He was definitely going to vomit. And he felt oddly secure.
Would he have this weird family around him if he’d stayed in the Agency? He doubted it. He would have drifted further and further from them. He would have been forced to hide so much of his life from them that being around them would hold no meaning.
If he’d spent the last five years in the CIA, would he even know his brothers anymore? Or would Sean and Alex have drifted away, their lives meaningless to his plots? He knew himself. He didn’t lie. He’d enjoyed the plots, loved pitting himself against others in a deadly little game. He’d gotten a rush off it. He’d been a little obsessed with it.
Until he’d found something he was more obsessed with. Charlotte. Charlie.
Had she saved him from a life that held absolutely nothing but the game? He would never admit it but he loved Grace. She had rapidly become the heart of his little family. Grace and Sean and Carys. His niece. He liked the way she looked at him, with a little bit of wonder. There was nothing but pure love in his niece’s eyes, and it had cleansed him in a way.
Would he have held Carys in his hands if Charlie hadn’t found her way into his life?
Likely not. She probably wouldn’t exist because he would never have started McKay-Taggart and Sean would never have met Grace.
He didn’t like the feeling that he owed Charlie anything at all. It wasn’t like she meant to keep him from a family-less life.
“Do you want another donut?” Alex stared out, not looking at him. His hand was out, a sugary bit of confection sitting there.
He took the fucking bait. “I don’t want to talk.”
“Cool.” Alex nodded. “We can just stand.”
Ian stood with his best friend.
Maybe he wasn’t so alone.
* * * *
Charlie let the chair twist to the left and then the right. It was a big leather chair, solid and well built, like the man it belonged to.
Was it brutally pathetic of her that it had been worth it to be nearly murdered because she’d been in his arms for a few seconds? She hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t reacted herself. She’d just trusted him.
Was he about to toss her out again? Her phone rang. She looked at the incoming number before answering. “What’s up, Chelsea?”
“Okay, it’s official. Yuri Zhukov’s in town. He’s traveling under a Polish passport, but I found the fucker.” Her sister sounded almost chipper, like finding out a highly paid Russian assassin had found them was a thing to celebrate. God, she was so tired. So fucking tired.
So at least she knew who was taking shots at her. “I’m glad you found him, but you were a little late.”
There was a pause on the line. “What happened? Fuck. The shooting downtown that turned out to be a car backfiring? That was about you?”
So that’s how Ian had played it. She’d wondered exactly how he was going to keep the cops out of it. “It wasn’t a car. I’m pretty sure it was Zhukov, but Ian took care of it.”
“How did he take care of it?”
“He threw his body over mine and then handled the cops.” Which was a really good idea because if he hadn’t, there was every likelihood that her face would have gotten into the system and the minute that happened, she would have more than Zhukov on her ass.
“We need to move,” Chelsea said.
Yes. That was the protocol. The minute they even had a hint that someone from the syndicate knew where they were, they left town. Sometimes they left the whole damn country. But she’d known the minute she’d started the St. Augustine op that she wouldn’t be leaving again. She would fix the problem and get her husband back or the fuckers could take her down. She was done. That didn’t mean Chelsea had to be. “I want you to go. Head to the islands for a while. You like it there.”
“You want me to leave you here? That’s insane. Charlotte, that man is going to get you killed.”
“That man” was right behind her. Oh, he moved silently, but she had years of practice in making sure she always knew if someone was stalking her. Her teen years had been one long lesson in always knowing her surroundings, in memorizing and cataloging anything that could help her to survive. The memory of his scent had helped her to survive these last few years. He still used the same soap, clean and masculine. She breathed it in. She turned and her heart skipped a little beat. It was still amazing to be in the same room with the gorgeous bastard. Her eyes held his as she replied to her sister.
“You’re probably right, but I’m going to take the chance. Chelsea, you knew this was where I was going. I never lied to you about what I wanted. I love you. Leave me a note if you’re heading out.” She clicked the phone off over Chelsea’s vigorous protests.
She turned it off because there was no way her sister didn’t call back.
“Your sister?”
Charlie nodded. “Yes. She thinks it was a man from my father’s syndicate.”
“Zhukov or Sobrev?”
Charlie frowned. “Zhukov. How did you know that?”
Ian shrugged a little. “Maybe I’m the one who hired him.” He set the coffee down on his desk as she gave him her best stare. “Fine. I happen to know that the syndicate has two long-term assassins they use. I made a study of your father’s organization after they became involved with my Irish operation.”
Liar. He’d made a study of her father’s syndicate after he thought they killed her. But she was going to leave him his pride. “Zhukov arrived at DFW under a Polish passport.”
Ian grunted a little. It was his preferred method of communication. She’d learned to interpret his many guttural, caveman-y sounds. This one was his agreement grunt. “Not surprising. He’s the senior of the two. They must really want you dead.”
It was time for some more honesty. “I’m surprised. I thought they would nab me, not just kill me. I know a couple of things they would probably really like to get the lowdown on.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you steal money from the Russian fucking mafia?”
She really wished she could say she hadn’t. “I thought of it as my inheritance.”
“Goddamn it, Charlie.” When he growled at her like that she actually felt cared for. She was so fucked up.
“I could give it back. In the years since I took it, I’ve made ten times that.”