“Ty, breathe.”
Ty shook his head, gulping air and holding to his side. Blood seeped through the material of his T-shirt.
“There’s a sniper on a roof somewhere. We don’t know whose side he’s on, and we need to get out of sight,” Julian said, rapid-fire and barely discernible with his thick accent.
Zane and Cameron moved, grabbing their last remaining bag of gear, Zane leading the way. There was nowhere to go that they would be able to hide. But they could duck into a restaurant or museum and be out of the sniper’s sights. They headed for the massive complex of the Verizon Center, and Zane darted into The Greene Turtle as the others followed. Cameron was gasping for breath after the sprint, and Ty was leaning against the railing of the curving staircase that led down to the restaurant’s basement, panting and holding his side.
“Can I… help you?” the hostess asked them.
“Table for four, please,” Cameron said, breathless, holding up four fingers. “Away from the windows, if that’s possible.”
“Of course,” she said, looking at them askance as she grabbed menus.
Zane took Ty’s arm and began to lead him down the stairs. Julian followed, dragging Cameron with him as he explained to the waitress that they’d be right back. They didn’t want her growing suspicious enough to call the police on them, but Zane doubted Cameron’s attempts had helped their cause.
The basement of the restaurant had two oddly situated bathrooms and a wide open space used for parties and probably hiding Jimmy Hoffa. They tumbled into that dark, cavernous space and collapsed against whatever was nearest them.
“You’ve been hit,” Zane said to Ty as he knelt next to where Ty had sunk against a wall.
“It grazed me. It’s not bad.” He met Zane’s eyes. “It’s not bad.”
Zane looked at him worriedly, then glanced at Julian.
“It wasn’t me,” Julian snapped, the heat in his voice aimed at Ty.
“You shot from under my arm!”
“There is no possible way I hit you from that angle! It was a ricochet!”
“You want to go over the laws of physics?”
“If I was going to shoot you, I would have shot you somewhere more memorable!”
“Okay!” Zane shouted, putting both hands out to calm them.
Ty grunted at him and pressed his hand to his side, glaring at Julian.
Cameron hugged close to him, and Julian pulled him in and rested his chin on Cameron’s head, closing his eyes as they embraced.
“I’m afraid I’m out of ideas,” Julian whispered.
Zane looked back at Ty. He shook his head, unable to meet Zane’s eyes. “Burns said to get him to Langley.”
“That won’t be happening,” a new voice said from the doorway.
All Zane could see was the outline of a man, a long-barreled rifle slung over his shoulder. As he watched, the man pulled the rifle down and aimed it at him and Ty.
“PRESTON!” Cameron called out in obvious relief.
When Ty scrambled to his feet, he found himself facing the matte black muzzle of a sniper’s rifle. His heart stuttered and his body flooded with ice.
The muzzle lowered to reveal its owner as the man stepped into the pool of an emergency light, and Ty stared at the blond man in shock.
“Thank Christ. Preston, what took you so long?” Julian grumbled as he rushed forward.
“Terribly sorry, sir,” Preston drawled, smirking as he glanced around and met Ty’s eyes. “Hello, Tyler.”
Ty couldn’t find his voice through the surprise.
Cameron glanced between them. “You two know each other?”
“We’re acquainted,” Preston answered as he hiked the rifle onto his shoulder.
“Do tell,” Zane said as he stood next to Ty. “Who the hell are you?”
Preston raised one eyebrow at Zane but didn’t answer him, instead meeting Ty’s eyes and giving him an enigmatic smile.
“He’s Preston, Julian’s driver,” Cameron said.
“Driver,” Zane said, voice wry. “Do you sell antiques too?”
“No, I kill people.”
“Preston!” Cameron said, appalled. “I thought you were staying in Chicago.”
“I had other business to attend to.”
Ty finally found his voice, though he was still staring back at the man as if he’d risen from the dead. “He was… French. You were French,” he said accusingly.
Preston shrugged. “So were you. We both got what we were after.”
“This is the guy from Paris that Burns thinks is Cross?” Zane said, pointing at Preston. “So this is the guy all this has been about?”
“No, dear, please keep up,” Preston said with a curl of his lip.
Ty stood there, shaking his head, mind churning to connect the pieces.
Preston turned to Julian. “Smith and Wesson are in your car, sir. Ready when you are.”
“What about my dogs?”
“With your lady friend from the restaurant.”
Cameron looked crestfallen, but Ty was too distracted by Preston’s sudden appearance to feel sorry for him.
“Grady and Preston were both after the same mark in Paris a few years ago,” Julian said to Zane. “They met during what I hear was a drunken, debauched night of… selling antiques. That’s how I knew Ty had been there. I never saw him.”
“Such unnecessary details,” Preston murmured.
“Ty, seriously,” Zane grunted.
“How is this my fault?” Ty asked in exasperation.
“Do you have a history with every guy with a gun in the Northern hemisphere?”
“Oh, like you don’t have some winners back there you hope we never run into. Let’s head to Miami and see what comes out of the woodwork.”
“Ty.”
“I like guys with guns!”
“Oh my God,” Julian muttered as he rubbed at his eyes.
Zane crossed his arms over his chest and gave Ty a look that said they’d be discussing this later. Ty rolled his eyes and pointed at Preston. “Why are you here?”
“We learned that you were delivering Mr. Cross to the very man who wants him dead. I’m here to kill you and rescue him.”
“You’re a bit late for that,” Julian muttered.
“Bulletproof glass, or I would have been right on time.”
“Fair enough.”
Zane put a hand out and looked from Julian to Ty. “So wait a minute… we’re the bad guys?”