Chapter 23
Logan
“What the hell?” I growl, staring at the woman who has arrived on the scene that bears more than a passing resemblance to the woman sitting behind the desk. “Who the hell are you?”
She smiles, eyes on Nuala. “Lisa. Lisa Brennan.”
“Why do you look like me?” Nuala asks, eyes wide.
“Mad fucking coincidence,” Lisa says, bustling past me. “I’ll take that.” She pulls a gun out from the back of her jeans and points it at Nuala. “Hurry up.”
“Point that thing somewhere else before I shoot you in the face,” I say calmly, moving closer.
“No can do, hotshot. I need that drive.”
“Why?” Nuala asks before I can.
She doesn’t answer.
The resemblance is fucking haunting. Same build. Same hair. The man in the bar was confirming the target. He thought Nuala was Lisa and figured the nametag was a cover.
“You set her up,” I say, taking a step to the side to draw her focus. “You skipped your shift because you knew a hit was coming.”
Lisa tracks my movement, but keeps the barrel trained on Nuala’s chest. “I knew trouble was coming. Didn’t expect a massacre. Now, the drive. Toss it.”
The computer chimes. Download complete.
Nuala yanks the USB from the port. She holds it tight, her knuckles white. She looks at me, panic wide in her eyes.
“Give it to her,” I say.
Nuala blinks.
“Do it,” I command.
Nuala unlinks it from the keychain and tosses the silver stick through the air.
Lisa’s eyes shift. Just for a fraction of a second. She reaches out with her free hand to catch it.
I move.
I slam into her, knocking her gun hand up.
I drive my knee into her stomach. She wheezes, folding in on herself, but she doesn’t drop the weapon.
She swings the barrel toward my head. I duck, grappling for her wrist. She fights with the desperation of a rat in a corner, stomping on my foot and clawing at my neck.
“Wait!” Nuala shouts. “What do you need the drive for? Why are you in trouble?”
“Oh, I’m not in trouble,” she says. “I am the trouble.”
I twist her wrist. Bone snaps. She screams, a sharp sound that cuts through the quiet office. The gun clatters to the floor. I kick it across the room before she can scramble for it.
She lashes out with her free hand, nails raking down my cheek. I ignore the sting. I slam her back against the desk, pinning her arms with my weight. Papers slide onto the floor.
“Talk,” I snarl, pressing my forearm against her throat. “Who sent you?”
She spits in my face. “Go to hell.”
I increase the pressure. Her face turns red.
“Logan!” Nuala shouts.
I keep my eyes on Lisa, but I sense Nuala moving.
“Step back, Nuala,” I order.
“No.”
Nuala steps into my peripheral vision. She holds the gun I gave her. Her hands shake, but the barrel is leveled right at Lisa’s head.
Lisa’s eyes widen. She stops struggling.
“You won’t shoot,” Lisa wheezes. “You’re just a barmaid.”
“I’m the barmaid you set up to die,” Nuala says. Her voice is surprisingly steady. “Give me one reason not to put a bullet in you right now.”
Lisa licks blood from her lip. She looks from the gun to me, calculating.
“The notebook. I know who it belongs to.”
“Yeah?” I growl. “Who?”
She smiles. It’s sinister, and it turns my blood to ice. “Me.”
The gunshot that rings out makes Nuala shriek.
“Didn’t think I came alone, did you?” Lisa snarls, slamming her forehead into my face.
It’s hard enough to make me loosen my hold, but not enough to break my nose. Lisa twists away, scrambling for her weapon on the floor.
Another shot tears through the doorframe. Wood splinters spray the room.
“Nuala!” I yell, but she is already crouched behind the desk. I launch myself toward her, and I hit the floor hard.
“Stay down,” I grit out, wiping blood from my upper lip.
Lisa snatches her gun. She doesn’t run. She fires two rounds into the desk. The wood absorbs the impact with dull thuds.
“Kill them,” she says, her tone like ice.
I roll onto my back and raise the Glock. I fire three shots through the gap under the desk.
A man grunts.
Lisa curses. She fires again, the bullet grazing the top of the desk and showering us in dust. I flatten myself against the floor.
“Shoot back!” I yell at Nuala.
