Leah forgot the rope a moment. “That’s true.”
Oh. God. Michael was now in danger of vomiting.
Juan Carlo went down on his haunches before her. “If you were not to die, I would urge you to trust more,” he said, and put his palm on her cheek. “You cannot know great joy until you have known great pain.”
“Oh, Ado—I mean, Juan Carlo. That’s really profound.”
“Si, it is very wise. But hear this,” he added. “You are too stubborn.”
“Excuse me? Why does everyone think I should just blindly accept what Michael says?”
“You should not,” Juan Carlo said. “But when he tells you things, it is not attractive to be stubborn. You look. . .” He glanced at Michael over his shoulder and said in Spanish, “like a bull.”
“Bullheaded,” Michael helpfully supplied.
“Oh!” Leah cried indignantly.
“Remember this.” Juan Carlo smiled, patted her cheek, and stood up, tapping the nozzle of the gun against his arm as he turned toward Michael. “But it does not matter now, does it? Come now, Michael Raney. Give me the key.”
Michael laughed. “The key won’t do you any good, Juan Carlo. The safe is empty. It’s all sitting in Swiss bank accounts with my name on it.”
The tapping of the gun stilled. “Do not play games with me,” he warned. “I will kill your love first and let you watch her die.”
Leah’s brows dipped into a V at that. She clenched her jaw and very quietly let go of the rope, judging by the way it slackened around her body. Michael kept his eye on Juan Carlo, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “You want the key?” he asked.
“Si,” Juan Carlo said with a bit of a bow as Leah managed to push the ropes down around her waist.
“Then I’ll tell you where it is.”
“Go on.”
“Maribel has it.”
Juan Carlo’s laugh was cold. “Even if you do not produce the key, I will still kill you, Michael Raney. I have my honor to protect.”
“Yeah, well, Maribel stomped all over your honor, amigo. She used that key like a red light,” he said as Leah quickly pushed the rope down to her knees. “It was her ticket to good sex. That was her problem with you, you know. No finesse in the bedroom.”
He would never know who moved first—Leah, or him, or even Juan Carlo. But as Juan Carlo lifted the gun to shoot him. Michael lunged at the same moment Leah rose up and clipped Juan Carlo in the back, just like Cooper had taught them in boot camp. When Juan Carlo doubled over on his side, Michael leaped to his feet and kicked him in the face, knocking him back.
The gun went flying out of Juan Carlo’s hand, and he was forced around by the blow to his head. He fell against the bureau, and as Leah kicked him, Michael launched himself at Juan Carlo, landing on his body and crashing with him to the floor.
He didn’t know how Leah fell, but when she scrambled to her feet, she was holding the gun by the finger loop, as far away from her body as she could.
“Leah!” Michael shouted. “Get the rope!”
She whirled around, saw that Michael had Juan Carlo’s hands behind his back, but that Juan Carlo was struggling and cursing them in Spanish. She instantly put the gun on the bed, grabbed the rope—grappling with the chair for a moment—and then fell on Juan Carlo’s legs, wrapping the rope around his feet.
In the meantime, Michael grabbed the other end of it and strove to get the rope around Juan Carlo’s hands, who was frantically struggling now, his face red with his cursing. Leah scrambled up the side of Juan Carlo and grabbed his head, which caused a burst of blue Spanish and venom directed at her. Leah cringed, but Michael encouraged her. “Hold on, you’re doing great.”
She held on while Michael trussed him up, not only to himself, but to the bed. He jumped up with Juan Carlo screaming at him, grabbed the gun, and then grabbed Leah, pushing her out the door. “Go!” he said to her. “Get out of here!”
Leah ran.
Michael turned back to Juan Carlo, pointed the gun at his head. “You fucking bastard,” he breathed.
Juan Carlo just laughed. “Kill me,” he said easily. “Without the key, I am a dead man already.”
As Leah reached the door, it flew open, and several men stormed in. She screamed; one of them grabbed her, clamped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her outside. “Jesus, lady, take a breath! We’re here to help.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled it free of her mouth and then dragged a breath into her lungs. Several deep breaths, actually, until her heart stopped racing and her hands stopped shaking. And then she looked at the guy in the suit with the shades. “Who in the hell are you?” she demanded.
He smiled. “Hey, it’s okay. Everything is okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight