Bishop's Knight Page 2

  Bodies were everywhere, Yerik’s men either dead or crying out in pain.

  “At your three o’clock,” Samara snapped.

  Evie swiveled, fired again even as they ran toward the exit. She hit her mark—Ivan’s center mass. He wasn’t getting up from that.

  Bullets whizzed past her head as they dove, taking cover behind a fallen high-top table.

  Two bullets ripped through it, missing her head by inches.

  She lifted her arm, blindly firing.

  “You’ve got an opening,” Luca shouted.

  They both jumped up, firing back a spray of bullets as they raced for the exit. Only ten yards to go.

  Yerik’s men would have called reinforcements by now so they had maybe thirty seconds to get to the getaway car. Less than a minute after that, they would get into their backup vehicle.

  Luca stepped out from behind one of the oversized speakers by the DJ booth, an AR-15 raised. “Run!”

  Evie and Samara sprinted the last few feet for the exit door as the sound of more gunfire filled the club.

  “There.” Relief punched through her to see Ben’s vehicle idling across the street. Everyone else had scattered, racing down the sidewalk, far away from the chaos of smoke and gunfire.

  “Go, go, go!” Luca was behind them, tossing a grenade through the doorway as he followed them.

  Heat licked against her back as they dove into the vehicle. Evie winced as her shoulder slammed into the hard metal of the van’s floor, then again as Samara landed on top of her.

  “Get your ass off me,” she groaned.

  “Anyone hit?” Seamus asked from the driver’s seat, concern in his voice.

  Once they all confirmed they were fine, Evie asked, “Any civilian casualties?”

  Ben, sitting in the front passenger seat, didn’t look up from his tablet. “None that I know of yet. I’m scanning the police radios and hospitals for more information.”

  She gritted her teeth, breathing in and out as they took a sharp turn. They’d be close to the second getaway vehicle now. “Things shouldn’t have gone so volatile so quickly.”

  Luca just grunted, shrugging one of his big shoulders. A large man at well over six feet, he was military trained and always so calm in every operation. He was who she wanted to emulate. “That’s why we prepare for the worst but hope for the best.”

  She nodded as the van jerked to a halt in the nearly full parking lot. Ripping off her wig, she exited with the others as they all made their way to their respective vehicles, splitting up into different directions. Within half an hour, they’d all meet at the rally point. Unless anything went wrong.

  Which was always a possibility. But they hadn’t had a tail so they should be good.

  Her heartbeat was still erratic even as she pulled onto the street, keeping her driving smooth as she passed a police car with blaring sirens and flashing lights going in the opposite direction.

  Tonight she’d expected to poison Yerik, and have some infighting and confusion among the group. Sure, she’d been the one to give him the poison. But she was just a club girl. They’d reacted much quicker than any of them had expected.

  Luca was right—this was why they prepared for the worst. Of course her boss was going to be pissed about the shooting at the club, but some things were unavoidable.

  And Yerik was dead. That was what mattered.

  Sometimes she worked in shades of gray, and while she didn’t always like it, she understood the greater good. When she’d first started working for the CIA she hadn’t been sure she could do the job.

  But at the end of the day, she knew she made the world a better place. That a whole lot of people were alive and free because of her. And she slept fine at night.

  * * *

  Evie popped the top off the beer Luca handed her as she joined him and the others around the table of their safe house the next day. “News?” she asked, looking at Ben.

  “No civilian deaths. A few injuries from gunshots, but mainly people who got trampled in their escape. Yerik is dead and so are most of his guys, including Ivan.” He said Ivan’s name in disgust. “The brothels have been disbanded as there’s no one in charge. I talked to Arman and he and Daria are both safe. He’s heading north with his cousin.”

  Evie was glad for the confirmation of Ivan’s death. At her hand—and she wouldn’t suffer any guilt because of it.

