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“I got it.” He taps my shoulder. When I make to leave, he calls out, “Tristan.”

“Yeah?”

“Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast.” His favorite Marine motto. And his way of telling me not to rush into it.

“I remember.” I duck inside and shut the door behind me.

The foyer is eerily quiet as I pad my way toward the Senator’s study. His angry voice breaks the silence around me.

“Jesus fuck. She’s been gone for hours. She could be anywhere by now. How can a small girl with no resources disappear like that?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Find her. Or you will have to deal with him. The Guardian is tired of waiting.” He slams his phone on the desk. It skips and lands on the floor.

The Guardian?

I grip my gun, pointing it downward as I step into his line of sight. The moment he sees me, he blanches. He has no way to call for help. This is it for him. The end of the line.

“Don’t bother looking for her. She’s safe with me.” I take in a breath.

“Edward’s son.” He sits back, looking tired. “So, you didn’t die in the fire after all. Neat trick.” He points at the papers in front of him. He’d been reviewing my files. Probably trying to confirm what Paloma told him—that Tristan Sallows is alive.

It was Fisher’s idea to plant two bodies in the wreckage. He had a Marine buddy who worked at the morgue and owed him a favor. Yeah, faking our deaths was a neat trick that bought us time, twenty years of it.

“What happens now? Hmm?” He meets my gaze. “Are you here to kill me?” He smirks, pointing a lazy finger at my gun. “You’re not a murderer. So much like your father. Like him, you don’t have the guts to do what needs to be done. That was always his problem. It’s what got him killed. I tried to save him. But he was too stubborn and too proud.”

“Save him?” I squinted at him. “You started the fire that killed him.”

“That was meant to be a warning. But Edward.” He scoffs. “Saint Edward had to do the right thing. He could’ve saved himself and his family. And he chose not to. Think about that. Your father sacrificed his own son just to play the hero.” Disgust fills his eyes.

“You didn’t have to kill him. You’re a coward. You killed your friend to save your neck. And then, you did it again. Selling your daughter to the highest bidder to save your ass once more.” I glare at him. “I should’ve killed you months ago.” I pull the trigger as I realize that Paloma was right. Her father is incapable of feeling remorse. Even now, he’s trying to sell me on the idea that he tried to help Dad—not a hint of regret.

His hands fly to his throat where blood is pooling fast. He gasps for air, while his eyes stare at me in surprise. He really didn’t think I had it in me.

“In a few minutes, your lungs will fill with blood, and you’ll asphyxiate—you’ll die alone.” I take in a breath.

“Tristan.” Mom’s voice fills the room.

When I turn to face her, I freeze. “Hunter. Let her go,” I blurt out.

“Put the gun down.” Hunter twists Mom’s arm higher up behind her. “Slide it over to me.”

I hesitate, but I do as he asks, gently setting the weapon on the hardwood floor and kicking it over to him. “You can walk away from this. Just let her go. This is between you and me.”

His gaze cuts over to the Senator. Red creeps up his neck and cheeks. “Call 911. Get him help.” He bends down and grabs the gun. “Do it now. If he dies, she dies.” He digs the barrel of my gun into Mom’s side.

Clenching my jaw, I fish my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and dial the number.

“Put it on speaker phone.” He labors to catch his breath. “And tell them Senator Davis has been shot.”

I do as he asks because even if the paramedics get here fast, the Senator doesn’t have much time left. When the operator answers, I explain the situation to her and how the Senator appears to be injured. I don’t incriminate myself, though I’m ready to answer for the life I took. The operator begins to ask me to stay on the line, but I end the call before she can finish.

“There. Now it’s your turn.” I glare at Hunter.

“I know you have Paloma. You kidnapped her right from her bedroom. Bring her back, or your mother dies.” The crazed look in his eyes tell me he means every word. “I know she’s your mom. She admitted it.”

“Tristan, I’m sorry.” Mom’s voice quavers as tears brim her eyes. “I thought I was helping you. He said you were in trouble. He came to the house, saying you sent him. I didn’t know who he was.”

“Mom. Don’t worry about that.” I put up my hands to show her everything is going to be alright. “Hunter, you can still walk away. Let her go, and I won’t press charges against you for attempted murder.”

“You should’ve stayed dead.” His eyes turn red with unshed tears. He squeezes them tight then wipes them off. “I’m not leaving here without Paloma. She belongs to me. He promised.” He points the gun to the dying Senator then back to Mom. “Bring her to me.”