blood dripping down his side, Rafe chased after the rogue agent. Glass turned a corner and sprinted down a narrow alley. Rafe followed. He halted when he found Glass staring at a dead end.
Suddenly, Glass spun around to face him. “You can’t prove anything, you bastard.” He sneered and raised his weapon for the last time.
“I can and already have.” Rafe aimed his Beretta dead center on Glass’s chest. “I have copies of your phone records, Richard. You were the one who gave up Hunter’s cover, and you nearly got one of Buchanan’s people killed too. I have witnesses who can clearly ID you, as well as a dozen or more other instances of corporate espionage. It’s over now. Give it up.” Rafe didn’t want to shoot the man he’d worked with for over three years.
Once again, Rafe had put his trust in the wrong man. He should have learned bynow.
Glass laughed, a hearty chuckle at odds with the maniacal gleam in his eyes. “You’re a fucking idiot. Did you really think I’d come unprepared? Men, come on out.” But the man’s energy had weakened a while ago, giving Rafe and his agents a much-needed break. Glass couldn’t shield himself twenty-four/seven. And thank God for that.
“Richard, did you really think I’d follow you blindly all this way without a little reassurance?” Rafe whistled, and his agents tossed two men, bound and gagged, out of the shadows.
Rafe saw a brief vision of the impending future and acted on instinct. He fired at Glass a split second before Glass’s killing spree would have commenced. A minute later, Richard Glass, one of Westlake’s finest, sprawled on the cracked cement, his blood flowing down the alley into the nearby sewage drain, a crimson river joining a sea of filth.
Rafe crouched over Glass and yanked the pistol out of his hand.
“It’s not over. It’ll never be over…” Glass mumbled as blood trickled down hischin. Then the life slowly leeched from his body and he died.
Movement to the left alerted Rafe, but he was too late. Gunshots, another dead body, and—
Rafe shot up in his bed, gasping and sweating. He’d had the dream just last week, and a few days before that. It had taken him months to let go of the nightmares plaguing him since the shooting. For half a year he’d been okay. And now they’d returned.
He tossed back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. Running shaky hands over his face, he cursed. He needed a good shot of whiskey. Better yet, he needed to get laid.
A glare at the door reminded him that he’d made a promise to himself to ignore that train of thought. His dreams of the Storm Buchanan rivaled the nightmare he’d just had—scary as hell. For the past two nights, he’d dreamt about a wedding and kids. And her family welcoming him into the Buchanan fold. That’s all he needed, to walk away from the very future he’d built his life around in Westlake Enterprises.
Yeah, he needed a stiff drink. A scotch straight up sounded like just the thing. He stumbled out of his room in search of alcohol.
He found it in the kitchen. Through the window over the sink, he stared out at the cloudless sky looking for Orion, the eternal hunter. The constellation never failed to comfort him, forever poised to take on prey.
Through the death of his parents, the loss of his fiancée, and the betrayals of his friends, Rafe had counted on Orion’s steady presence. After four years, he’d thought he could rely on Jurek as well. Too bad his boss had gone off the deep end.
Jurek insisted Rafe and Storm stick together like glue. While Rafe didn’t mind keeping her safe, having her constantly near put him in a bind. He couldn’t go after his assailants without endangering her, and Jurek knew it.
The combustible chemistry between them didn’t help matters. It had been bad before, but after her hand job the other day, he walked around with a perpetual hard-on. If it had been merely lust he felt, Rafe would have screwed her and been done
Suddenly, Glass spun around to face him. “You can’t prove anything, you bastard.” He sneered and raised his weapon for the last time.
“I can and already have.” Rafe aimed his Beretta dead center on Glass’s chest. “I have copies of your phone records, Richard. You were the one who gave up Hunter’s cover, and you nearly got one of Buchanan’s people killed too. I have witnesses who can clearly ID you, as well as a dozen or more other instances of corporate espionage. It’s over now. Give it up.” Rafe didn’t want to shoot the man he’d worked with for over three years.
Once again, Rafe had put his trust in the wrong man. He should have learned bynow.
Glass laughed, a hearty chuckle at odds with the maniacal gleam in his eyes. “You’re a fucking idiot. Did you really think I’d come unprepared? Men, come on out.” But the man’s energy had weakened a while ago, giving Rafe and his agents a much-needed break. Glass couldn’t shield himself twenty-four/seven. And thank God for that.
“Richard, did you really think I’d follow you blindly all this way without a little reassurance?” Rafe whistled, and his agents tossed two men, bound and gagged, out of the shadows.
Rafe saw a brief vision of the impending future and acted on instinct. He fired at Glass a split second before Glass’s killing spree would have commenced. A minute later, Richard Glass, one of Westlake’s finest, sprawled on the cracked cement, his blood flowing down the alley into the nearby sewage drain, a crimson river joining a sea of filth.
Rafe crouched over Glass and yanked the pistol out of his hand.
“It’s not over. It’ll never be over…” Glass mumbled as blood trickled down hischin. Then the life slowly leeched from his body and he died.
Movement to the left alerted Rafe, but he was too late. Gunshots, another dead body, and—
Rafe shot up in his bed, gasping and sweating. He’d had the dream just last week, and a few days before that. It had taken him months to let go of the nightmares plaguing him since the shooting. For half a year he’d been okay. And now they’d returned.
He tossed back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. Running shaky hands over his face, he cursed. He needed a good shot of whiskey. Better yet, he needed to get laid.
A glare at the door reminded him that he’d made a promise to himself to ignore that train of thought. His dreams of the Storm Buchanan rivaled the nightmare he’d just had—scary as hell. For the past two nights, he’d dreamt about a wedding and kids. And her family welcoming him into the Buchanan fold. That’s all he needed, to walk away from the very future he’d built his life around in Westlake Enterprises.
Yeah, he needed a stiff drink. A scotch straight up sounded like just the thing. He stumbled out of his room in search of alcohol.
He found it in the kitchen. Through the window over the sink, he stared out at the cloudless sky looking for Orion, the eternal hunter. The constellation never failed to comfort him, forever poised to take on prey.
Through the death of his parents, the loss of his fiancée, and the betrayals of his friends, Rafe had counted on Orion’s steady presence. After four years, he’d thought he could rely on Jurek as well. Too bad his boss had gone off the deep end.
Jurek insisted Rafe and Storm stick together like glue. While Rafe didn’t mind keeping her safe, having her constantly near put him in a bind. He couldn’t go after his assailants without endangering her, and Jurek knew it.
The combustible chemistry between them didn’t help matters. It had been bad before, but after her hand job the other day, he walked around with a perpetual hard-on. If it had been merely lust he felt, Rafe would have screwed her and been done
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