  He continued, looking at his tablet. “Another local gang is taking advantage and going to war with the rest of the Morozov crew. They’re not going to be a problem anymore. Not with so much infighting. They’ll wipe each other out.”

  “Good.” Samara’s tone was savage.

  “And…we’ve all been called to Miami.” Ben looked at Evie as he spoke.

  She blinked in surprise. “Miami?” It was her hometown and somewhere she never, ever worked.

  “Yep. We’re going to be teaming up with the Feds for an op. And you’re going to be playing the role of a lifetime—yourself.”

  “Details?”

  “None yet. I just know it’s being called the Jensen op.”

  Chapter 1

  Present day

  Evangeline Bishop stripped off her boxing gloves when she heard her phone buzzing across the bench. She’d been in Miami for a month and the shit had already hit the fan. In more ways than one.

  After an insane day, she’d needed a break from simply sitting in the hospital waiting room for news she wasn’t sure was ever coming. And a quick thirty-minute workout that included pounding on the giant punching bag in her brother Ellis’s extra room had helped clear her head some.

  Her parents wanted her to move into their home until she found a place of her own, and as tempting as living on her parents’ giant estate sounded, she knew she’d go crazy within twenty-four hours, so she’d opted to live at her brother’s place.

  Wasn’t like he was using it right now. No, because Ellis was in hiding somewhere, wanted for murdering one of his partners with the DEA. He’d been charged with the crime over a week ago and had gone on the run. Something she couldn’t wrap her head around. She knew he hadn’t done it—there was no way in hell her Boy Scout middle brother would have done it, and if he had, he wouldn’t have gotten freaking caught. But the jackass had gone to ground and hadn’t reached out to any of them.

  Her oldest brother… She couldn’t even think about Evan right now. She’d been at the hospital four hours earlier and had planned to stay, but her brother’s fiancée and her parents had promised they wouldn’t leave. And if she was honest with herself, getting out of there for even just a bit had helped her focus. He’d been in a medically induced coma for three weeks and so far it didn’t look like that was changing.

  When she glanced at the number on screen, she didn’t recognize it, but not many people had this particular cell phone number.

  She frowned as she read the text message. I’m on the back porch. Don’t shoot.

  Who the hell is this? she typed back.

  Samara.

  She blinked in surprise but still grabbed the pistol she’d placed underneath the bench in the middle of a stack of towels.

  She wasn’t expecting a threat here but some habits she’d take to her grave. Not to mention that one of her brothers had been set up for murder. And whoever had done it would pay. No doubt about that. Whenever she figured out who that someone was, of course. So it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that someone might come here looking for Ellis—though she kind of doubted it. Because how big of a dumbass would he be to show up at his own home? Besides, it would be even dumber to text her an alert.

  Pistol at her side, she jogged down the stairs, keeping all the lights off. Her eyes adjusted to the dark quickly.

  She turned off the alarm by the front door and made her way to the kitchen, pulling up the video surveillance app on her phone. On the live view, she saw a petite person wearing a hood pulled down over their face hovering by some hydrangea bushes lining the back porch. They were ju
st out of the way of the motion detector, which explained why they hadn’t triggered it.

  She texted as she walked. If this is Samara, what’s your favorite ice cream flavor?

  She watched the figure type back on their phone. Ice cream is stupid. Open the damn door.

  She grinned, convinced this had to be Samara. But that didn’t mean this wasn’t a trap. She flipped on the lights to the back patio and pulled the door open, weapon up.

  When Samara stepped forward, her hoodie falling back slightly, Evie quickly tucked her weapon in the back of her workout pants. Then froze when she saw Samara clutching her hip, a crimson line of blood dripping down her fingers and onto the stone steps.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Samara rasped out, her face pale.

  Evie covered the distance between them in seconds and wrapped her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Shot or stabbed?” she asked as she helped her up the short set of stairs to the door.

  “Shot. And I don’t know who did it. But I think I know what it’s related to.”

