It’s a deep, rich, sexy sound, beautifully masculine. I hate myself for liking it. And for noticing what nice white teeth he has. And how strong his jaw is. And is that a dimple in his cheek?
He stops laughing abruptly, looking as disturbed by the unexpected outburst as I am. Guess he wasn’t expecting that, either.
“Got that out of your system?”
Glowering, he says, “Aye.”
“Good. So who’s going to be shooting at us?”
“MS-13.”
More gangsters. I’m in up to my eyeballs. “Because…?”
“They don’t like me.”
I stare at him with my lower lip pinched between my teeth.
He says drily, “Thank you for showing restraint. It must be incredibly difficult.”
“You have no idea.”
“There’s another reason they’re after me.”
When he only sits there gazing at me in inscrutable silence, I prompt, “Anytime you feel like enlightening me, I’m all ears.”
“You.”
Surprised, I blink. “Me?”
“Aye. You.”
“I don’t know any Salvadorans. Of the mobster variety, that is.”
“Did you think your abduction would go over well with your friend Mr. Portnov?”
He means Kage, my bestie’s man, who also happens to be top dog of the Russian mafia.
From what Stavros once told me, MS-13 is the fastest-growing gang in the Boston area. Kage must’ve made some kind of deal with them to try to rescue me as soon as I got off the plane. But how would he know where Declan took me after the parking garage or where we might ultimately be headed?
Or even if I’m dead or alive, for that matter? Declan could’ve slit my throat the moment he nabbed me.
Then it hits me: Natalie doesn’t know if I’m dead or alive, either.
I sit bolt upright on the seat and shout, “Oh my god, she’ll be so worried! Give me your cell phone.”
“I’m not giving you my cell phone.”
“I have to let my girlfriend know I’m alive.”
His pause seems loaded. “Ah.”
“What do you mean, ah?”
“You and your girlfriend.”
“What about us?”
“You’re very…close.”
“Of course we’re close. She’s been my best friend since…” I trail off, frowning at his expression. Then I sigh. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“I’m not judging.”
“Will you shut up already? We’re not lesbians.”
He looks unconvinced. “You did say you couldn’t keep a boyfriend.”
“No, I said I don’t keep boyfriends. You totally missed the emphasis. Boyfriends are like koi fish: a time-consuming and boring hobby. I have no interest in that kind of commitment. Are you getting this?”
“You also seem like you really dislike the opposite sex.”
I smile at him. “Only a deserving few.”
He ignores that. “And there is the matter of the way you handle pressure.”
“What about it?”
“You’re almost as brave as a man.”
“What a coincidence, I was just thinking that about you.”
He exhales a short breath through his nose and shakes his head. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or clobber me. “You’re really something else, lass.”
“I keep telling you, gangster. I’m charming. By the time this is all over, you’ll be head over heels in love with me.”
Blue eyes burning, he opens his mouth to speak, but his words are lost in the sudden, deafening noise of a hailstorm of bullets bombarding the side of the car.
5
Sloane
The first thing Declan does is throw himself on top of me.
It has the immediate effect of knocking all the breath from my lungs and the pistol from my hand. I lie flattened on the bench seat, stunned and wheezing, as Declan lies over me, an Irish gangster blanket weighing approximately ten tons.
“Sean is an excellent driver,” he says calmly, looking toward the closed partition window. “So there’s a chance we can outrun them. But if they’ve blocked off streets—like I would’ve done—they could be intentionally steering us toward a dead-end.”
He gazes down at me. “Which wouldn’t be good.”
The limo swerves wildly, fishtailing for a moment before straightening and continuing at breakneck speed. Another volley of gunfire rings out. Bullets pepper the rear window and ricochet off, leaving little round indents surrounded by spiderweb cracks.
Struggling for breath, I say faintly, “I have questions.”
“What a surprise.”
“How did you know they’d be waiting for us? What happened to your boss? What happens if they steer us toward a dead end? And why the hell are you lying on top of me?”
He looks vaguely insulted. “To protect you, of course.”
“You said this car was armored.”
That stumps him for a moment. “Right. Sorry. Instincts.”
He withdraws, sitting up and pulling me along with him. I retrieve my cute little pistol from the floor, stick it into the back waistband of my skirt, and turn to face him on the seat.
“What kind of kidnapper has protective instincts for his kidnappee?”
He snaps, “The stupid kind. I should open the door and throw you to the wolves.”
I inspect his expression. “But you won’t.”
His answer is a dissatisfied grumble. Meanwhile, we’re still speeding, the bullets are still flying, and I’m starting to have a good time.
“Ha! You see? I’m charming you already.”
He closes his eyes and sighs. “Dear god, make it stop.”
“Hold on, back up. What do you mean, ‘throw you to the wolves’? Aren’t these MS-13 guys supposed to be trying to rescue me? You know, from you?”
He scoffs. “If you had any brains, you’d be dangerous.”
“Oh, you think you’re better than them?”
“We’re not even the same species, lass.”
I make a face. “That sounds more than a little racist. You might want to check your prejudice, pal.”
Outraged, he glares at me. Then he thunders, “I’m not talking about their fucking race! I’m talking about what they’d do to you if they got their hands on you, you bloody little gobshite! Them or any other family!” He mutters, “Thick as a plank, y’are.”
His accent gets more pronounced when he’s angry. It’s almost hot.
“You’re not making sense. Why would they ‘do’ anything to me if they’re trying to help me?”
“Help you?” He laughs. “I thought you said you’d spent time with men in my line of work?”
Feeling defensive, I say, “They didn’t raise me from birth. I’ve just dated a few. Okay, one. But yes, I did spend plenty of time with him, and with his buddies, and also some with my girlfriend’s man, so I know the rules.”
His blue eyes glitter in the dim light. “We’re at war, lass. There are no rules. Especially when it comes to the woman who started the whole bloody mess in the first place. If they returned you to New York barely breathing, your Russian boss friend would consider it a solid.”