The Spy Who Came For Christmas(24)

“You don’t know Jemma,” Grayson cut in. Jemma is a fighter. Jemma is strong. She took out a killer once before…

But Chuck was still laughing, and when he laughed, he moved the gun away from her jaw, just one inch. One precious inch. “Sure I know her. Delicate little chocolatier. Everyone in town told me how sweet she was. Good old Jemma White—”

Grayson lunged forward.

But Jemma had moved, too. She’d whipped her body to the side and driven her fist into the guy’s right shoulder—the shoulder Grayson’s knife throw had injured the other night.

Chuck howled in pain and he staggered back. Then his face twisted with fury as he drove at Jemma.

Only Grayson was in his path.

“No,” Grayson told him softly, coldly. “You don’t hurt her.” And with his right hand, he grabbed Chuck’s wrist—the wrist that held that gun. One brutal twist, and Chuck’s wrist snapped. Then Grayson head butted the bastard, breaking Chuck’s nose and sending blood gushing down his former partner’s face.

The gun fell to the floor. Grayson didn’t stop to pick it up—there was no time. Chuck charged at him again. They’d both been trained to fight through any pain, and they pummeled each other. Swinging hard, attacking with fists and fury.

Grayson caught Chuck and slammed the guy into the nearest wall. Photos fell and a mirror shattered when it hit the floor. Chuck’s foot flew out, trying to trip Grayson, but he wasn’t about to go down alone. He dragged Chuck with him.

“Fucking bastard!” Chuck yelled at him.

I’m not the one who turned on the Agency. Who coldly murdered other agents.

They hit the floor. The chunks of the mirror cracked beneath their bodies. Grayson grabbed for one of the bigger shards of that broken glass. His fingers curled around it and he yanked it up, ready to use it as a knife. He sliced his new weapon toward Chuck’s waiting throat.“Stop!” Jemma yelled.

The shard of glass had cut open the skin just above Chuck’s jugular. Blood slid from the small wound.

Every instinct Grayson possessed told him to finish the job. To end Chuck. This sonofabitch had come after him and Jemma. Chuck had been planning to torture her.

He can’t ever get near her again.

Keeping that glass against Chuck’s throat, Grayson’s head slowly turned toward Jemma. She had Chuck’s gun in her hand, and she had it aimed at the former CIA operative.

“I’ve got him, Gray,” Jemma said. Her hand was rock steady on the gun. “You don’t…you don’t have to do anything else.” Her voice was ragged.

He knew what she was trying to tell him.

You don’t have to kill him. But the problem was…I want to kill him.

“Grayson.” This time, her voice was stronger, more determined. “Let’s call Brad. Or some of your CIA buddies. Or whoever we need to call in order to get him locked away. But…don’t do this, okay? We’ve got him. Stop.”

If he killed now, it would be in cold blood. Would she think he was a monster? Would he be a monster?

His gaze slid back to Chuck. And the sick jerk was grinning.

“Call the local sheriff,” Chuck rasped. “See what he can do. See what anyone can do. Because I’m not going to stop. I’ll keep coming. I’ll take away everything you care about. I’ll make you wish for death.”

Grayson kept his gaze locked with Chuck’s even as he said, “Give me the gun, Jemma.”

“Gray?”

“Trust me.” He couldn’t soften his voice. The fury and fear inside of him were still too strong. “Give me the gun.”

She crept toward him. Put the gun in his left hand.

His right still held the shard of glass.

Left hand, right hand. I’m just as good with both—and Chuck knows that.

“Get your phone now,” Grayson told her. “I’ll give you a number to call.” A classified number that was only supposed to be used in the case of an extreme emergency. But this situation was an emergency, and to contain Chuck, he had to call in his ex-boss at the CIA. Grayson rattled off the number. “When someone answers, say that Gray needs containment backup, immediately, because a ghost just rose from the grave. Give your address and then hang up.”

Her footsteps hurried away and he knew she was going to make that call.

He lifted the gun and put it to Chuck’s forehead. Grayson dropped the glass. He didn’t need it, not anymore. “You know they’ll be here soon.” They’d fly in to retrieve this *. A ghost. Yeah, his boss would get the message, all right.

“They’ll be here.” Chuck had blood covering the lower half of his face, courtesy of his broken nose. “And they’ll lock me up…but what will you do when I get away? When I break loose? When I come for her again?”

His finger wanted to pull that trigger. One quick squeeze. “You won’t get away from them. The CIA will throw you in a hole so deep, you’ll never see daylight again. You killed American agents. What the hell do you think will happen to you?” And he finally smiled at his former friend. “Death is too easy for you. Enjoy the hell that you have coming.”

Jemma ran back into the room. “They’re coming.”

He kept that gun trained on Chuck, not about to give the guy a chance to attack. They’re coming, you’re going to hell and I’m…