  “Come on.” She guided her friend inside. As soon as she shut the door behind her, she locked it and was already resetting the alarm using her phone’s app.

  If someone wanted in the house, they were getting inside no matter what. But the alarm would give her a heads-up. Of course that was if they didn’t hack the system. It was top-notch, but she never depended on anything to be completely secure. Always have a backup for your backup, was her motto. Plan A, B, all the way to Z.

  “Water,” Samara said as Evie led her into the pristine kitchen.

  Evie left her standing by the center island as she quickly poured her a glass of water. “I think I know the answer, but should I call an ambulance?”

  Samara shook her head, her dark ponytail swishing softly. “No.”

  “You on a job?” Evie asked even as she mentally ran through the list of people she could call for help. If she’d been back in Virginia or DC, the list wasn’t exactly long but she had a handful of people she could reach out to. Here in Miami, her options were more limited. She’d retired from the CIA months ago and didn’t have many assets here.

  “No. I came to see you. Then this happened.”

  “Let me see,” she said.

  Wincing, Samara lifted her hand so Evie peeled away the pathetic piece of towel and duct tape to reveal the wound on her hip. Her pants were ripped and the skin had been torn away, but she wasn’t bleeding profusely. And…the bullet was lodged in her for certain. No exit wound and hell, she could see the bulge.

  “I don’t think it went very deep,” Samara said, swaying softly.

  “Were you followed here?” Evie asked as she rummaged inside the pantry for a first aid kit.

  “Not sure.”

  She tucked the kit under one arm. Under different circumstances she might have attempted to take the bullet out herself, but if Samara had been followed, she needed to get her friend somewhere safe. Then get this damn bullet out. “All right. Let me patch you up, then I know somewhere we can go.” Evie knelt down in front of her. “Conserve your energy unless there’s something critical you have to tell me right now.”

  Samara grunted in pain as Evie peeled away the rest of the duct tape. “This might have something to do with the Jensen job,” her friend rasped out. “I can’t be certain though. But two people involved in that op are dead.”

  That was the first Evie had heard. She filed the info away even as she poured vodka over her friend’s wound. Samara hissed out a curse, but barely moved otherwise.

  “Sorry about this,” Evie muttered as she covered the wound and taped her up. It would have to do for now. “So why didn’t you call me? Why just show up here?”

  “I was in Orlando when I got the news about the last murder from someone on the op. It’s a short drive, so I decided to come see you in person. And I did try your cell phone. Half a dozen times. It kept going to voicemail. I thought maybe… I was hoping you were all right.”

  Shit. “I had it turned off at the hospital. You didn’t leave a voicemail?”

  “No. Didn’t want a trail.”

  “How did you know I was here?” Evie wrapped her arm around Samara and helped her walk toward the door that led to the garage.

  “Process of elimination. I knew you wouldn’t be at your parents’.” She snorted at that. “Your ‘wanted for murder’ brother’s house was a good place to start.” She hissed in another breath as they stepped down into the garage.

  “No more talking.” It didn’t take long to get Samara into her Mercedes GT. The two-door sports car had been a ridiculous gift from her parents, but right now she was grateful for the speed as she tore out of the driveway.

  Just in case Samara had been followed, she took a few detours before heading to the last place she wanted to go. To the last man she wanted to see.

  “Star Island?” Samara murmured as she took her final turn.

  Star Island was a private neighborhood in South Beach where the über-wealthy lived—including celebrities. But they weren’t going to see a celebrity. “Yep. Now hush. You need to save your strength.”

  Samara completely ignored her. “Please tell me we’re not going where I think we are.”

  “I can tell you that if you want me to lie.”

  Samara groaned. “What the hell? You think your ex is gonna, what? Help you and your random friend right now? How do you even know he’s home?”

  “He’s home.” Or she was pretty certain he was.

  “Are you stalking him?”

  “I’m not stalking him. I just sort of keep tabs on him.”

  “Yeah, there’s a word for that. It’s called stalking.”

