search and scan the dark rooms past the kitchen.
“Aye.” Griffin reaches inside his jacket for a gun. His body instantly tenses, sensing the same thickness in the air from something dark waiting for us.
A sense of dread settles into my bones.
“Guards,” I mouth about our protection patrolling up and down the block.
A war breaks out in Griffin’s wild eyes, facing such a personal invasion. His home. Our home.
He whispers, low and deadly, “No. I won’t let rumors start that I’m too polished now to slit someone’s throat. That killing my guard to get to me is an advantage. They stay where they are. And you stay behind me.”
He’s got insane instincts for danger. His blue eyes darken. With his jaw so stiff and tight, I’m a little afraid of him. And worry about what he’ll do to someone who dared to break into his house instead of letting a guard deal with an intruder.
Until recently, Griffin was the guard. He was the second. The shadow. The man no one saw coming. He’s hungry to be that man again. Plus, he’s got me at his side, and I’m just as deadly.
Griffin creeps down that darkened hall, but this slow and measured pace is not for me. I need to take the lead, my years in the Navy and CIA kicking in. I only wish I had my knife on me. It didn’t feel right to bring it to a hospital to see a newborn. And I won’t go upstairs alone where someone else can be emptying my jewelry box with an AR-15 strapped to his chest.
Or her chest.
Griffin looks rigid, his posture controlled. Coiled strength hums off him. He’s ready to explode at a moment’s notice. But my body feels fluid, I’m ready for this. Cloaked in silence, I get in front of Griffin even though he thought he could shove me behind him.
When we reach the doorway to his office, the faint sound of someone rustling around inside sends a chill up my spine. Griffin glances at me with a clenched jaw. There are no words between us. No need to say anything.
The door hangs slightly ajar, and through the crack, I catch the silhouette of a man typing away on Griffin’s laptop. He’s sitting, so I don’t know if he’s tall. From this angle, he looks broad-shouldered, his movements methodical as he types and uses the mouse.
Griffin quietly pushes the office door open. It moves a few inches before it bumps into something behind it. We hold our breath, but the man doesn’t seem to notice. Peering through the opening, we spot a leather seat and large spoked tires.
An empty wheelchair.
Griffin shoves me back into the hallway. His expression hardens, his face taut with fury when he whispers, “That’s fucking Rand Miller sitting at my desk.”
My blood runs cold, the name hitting me like a gut punch. “How did he get up here?” I mutter.
We both gaze at the end of the hallway. The mudroom. There’s a door to the outside with a ramp so Jon can easily roll garbage cans to the street. Busting down a door, or picking a lock doesn’t require working legs if he had the right tools.
“But then how did he get to the desk without his wheelchair?” I question further.
Griffin’s head snaps toward me, surprise flickering in his blue eyes. “Christ, is that all a lie, too?”
“Let me kill him. Please?” I whisper with gravel in my voice, tasting vengeance.
“No,” my husband grumbles. “There’s something important I haven’t told you. I didn’t want you to worry.”
What a lead-up... “What is it?”
Griffin moves further back down the hall and out of Miller’s hearing. “He’s involved with some cult who’s got instructions to retaliate if he ends up dead. Shane is looking into it.”
“But we got our funding today. Even his father turned his back on him,” I offer. “Without his hoity-toity DC status and privilege, maybe the cult won’t back him.”
“That makes him a lone wolf.”
And they’re more dangerous.
“Guess he’s playing one last card to avoid being thrown into rehab.” I think of a way to make him disappear that won’t set off that stupid cult. “We have to do something, Griffin.”
“There are things worse than death. I’m gonna bring him to within an inch of his life.” Griffin gives me his gun and balls his hands into fists. “Pain is a motivator I learned a long time ago how to use effectively.”
“God, I hate that miserable son of a bitch is a problem because of me. My past and what I did.”
“I never saw it that way.” Griffin grabs the collar of my jacket and pushes our foreheads together. “You didn’t ask for any of this. And you’ve made my life so much better.”
After a quick kiss, and with no warning, Griffin stomps down his hallway and pushes the office door open, forcing the wheelchair to tumble over.
Miller turns sharply. His eyes widen for just a moment until a cold smirk curls his upper lip. He’s so entitled, he doesn’t care if he gets caught.
“Get the fuck away from my desk, or do you want to lose the use of your arms, too?” Griffin’s voice darkens with a tone of fury that gives me chills. “How about your sight? Your hearing?”
Miller doesn’t freaking flinch. Instead, he casually lifts a hand showing off a flash drive with that cocky grin. “Too late, I’ve already sent a copy of your hard drive to the FBI.”
“FBI?” I ask, laughing.
“My brother monitors my IP.” Griffin folds his arms.
“ I have secure lines to the bureau.” Miller slaps his chest. “I’m an insider, and I can make all the trouble coming your way vanish, Griffin, if you do what I asked .”
“What did you ask?” I seethe as if he has any right to ask anything of us.
“He wants you to marry him,” Griffin sneers.
I hide my shock at another secret he’s kept from me.
“Looks like you don’t need a wife now.” Griffin stays focused on Miller. “Your father declared you an addict. Good luck running for the senate with that hanging over your head.”
“Haven’t you heard? People love a redemption arc.” Miller sits there, all smug, like it’s his house and we’re the ones who broke in. “And with a gorgeous wife who’s been with me this whole time? It’ll be a hero’s welcome back into the fold.”
“A hero married to a woman who is best friends with an admiral you raped.” I keep Griffin’s gun trained on Miller.
His cheek twitches. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let’s see how your testimony holds up against a retired three-star vice admiral,” Griffin adds.
