He sighs. “Yeah, good point. There’s a piece under the middle couch cushion. Get it and then stay out here, you hear?”

I almost say yes, Dad, but that’s kind of not cool given our current situation with me screwing his father and all. Instead, I just nod, following him into the house. He goes for the front door while I veer off into the living room, dropping to my knees in front of the couch. I grab the lip of the middle couch cushion, lifting it slightly as I stuff my other hand in. After a few sweeps, my fingers brush against something cold and metallic. I carefully feel for the grip and press my palm around it, careful it isn’t aimed my way. When I pull it out I see it’s a snub-nosed revolver, safety on. I unclick the safety mechanism and open the chamber, relieved to see each space stuffed full with shiny brass-colored bullets. With a flick of my wrist the chamber closes again, engaging against itself so that it’s literally ready to go whenever I pull the trigger.

Although, I hope it won’t come to that. Because if there are Gypsy Brothers at the front door who want us, six bullets aren’t going to get me very far.

I creep back to the balcony as instructed, keeping my ear out for Jase. It’s hard—my hearing is still terrible, with the ringing in my ears still shrill and constant. I half close the sliding door so that I’m alone on the balcony, with nothing but a gun in my hand and a table at my back. I glance uneasily at the balcony edge. It comes up to my navel, but I’m betting if someone shot me in the top half of my body, I’d be thrown straight off onto the asphalt below. It isn’t a settling thought. I opt to crouch.

I’m listening intently for anything coming from the front door … so intently, that I don’t realize someone is descending upon me, literally from above.

A guy dressed entirely in black and sporting a black ski mask over his face flashes before my eyes, landing next to me on the balcony. What the fuck? He goes for the gun in my hands and I panic, screaming as I take aim.

“Don’t shoot!” he hisses, a voice I’d know anywhere. I lower the gun as he peels the ski mask off, his hair wild and his eyes alight with excitement and worry.

“I almost fucking killed you!” I whisper-scream at Elliot, my arms flying as I scold him like a child. I look closer, seeing he’s attached to a thick black ski rope that’s dangling down from the apartment above.

“You abseiled in here?” I ask, impressed.

He unclips himself from the line and surges forward. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

I take a moment to think about that. “Who?” I ask dumbly. “Dornan?”

“Jase,” he hisses, looking toward the door. It’s partially obscured by the hallway, and I wonder if Jase can hear us right now.

“No,” I say emphatically, shaking my head. “He figured it out, El. He knows who I am.”

“You didn’t take him out,” Elliot says, glancing between the line of sight to the front door and me.

I shake my head. “I was never going to.”

He looks disgusted. “He’s going to be the death of you, you know that, right?”

I shrug. “He’s not like them, Elliot.” As I’m speaking, a thought suddenly occurs to me. “How’d you know I was here, anyway?”

He doesn’t answer, but there’s a telling look on his face. My stomach does a flip as a fresh suspicion wedges itself uncomfortably in my mind.

“That phone,” I whisper conspiratorially. “You’ve been tracking me?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his face belies the truth. He has. I don’t know if I feel angry or relieved.

Inside the apartment, there’s a flash of dark clothing, and the front door slams shut.

Elliot jumps into motion, replacing his mask and withdrawing a large pistol from his belt. He takes my elbow and pulls me along, opening the sliding door as quietly as possible. Like he’s trained for this his entire life, he enters the house without a sound, his boots soft on the tiled floor as he tucks me behind him with one arm, his own gun in front of him.

Jase must be in the living room, and I desperately hope that he isn’t with any Gypsy Brothers. Elliot is going to be hard enough to explain to Jase. The front door is closed, but around the corner I can see the living room window is wide open, sending the curtains billowing into the room like crazy, dancing ghosts.

And then, Jase is in front of us, his own gun outstretched. It’s probably a really stupid thing to do, but I act on impulse, jumping between the two of them as some sort of human shield or negotiator.

“Don’t shoot!” I scream at both of them, jumping in front of Elliot, who looks more like Batman right now.

Jase looks pissed. “Get out of the way, Julz,” he says through gritted teeth.

“He’s a friend,” I say desperately, glancing over my shoulder at Elliot. “Elliot, take your fucking mask off so he can see your face.”

Jase’s hair is still damp, his arm straight as a rod as he holds his aim steady. Neither of them have lowered their weapons, but Elliot has taken his ski mask off, and he looks pissed.

His jaw bunches as he looks from Jase to me, the bitter assumption in his eyes as clear as day. We’re both freshly showered and I’m wearing Jase’s clothes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he thinks we’ve been doing. And it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Well,” Elliot begins—

“Don’t start,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t even start.”

Some of the bitterness fades, but he doesn’t lower his gun.

“The cop himself.” Jase sneers over my shoulder as my gaze darts between the two. “Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you right here where you stand. You’d shoot me dead the first chance you got.”

“Give me your guns,” I say forcefully, holding my palms flat between the two of them. “Or you’re both going to end up shooting through me to get to each other.”

They both seem to think that over as the moments drag by painfully.

“We all have a common interest,” I press. “Making sure Dornan doesn’t hurt anybody else.”

Elliot snickers, slapping his gun into my left palm. He doesn’t let go, though, not until Jase reluctantly does the same.

“I think you’ll find the common interest is you,” Elliot says scathingly, letting me take the gun from his hand. Jase also lets me have his gun and I immediately locate the unloading mechanism for each one, sending two bullet magazines crashing to the floor and rendering the weapons useless. Tossing them onto the couch, I round on the two men who I have loved more than anything else in the world at varying stages in my life. Them, and my father.

Did he suffer?

No.

You’re not a very good liar.

My heart aches.

I pull out my own gun, the only one that’s useful at this point, and gesture for both of them to sit down on the couch.

“Take a seat, boys. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Jase looks at me incredulously. “You’ve got to be fucking with me, right?”

Elliot mumbles something under his breath.

“Pardon?” I ask him, my nerves fraying and my ears pounding.

He shoots me a shithead smile and repeats loudly, “I said, that’s what it looks like.”

“Looks like what?” I ask, suddenly irritated by the both of them.

“Like you’re fucking with me,” Jase says, looking bored as he takes a seat on the far end of the couch. “I think lover boy is a little jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Elliot shoots back, still seemingly reluctant to sit down anywhere near Jase.

“Dude, you are so fucking jealous,” Jase says. “Don’t worry. I haven’t touched her. My dad has, though.” He glares at me and something painful socks me in the chest as I try to put myself in his shoes.

I am so screwed up.

“So,” Jase says, propping his feet on the coffee table. “You’re a cop, huh?”