He wasn’t going to reach them in time. Too many people in between them. The wackos pushing the dragon started lunging forward, opening a path, so Jack jumped on its back until it was near Elle and then threw himself at her assailants, who, caught by surprise, released her.
“Run,” Jack yelled at her as he fought two of Maldonado’s men. She hesitated, looking disoriented and overwhelmed—in shock probably—so he pushed her away from Nico and Maldonado. “I said run.”
He incapacitated one of the thugs and engaged another, but he was unable to stop all of them from going after Elle again, until suddenly James and Cole appeared, coming to his rescue. Jack caught up with one of the men after her and watched, relieved, as the crowd swallowed her before Nico or any of the other henchmen could grab her. Maldonado rushed ahead, trying to get into a car. Jack reached for him, but Nico intercepted him.
He fought the Russian off, losing precious seconds while Maldonado got into the car. Fuck, the bastard was getting away.
Jack couldn’t fire his gun; he didn’t have a clear shot and there were too many civilians in the crossfire, but Nico didn’t have that problem. He pointed at Jack and pulled the trigger. The bullet missed him, hitting the car that was speeding away. The driver lost control and the vehicle crashed into the stash of explosives on the square, a huge ball of fire lighting up the night, the sound deafening. The expansive soundwave left him disoriented for a long second, but he shook it away and managed to get on his feet. By then Nico was nowhere to be seen.
“Jack, you copy?” he heard from the earbud.
It was James.
“Yes. Max and Cole?”
“Fine.”
“James,” he called out, fighting to make himself heard among the screams, “where is Elle? Do you see her?”
“No, I don’t,” came the voice of his friend.
Fuck, where was she?
“Elle?” he yelled, frantic. He had to find her. He hadn’t seen her being forced into the car with Maldonado, but he’d lost sight of her. Maybe she’d been run over, or got caught in the explosion. His mind was going crazy with possibilities, his pulse racing, his heart about to come out of his chest. The iceman was fucking panicking.
Then he spotted her, standing shakily amid the smoke and the debris, looking around as if she couldn’t make sense of what was going on. The breath he didn’t know he’d been holding rushed out of him in a whoosh and before he could order his body to move, he was already with her, enveloping her tiny body in his arms. Thank fucking God. Alive.
“You okay, pet?” he whispered to her. The paint on her face had gotten smudged and was a mess. Between that and the black smoke, he couldn’t see if she was injured.
She said nothing, just nodded, hugging him tight, her nails digging into him.
He didn’t let her go either. Not while the paramedics were attending to her. Not after the cops showed up and started questioning them. And when they wanted to take her in for a statement, he’d put his foot down. He gave them his cell number and told them he was taking her home. They didn’t argue. Neither did she.
Chapter Seventeen
Jack had taken her to what she assumed was his place. Too shocked to manage the shower on her own, he’d stepped in with her, washing her face, the water running black and red from the paint. Swearing at the bruises on her face. Then he’d put her into a humongous bathtub in the corner, windows in the walls along both sides affording a fantastic view. Unfortunately, Elle was too overwhelmed to appreciate it.
“How did they find me?” she mumbled, leaning her head on his chest. The water was very hot and Jack was sitting behind her, keeping her in his arms.
“Donald. He’s dead.”
“Oh God.” He’d told her he was going to be traveling the whole month, so she hadn’t thought about warning him, not that she would have been able too, seeing as he always liked to be incommunicado. Still, guilt churned in her gut. “How did he…?”
“Die? Badly, we assume. The body hasn’t been recovered yet. Once they got your name it was only a matter of time before they’d figure out where you would be. You, my little pet, are too predictable.”
Then it dawned on her. “If they found out who I am, then they know Alex Ayala is—”
“A cover,” he finished, nodding. “Not too many arms dealers moonlighting as federal witness protectors, I’m afraid.”
She was so sorry she’d messed that up for him. She had always been very careful not to mention his name or publish any of his pictures.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Jack, your sister—”
“Already taken care of. I called while the paramedics were with you.”
“Good.” Elle couldn’t recall it, but to be fair, she couldn’t recall much of what happened after the explosion. It was all a blur of smoke, screams, and debris.
Her only point of reference, her anchor, had been Jack.
Relief had flooded her when she heard the Bowen men talking around her. The thought that something could have happened to them made her chest hurt.
“Sorry I ruined that for you.”
“Don’t sweat it. This was bound to happen at some point. Too visible attending all those Bowen events.”