For all his brother’s confidence, Zach hadn’t had so much as a whiff of suspicion that his brother was in danger. Some cop, clueless and inept. His brain knew he should talk to somebody, somebody like Violet Griffin, his friend from childhood who’d reached out so many times. His brain knew, but his heart would not let him pass through the dark curtain. And there was no way he was talking to some department-appointed shrink who wasn’t even a cop. They’d have to slap on cuffs and knock him unconscious before they dragged him into that office.
“Just get to work,” he muttered to himself as his phone vibrated. Probably another text from his mom. Ivy Jameson paid no attention to the fact that he was not supposed to take personal messages while on duty. Truth be told, he’d been avoiding her calls because he could not stand to hear her cry or detect the worry in her voice when she asked him how he was doing. He’d call her later.
The phone trilled again, indicating it was a call this time. He checked the number.
Violet.
He considered ignoring it, but Violet didn’t ever call unless she needed help and she rarely needed anyone. Strong enough to run a ticket counter at LaGuardia and have enough energy left over to help out at Griffin’s, her family’s diner. She could handle belligerent customers in both arenas and bake the best apple pie he’d ever had the privilege to chow down.
It almost made him smile as he accepted the call.
“Someone’s after me, Zach.”
Panic rippled through their connection. Panic, from a woman who was tough as they came. “Who? Where are you?”
Her breath was shallow as if she was running.
“I’m trying to get to the break room. I can lock myself in, but I don’t... I can’t...” There was a clatter.
“Violet?” he shouted.
But there was no answer.
He sprinted toward the Emerge Airline break room, Eddie racing right behind him.
Violet’s phone spiraled out of her hand, clattering to the floor as Joe dropped his bag and grabbed for her arm. She wrenched herself free and lunged toward the break room door. Wild energy fueled her. When he caught up with her again, she fired a kick at his patella and heard his satisfying grunt of pain. He doubled over, grabbing at his knee, and she used the moment to thrust her ID card in its lanyard at the code reader. Her hands shook so badly it didn’t work.
Why did you run here, you fool? The remodeling job left the normally bustling hallway quiet and deserted, no one to hear her scream, no one to help.
She shot a look over her shoulder. Brown loomed behind her, cheeks flushed with exertion, nostrils flared, a grimace filled with violence with no human feeling behind it. There was no question in her mind that he would kill her if she gave him the slightest chance. Were there any construction workers or painters around? A single fellow employee?
Frantically, she tried her ID again, willing her fingers to cooperate. He was only a few yards away now, closing fast. After two agonizing seconds the door clicked open. She shoved it and scrambled inside, attempting to slam it behind her.
To her horror, something prevented it closing—Brown’s booted foot. With everything in her she tried to hold the door closed, her arms rigid and trembling with the effort. Inch by inch he forced it open, one hand reaching through the gap, capturing her around the wrist, digging in.
Yanking free from his grip she scratched at his face, aiming for the eyes. Surprised, he jerked back. She threw all her body weight at the door. It shuddered but did not close. He rammed his boot at it and then he was in, pushing her until she fell backward onto the floor. Crab-walking in terror she looked for something, anything she could use to defend herself. She found nothing.
Towering over her, he smiled, one front tooth sporting a tiny chip. “You stuck your nose in where you shouldn’t have.”
“I called the cops,” she said, throat tight. “They’re on the way.”
“You’ll be dead before they get here.” Again, the smile. “A quick death is better. We could make it last much longer if we wanted to.”
She opened her mouth to scream, but he was on her, rough palm pressed over her mouth. Clawing and twisting she tried to break free, to make it to the door, to knee him, poke his eye, stop her own murder however she could.
He was too strong, deflecting her efforts as though she were a small child instead of a grown woman fighting for her life.
He reached for his pocket.
She would kick out, roll away. Maybe she’d be shot or stabbed but she would go down fighting until she had not one tiny ounce of strength left.
She heard a shrill bark, the sound of scrabbling claws and running feet. He grabbed her chin in his hand, fingers pressing into her flesh. “You butted in to my business. Not gonna leave any witnesses behind to ID me. This won’t be done until you’re dead.” Then he released his grip and charged to the door.
Through her shuddering breaths, she heard another bark. It was Eddie, had to be, and Zach. Would they be gunned down as they sprinted toward the break room? Frantically, she tried to scramble to her feet, but her body systems were offline, legs trembling, lungs gasping for breath, terror charging every nerve and sinew. The best she could do was sit up, head whirling.
Zach slammed through the door with Eddie, gun in hand. Relief made her whimper. Brown must have gotten away without a shoot-out.
When he saw her, his blue eyes went wide and he dropped to a knee at her side. Eddie whined and poked his nose at her shin.
“Vi...how bad is it?”
“I...” she stammered. He was reaching for the radio clipped to his shoulder.
“Don’t move. I’m calling an ambulance. Backup is already rolling, and Carter will be here in two minutes.”
“No,” she finally managed. He stopped as if he’d gotten an electric shock.
“I’m okay.” She finally got the words out.
“No, you’re not. I’m calling.”
She forced her teeth to stop chattering. “Go after him, Zach. He goes by Joe Brown. He had drugs in his suitcase. I saw. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket.”
“Not leaving you.”
Zach reached for the radio again, but she snatched for his wrist, pressing her fingers there and taking comfort in the steady rhythm of his pulse.
“I’m okay. Not hurt.”
He raised a doubtful eyebrow. “You’d say that if you’d been sawed in half.”
She shoved the hair from her face. “New York tough.”
He touched her cheek with a tentative finger. “Griffin tough. You have a red mark. Here.”
The touch made something ache inside, but she brushed him off. “Go do your job,” she said in a voice with only the tiniest break in it, which she hoped he would not notice. “There was another guy. I don’t know if they were together. He had a long braid. My boss, Bill, he escorted him to security and the TSA let him through without scanning his bags.”
“Vi...” He huffed out a breath, broad chest still heaving from his run along the corridor. “Let me help you, wouldja? You could be hurt more than you think.”
She flashed him a cocky smile. “Griffin tough, remember?”
She knew what he was thinking. Jordan, his hero of an older brother, had been tough, too, and now he was dead. Zach’s expression said it all.
With