  “That’s enough. Now for the love of all that is holy, be quiet.” She zoomed up to the security gate and pressed the buzzer, knowing whoever was on the other side of that camera could see her clearly. She probably should have called Dylan first but he was a man who kept a tight schedule. And it was Thursday night. He would be home working his ass off like usual. As far as she knew he wasn’t seeing anyone, so hopefully he was alone. Ugh. She didn’t even want to think about him sleeping with someone else.

  His head of security, Leo Webster, answered, his tone icy. Once upon a time he’d been warm and friendly to her. “Ms. Bishop. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “I need to see Dylan. It’s an emergency.”

  Less than ten seconds later, the gate swung open, smooth and soundless. Damn. Okay, then. He hadn’t even made her wait or beg for entrance. Which…after the way things had ended between them, she’d kind of been expecting him to turn her away.

  Evie revved the engine, speeding up the long driveway, and parked under the porte cochere.

  Before she’d even rounded the vehicle to help Samara out, Dylan was striding out of the massive front doors that cost more than some people made in a year, wearing dress slacks and a button-down, definitely custom-made Gucci shirt. She was annoyed she even knew that.

  “My friend has been shot,” she said before he could ask anything. But it was clear she’d surprised him if the slight hitch in his step was any indication. “I can’t call the police or go to a hospital—and you’ve got Finn Kelly on your payroll.” His on-call concierge doctor who charged a crap ton for his discreet services. “And I also know this is a huge favor to ask, but can you ask him for help? I’ll pay his fees. I just…can’t report this gunshot to the police.”

  His expression was dark as he looked her over once. She ignored the pang in her chest at the sight of him. She had no clue what he was thinking—maybe how much he hated her. But he opened the door anyway and helped her friend out, scooping Samara up into his arms.

  “Watch my ass,” Samara blurted.

  “You didn’t get shot in the ass,” she muttered. “Even if you’re a pain in mine.”

  “Right back at you. I’m Samara, by the way,” she said to Dylan.

  “Dylan Blackwood.” He kept walking through the foyer.

&
nbsp; “I know who you are,” her friend said as they all strode into his gigantic kitchen. Everything was practically sparkling.

  Dylan lifted an eyebrow but didn’t respond otherwise as he stretched Samara out on her side on the center island. “Do you know what kind of ammunition was used?”

  “Pistol, standard ammo, I’m guessing. Not hollow-point that’s for damn sure.”

  He nodded once, then disappeared out of the kitchen and came back less than two minutes later with a small bag in hand. “Finn is on the way but he’s about forty-five minutes out. If I can, I’ll take the bullet out, but he’ll need to stitch you up.”

  Evie watched him work, his movements quick and methodical. He had limited medical knowledge from his time spent in too many war zones during his years in the military. Samara was quiet as he worked, staring up at the ceiling until he put on steri-strips to close her torn flesh. Then she finally shoved out a hard breath.

  “Finn might have to do layered stitches, but for now you’ll be okay.” He handed Samara a couple codeine and a glass of water.

  “Thank you for this.” Evie helped Samara to sit up. She still needed answers from her friend, but she wasn’t going to ask anything else now. Not until they were alone.

  Whatever adrenaline Samara had been experiencing before had faded and now she was clearly exhausted and barely keeping her eyes open.

  “Let’s get her somewhere more comfortable,” Dylan said, practically reading her mind as he lifted Samara up again.

  “I could get used to this,” Samara murmured, her eyes drifting shut as she rested her head on his sturdy shoulder.

  A whole lot of regret knifed through Evie as she remembered all the times she’d been snuggled up in his arms.

  Evie walked with him, her strides sure as they made their way through his palatial mansion. She’d been here many times before but never under these circumstances.

  “Are you in trouble?” Dylan asked her as they reached one of the guest rooms. She’d been in this room before and thought of it as the “hibiscus room” because there were two giant hibiscus bushes outside one of the windows.