Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(65)

“Aye,” he answered as he went walking through her home, like he had every right to.

“But I’ll be fine here by myself.”

“Maybe.”

“No, I will. This isn’t the first time something has happened that Liam wanted to get revenge for. Like then, he’s probably going to forget I even exist for a few days.”

“Better safe than sorry,” he said taking a seat, folding his arms across his chest as a corner of his mouth tilted up.

She was almost sure she wasn’t going to be able to get rid of him when his phone chimed. Reagan was hoping it would be Niklaus, telling him that he was close, or that he was no longer needed, but from the way he frowned, she could tell it wasn’t Niklaus at all.

Turning away from her, he accepted the call. “Yeah?” It was several seconds before Celt spoke again. “Right, you need a meeting right now? Yeah, I’ll be there.”

The minute he was done with that call, he was placing another. “Red, problem. The Kingmaker called me in—wants to meet in twenty minutes.” He glanced back at her. “I can probably stall him—”

Reagan might not have known who the Kingmaker was, but he sounded like he was Celt’s boss, and while she couldn’t begin to understand their jobs, she couldn’t imagine that the boss of a mercenary would look too kindly on someone being late. “You don’t have to do that. Just tell Niklaus I’ll be fine until he gets here. And if it makes him feel any better, I won’t open the door for anyone but him.”

“D’you hear that? Right.” Celt hung up, pocketing the device. He took one last look around before walking to the door. “Take it easy. Stay inside, and try not to do anything that’s going to send him after my arse, yeah?”

“Don’t worry,” she said even as she started closing the door. “I won’t.”

Celt was gone without a backwards glance moments later. Hurrying over to the window, she just caught sight of him heading back towards the pub.

Grabbing a hoodie—and only her wallet and keys from her purse—she left her apartment next, pulling the hood up over her head as she circled the building and went down the backstreet instead, just in case he hadn’t driven off yet.

Jimmy lived in a six-story walkup, one that was a bitch to travel to without actually trying to make it up to his apartment that was located on the fifth floor. No matter when she tried, whether morning or night, there was always traffic outside his place, constant horns honking as people tried to get to their destinations.

She didn’t understand how he could stand to stay there with the constant noise, but after three years, it seemed he was content with the place.

Palming the key to his place, Reagan let herself into his building, and after the exhausting journey up the stairs, into his place as well.

The apartment was dark, all lights turned out, and even the curtains that she had forced him to buy after a sixteen-minute argument as to why he needed them were closed around his windows.

Feeling for the light switch on the wall, she belatedly remembered that his place didn’t have traditional lights, and instead, crossed to where one of the lamps rested on the table.

Once she could finally see, she scanned his living room, taking in the leather furniture, the pictures on the wall, and the cleanliness.

And that was the problem.

While Jimmy always had a knack for making sure everything was in its proper place, there was still something that he forgot to put away, even if it was just a cup still sitting on the table. But now, there was nothing. Nothing. Like he had gone through his place and cleaned from top to bottom. Even though there was plenty of evidence that someone had once lived there, it didn’t look like Jimmy had been home in a while.

Had that been done on purpose?

Did they erase the signs of a struggle?

Venturing down the hallway, Reagan was almost to Jimmy’s bedroom the soft rattle of a doorknob. If it weren’t so quiet in the apartment, she might have thought she imagined it, but she quickly realized she hadn’t been wrong when the lights illuminating the hallway, briefly lit up the inside of the apartment.

Thinking fast, she slipped into the bathroom, pushing the door shut without closing it entirely as she used the dim light of the room to find a weapon of some kind.

To her luck, there was a bottle of hairspray sitting on his sink, and while it might not have been as great as a bat, she could still use it to blind whoever it was and get out of there.

Trying to breathe easily was hard as she remained still, hearing the soft footsteps bringing them closer to her direction.

When they stopped in front of the door, she took a step back, raising her weapon until she gave a cry of surprise as the door flew open with the force of the body flying through it, landing in a heap on the floor as she scrambled out of the way.

Her heart was racing so fast that she couldn’t begin to comprehend that the man, whoever he was, was unconscious, and the man who’d made him that way still standing on the other side.

“Is this going to be a thing with you,” Niklaus asked glaring at her, looking all the more intimidating because of his attire.

It was easy hearing that he was a mercenary, but seeing the proof of it as he stood before her, dressed and armed like he was readying for a war, she believed it.

Never mind that he had stopped whoever the man on the floor was, Niklaus seemed more pissed off at her.