Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(14)

More gunfire erupts from the building I just escaped.

I need to find the fucking car. Otherwise, I’m a dead man walking. Following nothing but my instincts, I run along the side of the building and look for the alley Koba described.

I won’t let your death be in vain.

I reach the opposite end of the wall and spot a dark sedan. In a sprint, I rush to the driver’s door and climb inside. The keys are in the ignition.

Thank fuck.

I fire up the engine and throw it in gear. The tires squeal as I punch the gas. With the headlights off, I haul ass down the alley and turn the corner to reach the road. A muzzle flash comes from directly in front of me just before bullets hit the windshield. It breaks, but the safety glass keeps it from shattering in my face.

I flip on the headlights and floor the accelerator. You shot at the wrong guy, motherfucker.

He lays down more fire, and bullets punch through the car as I careen toward him. He tries to run, but he’s too slow. With a thump, I slam into him from behind and his body bounces up on the hood, his face pressing against the spiderwebbed windshield.

I put the car in reverse, expecting another hail of bullets, but none come. I throw the car in park and jump out.

It might cost me my life, but if I live, I need to know who the fuck to hunt down for this, or neither Indy or I will ever be able to go a day without looking over our shoulders. That’s not a life I want for her.

I drag the man’s body off the car and crouch over it. He’s as dead as he’ll ever be, and I feel no shame or recrimination as I dig through his pockets, taking his wallet, his phone, and his gun. With a backward glance at the warehouse, I dart to the driver’s door and slide inside.

Squinting to see through the demolished windshield, I shift gears and punch the accelerator.

I’m coming, Ace. Nothing is going to keep me from you. Now, where the hell are you?





10





India





Kostya continues making calls, trying to find information about where Jericho is being held, and Goliath and I wait in strained silence.

After the marathon of a day playing poker and the shock that followed, I’m starting to droop, but there’s no way in hell I’m closing my eyes for even a second. Not until we have something concrete. I stifle a yawn as my clutch vibrates.

No. Not my clutch. My phone.

Kidnappers? Maybe trying to ransom him to me while they wait for an answer from Federov?

Goliath’s attention cuts from my father and his men to me as I snap open the clutch and stare at the screen of my phone.

It reads Unknown Number.

Chills skitter down my spine, just like they did every time Summer’s kidnappers called.

“What is it? Who is calling?” Federov asks.

With my heart hammering, I flash the screen at him.

“I will answer,” he says.

I shake my head. “I can do this.”

With a shaking finger, I tap the screen and lift the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Sweet fucking Christ, I needed to hear your voice.”

The connection crackles and the words cut out, but every hair on my body stands on end.

“Jericho? Oh my God. Is that you?”

The phone goes silent, and I yank it away from my ear to stare at the screen. Call failed.

“No!”

“Was it Forge?” Federov asks, reaching across the table for the phone, but I clutch it to my chest.

My gaze darts from the phone to him and back again. “I think so,” I whisper. My heart hammers as I question myself. Was it him? It was him. Right?

It vibrates again, and I answer it on the first ring.

“Jericho?”

“Yeah, Ace. It’s me.”

“Thank God.” Sweet relief, the likes of which I’ve never known, settles over me, and everyone else in the room seems to hold their breath as I talk. “Are you okay? Where are you? Are you safe?”

As soon as I rattle off the questions, Jericho laughs, and with every second, I fear the call will drop again. I bite down on my lip as my eyes burn with tears.

“That’s what I was going to ask you.”

“I’m fine. I’m . . . with my father and Goliath. We left the hotel, but we’re safe. Where are you?”

“Trying to get to you. I thought G was dead. Thank fuck, he’s not.”

“The others . . .” My voice shakes as I try to tell him. I swallow and spit it out. “They’re dead.”

“I heard shots before they knocked me out.” Jericho’s tone sounds just as grim as mine. “Koba is too.”

I sit up straighter. “How? He disappeared from the hotel. We thought . . . We thought he was part of it.”

“He saved me. Didn’t make it out. But that’s all for later. Right now, the only thing that matters is getting to you. Can I talk to Goliath for a second? We need a plan.”

The last thing in the world I want to do is give up that phone, but if it gets me what I want most—to see Jericho, safe and sound—I’ll do it.

“Okay. Here he is.” I hand the phone off, and Goliath speaks in a language I don’t recognize.

Why hadn’t I asked Jericho what it was the first time I heard it? How many languages does my husband speak?