Miller pushes back from Griffin’s desk, his leather chair bumping into the rear credenza. “I have enough dirt on you to ruin you, Quinlan.”
“Speaking of ruined...” Griffin pushes the wheelchair at him. “Is this a fucking prop?”
Miller grabs a cane that’s lying against the wall. Using incredible arm strength, he pushes out of the desk chair. Grinning, he props himself up and into a full-standing position.
“What the hell?” I ask, ready to echo Griffin’s question if his paralysis is a lie.
“I’m in an experimental protocol that sends transmitters powered by AI to the brain through an implant.” Miller taps something behind his head. “I’m starting to get the feeling back in my legs.”
“Whatever you’re feeling is going to hurt like a motherfucker,” Griffin growls. “Recall that data dump to the FBI right now, or you leave here with a broken trachea and you’ll never speak again. Can’t make hollow campaign promises without a working voice box.”
Miller anchors himself between the desk and the credenza behind it. “Give it your best shot.”
I’m baffled at his confidence. Or maybe whatever sensor is implanted in his brain gives him super-human strength.
Griffin doesn’t wait to hear any more of Miller’s bravado, he lunges across his desk, his hands going straight for Rand’s throat. But Miller’s SEAL training instincts are still there. He’s quick and deadly with that cane.
He waves it to block Griffin’s fists. My husband jumps back, ducking as Miller swings wildly. Griffin waits and tries again. This time, his fist connects with Miller’s jaw, the impact sending them both to the floor.
Miller somehow gets the cane and slams it into Griffin’s shoulders as my husband tries to block more blows.
I stand frozen watching his hand-to-hand combat with a man who hurt me. A man who’s now trying to hurt us . Heart racing, I hold Griffin’s gun in shaking hands. What is the goal here, if we can’t kill him because of this stupid cult?
Griffin jumps on top of Miller wailing on his face. But all Miller does is laugh. He’s so juiced up he doesn’t feel anything!
With Griffin’s hand drawn back, he stops and takes a breath, his eyes telling me he doesn’t know how Miller can take these blows.
SEAL training, baby.
Blood gushing from Miller’s nose, he turns to spit on the polished wood floor with a grin. “I’d heard about that Irish temper.”
Infuriated all over again, Griffin straddles Miller on the floor, his hands around his throat to choke him. “How long can you hold your breath these days?”
My husband’s raw strength is undeniable, but even without the full use of his legs, Miller is still a formidable opponent. He wrenches free from Griffin’s grip and swings again, striking a blow to Griffin’s ribs.
Miller is like me in this one respect: he won’t be held down. Despite all that’s against him, he maneuvers out from under my husband and then wrestles to get on top, where he rains hard blows to Griffin’s face.
With Miller no longer blocked by Griffin’s body, I have a chance to do some damage. Miller is a painful reminder of my SEAL quest failure. All the taunts, the attacks, the bullying.
I raise the gun, figuring I can clip him in the shoulder, at least make him stop hurting the man I love.
Miller turns his head at me, fist in the air ready to punch Griffin again. “Go ahead, cunt. Shoot me. You’ll be a widow by sunrise. My brothers will come put a bullet in Griffin’s head and then rape you on top of his dead body.”
I wave the gun at Miller. “You deserved what you got that day.”
“Ava, no!” Griffin shoves Miller off him and gets to his feet.
Miller pulls himself up to sit on the credenza with his back against one of the six-by-six plate-glass windows trimmed in lead. “Give me my chair,” he bellows. “I’m leaving here. And, you, cunt, pack up. You’re coming with me.”
“Over my dead body,” Griffin says, just as his phone on the floor rings.
I reach for it and put it on speaker. “It’s Shane.”
Griffin waves at me for the gun back. “Shane, listen to me, we’ve got—”
“I saw an alert from your house. Large amounts of data are queued for delivery to the FBI. What the fuck is going on?”
“ Fucking stop it, ” Griffin shouts.
“I’m trying.” But the call goes dead.
“Make your choice, Quinlan,” Miller says. “Let me leave here with your wife. Or kill me. Kill me, and my brotherhood comes to kill you, and they take your wife. She’ll end up in their trafficking ring.”
The rage under my skin burns so hot, I need air. My heart lurches, and blood pounds in my ears. My angels and demons are in a death battle over what to do.
Make it look like a suicide...
Cackling, I shove the useless gun back at Griffin and bolt forward in a flying kick that pins Miller’s body up against the large plate-glass window. The force slams his head into the glass. The blow stuns him, but he snaps forward and headbutts me.
Son of a bitch.
I pin Miller against the glass with my knee in his chest while I furiously punch the window with both hands.
“Shite, I see what you’re doing,” Griffin yells. “Ava, get back.”
Griffin points his gun. Not at Miller. At the window .
My heart swells with pride that he figured out my plan. I couldn’t yell it, or Miller would have moved. Now he gets it and there are only seconds to act. Rand’s eyes widen in surprise as I duck.
Griffin pulls the trigger, several rounds going off with a shattering crash. A spiderweb of jagged shards glitters like ice shining in the moonlight. For a split second, time freezes as Miller tumbles backward and out the window, his arms flailing Hans Gruber style.
I go to jump back, but to my horror, Miller grabs my necklace, the thick braided chain that belonged to Griffin’s departed sister.
My hands close around his in a split-second attempt to get free, twisting, but Miller’s weight pulls me out of the window with him. We tumble twenty feet into the yard below.
The concrete pad flies up at my face, as I brace for what is surely a fatal blow.