She clutches the gun to her chest, eyes wide. “I can’t see them!”
“Just pull the trigger! Keep their heads down!”
I need to create a gap. I need to get us out of here.
Lisa retreats to the doorway, providing cover fire for whoever is in the hall. Bullets chip away at our cover.
I check the magazine. Twelve rounds.
“Nuala, on my count, you fire three times at the door. Aim for the opening.”
She nods, her jaw set. She raises the weapon.
“One. Two. Three!”
Nuala pulls the trigger. The gun bucks in her hands, the recoil jerking her arms up, but she keeps firing. Plaster explodes around the doorframe, filling the air with white dust. It’s messy, uncontrolled, and exactly what I need.
I roll out from cover while the shooter in the hall flinches from her barrage. I acquire the target—a heavy-set man trying to aim past the debris. I put two rounds in his chest. He drops like a stone.
Lisa is gone. Vanished into the shadows of the bar.
“Up,” I roar, grabbing Nuala by her elbow.
She stumbles to her feet, ears ringing, eyes wide with shock. The gun hangs loosely in her grip. “Did I get them?”
“You kept their heads down. That’s enough.”
I drag her toward the door, keeping my body between her and the open hallway. I step over the body of the man I just dropped. Blood pools on the floorboards, dark and spreading. Nuala looks down, her face draining of color, but she doesn’t stop. Good girl.
“Service exit,” I command, keeping my weapon trained on the darkness ahead. “Don’t stop for anything.”
We burst into the hallway. It’s empty.
“Kitchen.”
We sprint past the stainless steel counters. Nuala’s breath comes in sharp gasps. She grips the gun like a lifeline, her finger dangerously close to the trigger guard.
I hit the crash bar on the service door. It flies open, banging against the brick exterior.
The alley is dark. Rain lashes down, soaking my shirt in seconds. I scan the rooftops, the corners, the deep shadows between the dumpsters. Nothing moves.
“Go,” I order.
We run for the SUV. My skin prickles. I expect a rain of bullets to tear through the air, but the night stays silent except for our footsteps slapping the wet ground.
I yank the driver’s door open and practically throw Nuala inside. She scrambles over the center console to the passenger seat without a word. I slide behind the wheel and lock the doors.
Nuala stares at me. Her chest heaves. The black hoodie is covered in white plaster dust. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown.
“She said it was hers,” Nuala whispers. “The notebook.”
I fire the engine and peel away from the curb, tires spinning on the wet asphalt before gripping. I check the rearview mirror. Nothing but rain and shadows.
“She came for it under the desk. It was a drop. The accountant panicked when she saw you go in there and retrieved it.”
“What accountant?” Nuala whispers.
“The dead woman.”
“So Lisa assumed it was still there?”
“I guess so. Jesus, this has more fucking heads than a hydra.” I bang my fist on the steering wheel.
I keep the speedometer climbing. The engine roars, drowning out the rain drumming on the roof.
“Safety,” I say, remembering the gun in Nuala’s hand.
She blinks, looking down at the weapon on her lap. Her fingers tremble so violently that she can’t find the switch.
“Give it to me.”
She lets me take it without resistance. I flick the safety on and shove it into the door pocket, keeping one hand on the wheel as I navigate through a maze of industrial backstreets. I need to get us off the main grid.
“She looked just like me,” Nuala whispers, her voice hollow. “Same hair. Same build. Even her eyes were similar.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” I say, the realization tasting like acid. “A body double to catch a bullet and fake her own death. Up to a point. Enough that the shooters would think it was her anyway.”
Nuala wraps her arms around herself, shrinking into the oversized hoodie. “She tried to have me killed.”
“She failed.” I reach over, gripping her knee. The contact is firm, grounding. “You’re alive. You fought back. You did exactly what you had to do.”
“I shot at a door.” She looks at me, her eyes wide and wet, shock finally setting in.
“You bought us time. That’s the only currency that matters tonight.” I check the mirror again. Clear. “We’re going back to Connor’s. If Lisa claims that book is hers, she’s not going to stop hunting us until she gets it back. But now we know the face of the enemy.”
“And it looks exactly like mine,” she murmurs, turning her face to the rain-streaked window.