“All the arrangements have been made, sir.”

Frank set the pages down on Killian’s desk. Flight departures, hotel locations, and a clear map of all the places they would visit during their European getaway.

“Has Juliette seen these?”

Frank shook his head. “No sir. I only just received the final confirmation.”

Killian held out the pages. “Have Juliette go over them when she gets here in a little while. Let her know to mark down anything she’d like added or removed. Then I want her to send you an exact number of bags she will be bringing along.”

Frank took the papers. “Yes sir.”

“How are we doing with Viola’s school? Are they still refusing to give her the month off?”

The hard set of Frank’s face said it before his mouth could answer. “Due to the state of her grades and the number of absences she’s already accumulated, they think it would be unwise to give her the time off.”

Killian sighed. “And Juliette refuses to leave without the girl. Tell them we will hire a tutor to come along with us and that we are willing to make a generous donation—”

Frank straightened, his attention no longer on Killian. One meaty hand had lifted to his ear, the other was lifted to his mouth. His thick brows had drawn together low over his eyes that were staring straight through Killian.

“Secure the gates!” he barked into the bit of plastic poking through the cuff of his sleeve. “Stay at your posts.” He turned his dark gaze down towards Killian. “There has been an incident, sir. Please remain in your office.”

With that, he turned on his heels and marched from the room, pausing only long enough to shut the doors behind him.

Killian watched him with one hand inching towards the drawer on his right, the one now heavy with his father’s Desert Eagle, .357mag. It was loaded. He’d made sure of that the moment he’d retrieved it from the gun vault. He’d even started carrying it with him, something he’d always prayed he’d never have to do. But after Smith’s attack, it had almost become a necessity. It had also become a task keeping it concealed from Juliette. The last thing he wanted was to further concern her. Lord knew she worried enough.

“Your men are absolutely hopeless, I hope you are aware.”

Reflexes had the gun in his hand in the time it took to suck in a breath. The hammer cocked beneath his thumb even as his arm shot out, directing the barrel straight for the figure throwing open his office doors and stalking in like she owned the place.

His arm wavered once before dropping.

“Maraveet?”

Beautiful with hair the color of fire and eyes the enormous green of a jungle cat’s, Maraveet Árnason smirked at him from over the rim of her aviator glasses. Her small mouth turned up in one corner.

“Hello little brother.” She sauntered deeper into his office, her knee high boots cracking with every fluid stride. “Did you miss me?”

The gun hit the top of his desk with a loud clatter as he shot to his feet. He cleared the desk in three steps and hoisted her up into his arms. Her laugh tinkled in his ear and warmed the side of his face. Slender arms closed about his neck. She squeezed until he coughed.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her shoulder.

Her feet, dangling two feet off the ground, gave a little kick, her signal for him to put her down. He did gingerly, but kept his hands on her shoulders.

She was small, barely coming to his chest with a heart shaped face and peaches and cream complexion. Tiny freckles adorned the fine bridge of her upturned nose and scattered the smooth curves of her pinkened cheeks. A fine, white scar broke through the left eyebrow where he’d thrown a rock at her when they’d been children. His mother had been furious, but Maraveet had been the one to tell him to do it. It hadn’t been his fault she couldn’t catch.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, breaking away from her and moving back to his desk.

Maraveet followed him. “What did you expect me to do when I hear you’d been shot? I would have been here sooner, but I ran into a spot of trouble with the Peruvian government.” She offered him a smirk. “Apparently they don’t like it when foreigners visit their museums late at night.”

“Can you blame them?”

She considered this a moment, shrugged. “I suppose not, but throwing a girl in jail for doing her job is a bit much, isn’t it? I had the devil of a time getting out. You wouldn’t know it by looking, but they are very well designed.”

Her adventures no longer shocked him as it used to. There was a time when her texts would read, guess where I just was … Russian prison! And he’d just about lose his damn mind with worry. But she’d been in and out of so many that he no longer felt inclined to make the fuss.

“At least it wasn’t the Chinese prison,” he pointed out and saw her shudder.

“Don’t remind me.”

Grinning to himself, he reached for his discarded weapon and gingerly set the safety back in place; it was a miracle he hadn’t fired the thing when he’d dropped it.

“Is that the only reason you broke out of prison? Because I’d been shot?”

Maraveet perched jean clad hips against the edge of his desk as he returned the gun to the drawer. She watched him. He could feel her penetrating stare burning holes through his clothes in search of his injuries.

“Maybe not entirely.” She folded her arms over the soft fabric of her stretchy sweater. “What’s this rubbish I hear about you having a girlfriend?”

There it was. The real reason for the impromptu visit. He’d known, but it was nice to hear it from the horse’s … sister’s mouth.

“Juliette isn’t my girlfriend.” He shut the drawer and faced her. “She’s also none of your business.”

“Is that how you want to play this?” She shot up to her feet. “Do I need to wave the history flag in your stupid face?”

Moving to his chair, Killian dropped into it. “History won’t repeat itself, because it’s not like that. We have an agreement.”

Green eyes narrowed in various crinkles of suspicion and doubt. “You’re lying. Your nose is doing that ridiculous wrinkling thing.”

He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but it was the same thing she always said when she had apparently caught him lying. He would check, but his pride was on the line.

“It’s not wrinkling. You’re imagining things.”

She huffed and glowered some more, like she was trying to glower the truth from him. He returned her fierce scowl with a perfectly blank one of his own.

“All right, fine.” She straightened and averted her face. “Since I have no choice, but to believe you, I will—”

A scuffle from the doorway put a pause on whatever rant she’d been concocting the whole way there. They both glanced to the hallway as voices rose. Killian’s initial thought was Frank. He was just preparing to intercept what could quite possibly be a bloodbath between his head of security and his security breaking sister when a voice cried out. The scuffle intensified. Something hit the wall with a heavy thud.

“Let go of me! Killian!”

Killian was out of his chair with speeds that sent it sailing backwards. It slammed into the wall behind his desk and twirled, forgotten as its owner stormed around the desk. Vaguely, he heard Maraveet call out to him, but his head was already thriving with all the noise of his purpose propelling him forward.

In the opening, Juliette swung into view, struggling against the hands curled into the sleeve of her coat. Blonde curls bounced wildly around her pale face. She kicked and swung viciously at the man trying to pull her away.

“Get your hands off her!”

His warning came too late. The seam at her shoulder came undone. The fabric tore with a loud rip that added to the violent buzzing between his ears. The man’s hold slipped. Juliette hit the ground with a cry that spiked straight through the cavity of Killian’s very existence. Her head ricocheted off the plaster with a crack and she whimpered.