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“Ah, nothing. He just slipped. Everything’s fine.” I’m a terrible liar.

The door splinters as Pierce kicks it. I reach for the fallen gun, my hands shaking as I make myself aim at the door.

I sniff.What’s burning?Oh shit. A seared chunk of hair falls from my head.Who invented these things?If it requires a glove to curl hair safely, it’s too damn hot. The door moves as Pierce kicks at it, yelling. I drop the iron, and it sizzles against the sprawled Russian’s leg, glossy with my overzealous application of hairspray.

“Oh, sorry.” The apology comes out automatically. Did I really plan on burning the shit out of this dude only a minute ago? Bending over, I yank the curling iron cord out of the socket.

Safety first.

It’s too late, though. The place where the curling iron smolders catches fire, and I watch in open mouthed horror as flames crawl up his body. I turn the hairspray can over in my hand. Highly flammable.

Okay. Well, that would have been nice to know before now.

Alarms start wailing, and overhead, sprinklers go off.

“Goddamnit, Legarde, this isn’t over. This isn’t over.” The door shakes once more, and then the door to the hotel room opens and closes. Pierce is gone.

I sag, a ragged breath tearing out of me.

The 911 operator continues to ask questions. Fishing the phone out of my bra, I bring it to my lips.

“I think we need an ambulance,” I say. “Or something. Fire truck. And if you could call the DEA, that would be great.”

The woman peppers me with questions, attempting to verify my location. I sink to the floor, watching my would-be kidnapper bleed. For the second time in a week.

The sound of the hotel room door opening and closing filters through my shocked haze.

Maybe I’ll switch to gel.

I think I’ve had enough hairspray for a while.

CHAPTER

FORTY-TWO

DEAN

The soundsof firetrucks and ambulances blare through the night, cutting through the sound of the Jeep’s tires on the road. Fear spikes through me, accompanied by the one-two gut punch of guilt.

Please, please don’t be heading for the Wildwood Hotel.

“He’s still not picking up, Dean.” Charlie holds her cell to her head, as anxious as I’ve ever seen her. “I’m calling it in.”

“Fuck.” I never should have left. As soon as I picked up the phone, I should have run the name, verified it.

Red and blue lights flood my car, momentarily blinding me as they speed past me. Turning off on the same exit as the hotel.

If anything’s happened to her…

The gas pedal hits the floorboard, and the car screeches as it picks up speed. The needle pushing past eighty. I’m vaguely aware of Charlie on the phone, the bare details of the situation, her hanging up.

My knuckles are white on the wheel.

“She’s smart, she’ll be okay.” I’m not sure if she’s trying to convince me or her herself. “Dean, slow down. If you wreck us, it’ll take even longer to get to her.”

The car careens onto the off-ramp, and a muscle twitches in my temple.

“Dammit, Charlie.” I’ll never forgive myself for this.Pierce will pay. Anger rises in me like a tide, slipping from the mental shackles I worked so hard to forge.