Casa de la Rosa, Cuba
Death pressed against her temple.
Chilling, hard steel, small caliber, but still lethal at this range. Sudden and unexpected, the gun and the man holding it had caught Erin off guard.
“Breathe,” said the familiar voice behind the weapon. “While you still can.”
“Helton.” Erin whispered his name and tried to steady herself against the certainty of her own death. A gun to her head made it too easy to forget her years of training, made everything but fear slip away.
A second man came into her field of vision, a thick stripe of tape across the bridge of his swollen and discolored nose. Erin shivered when he looked at her, hate ripe in his eyes. One of Helton’s hired killers, the last time she’d seen him, he’d been sprawled at her feet, cursing and grasping at his shattered face. Now he seemed ready to return the favor, or worse.
Where is Alec?
Had Helton killed him? The only way Helton would have gotten past Alec was if he was already dead. The thought settled like a weight in her stomach, making breathing once more a difficult task.
Helton nudged her with the gun, just a little left of her spine, sparking her anger. Better than fear or grief, it was an emotion she could handle. And use. Except she didn’t see how.
“On the floor,” Helton said.
Erin hesitated. Once they had her on the ground, it would be too late. If she was going to do something, it had to be now, while she still had her feet beneath her.
“Don’t even think it, Erin.” Helton must have read her mind, because she looked into his eyes and saw her own death.
He was right. It was all over.