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"What the fuck was that?" I yell to him.

"I had a clear shot and I took it." He shrugs as he holsters his gun.

"You could’ve fucking hit her! Did you think of that, you bastard?"

"Emotions, Snowflake," Drake drawls from behind me. "Keep them in check."

The only thing I want to check is the fucker who put Pops in unnecessary danger. Check him right into the wall. Instead the idiot and I move toward the bleeding man writhing on the floor, guns aimed at his head. Soft words of comfort are said at my back, but I don't let my emotions get the best of me, keeping my focus on the issue at hand.

Time for some answers. Squatting near his ashen, sweaty face, I ask, "Who's your inside man?" Each breath he takes seems painful, but I don't give a shit. "Who is it, dammit? Tell me and we'll get you to the hospital."

Eyes locked with mine, his mouth opens but shuts at Matt saying, "The other agents are here. Someone needs to give them the all clear."

Beside me, Matt grips my shoulder and looks to Pops. "And, Nash, she needs you, man. More than me. Let me do this."

As much as I want to finish this guy off right here, right now, torture his accomplice’s identity from him, Matt's right; he can take it from here, and she needs me. And let’s be honest—I need her too.

With a groan, I push off my knees to stand but hesitate. Matt shakes my shoulder. "Go on. Get the girl."

When you put it that way.... In four steps she's wrapped in my arms, trembling against my chest. "You came," she says against me, but I can't feel a thing with this damn Kevlar on. "I'm okay if you need to—"

"Stop." I slide the knife at my ankle free with ease and slice through the twist ties at her wrists and ankles. Immediately her hands are at her chest, massaging one wrist and then the other.

Taking both delicate wrists in my hand, I rub along the indented red line with my thumbs. "I want to kill him just for this." I bring the soft skin to my lips, placing a comforting kiss on each wrist. "One of many offenses he'll pay for."

"I knew you'd find me. I just hoped it wasn't too late." Her eyes fall to the floor behind me, tears shimmering along the rims as she says, "He shot her for screaming. For knowing me. She's dead because she knew me." A single tear drips from her left eye when she looks back up to me. "She's dead."

"So's he," Matt says at my back. "Must’ve nicked a lung or something."

"Did you get anything out of him before?" Hopefully my joy at Matt’s statement doesn't come through in my reply. "We need confirmation on the man he's working with on the inside."

"He didn't say a word. I did all the talking. Demanding, really," he says with a quick glance behind him, almost like he's double-checking the bastard is still dead. "She okay? Did he say anything to you, Fate? What the hell is this about an inside guy?"

Every muscle tenses, urging me to reach out and pull her back against me when she moves away to look at Matt. "No." Turning those blue eyes to me, she continues. "But he did make it sound like there was someone else. And earlier, before this place, right before I blacked out from the drugs—"

"Drugs? What kind of drugs? Are you okay? We need to get you to a hospital—"

"Whoa," she says with a small smile. "Yeah, drugged, though I’m not sure what kind. Didn't get to read the label or have a second to ask what he gave me." While she talks, I scan every inch of her neck, pulling the ugly-ass shirt she's wearing to the side, giving me access to her shoulder. "My neck, I think." Helping, she reaches back and pulls up her thick pink hair. A small red dot stands out along her fair skin, as does the blood coming from her hair line.

Smacking her hand away, I push her hair apart section by section, inspecting her scalp. "Did you hit your head?" I mumble while searching for the source of the tacky blood.

"Yeah, hurt like hell. Worse than being pistol-whipped, if you can believe that."

"The fact that you've been pistol-whipped and now have something to compare that pain level to isn't something I want to dwell on right now, Pops. I'm holding on to my sanity by a fucking thread as it is. Ah." I drag a finger along the gash and bump on the backside of her skull. "You might have a concussion. Come on, let's get you out of here."

Out in the main part of the warehouse, twenty to thirty FBI agents fill the once-empty space, with one in particular barreling toward us and looking mad as hell.

Oh shit. Though I deserve it really—well, me and Drake—for not filling him in on our plan. Because of that, I don't flinch or duck from his flying fist. And damn, does the man know how to hit.

"What the hell?" Pops exclaims and steps between us.

The hand not wrapped around hers massages my throbbing jaw. "Damn, man, you should look into boxing as a career. Hell, that hurt. Deserved, but still hurt." As a peace offering, I nudge Pops into his arms. Maybe seeing her safe, that it all worked out okay in the end, will ease his anger.

Giving them a second, I step around them in search of Drake. I find him leaning against the far wall, staring out a large window. "How is she?" he asks without turning.

Stepping beside him, I sigh and stare out to the rising sun. "Okay. Not great. It’s been a ride for her since she lost her sister. Now that it's done, I'm sure the reality of it all will come crashing down at some point, but I'll be there. I'll catch her, help her. She needs a medic. Knocked her head and that fucker drugged her."

"Bastard. Hope you finished the job in there."

"He's dead if that's what you're asking. Did you see the angle Matt had? Was it as clear as he's making it out to be?"

Drake shrugs and turns. "I wouldn't have taken the shot, but he got the job done. They’ll do a full investigation since a fed fired a weapon, make sure it was a justified shot and kill. We can ask her boy in there to give us the report after. I texted Raider to let him know the threat to Liza and Mya's been taken care of. But until we get the CIA fucker to talk, I still want them to have protection detail." The secretive smile he wears gives away his next thought. "Raider sure didn't mind the extra time with your sister. Told me to take all the time I needed."

"Fucker. If he touches her...."

"He's a good man, great soldier and a hell of a better employee than you, Snowflake."

"Jackwagon," I grumble, then turn to find Pops to haul her tiny ass into the approaching ambulance.