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unpretty mug. "Thank you."
    The big guy blinked like someone had turned a strobe on him.
    Patrick knew the feeling. And to get past it, he rummaged through the kitchen drawers. He found some twine and did a quick job of trussing up Coleman. "If he tries to get up, Bog, sit on him."
    He nodded.
    Gina scooped up the money from the floor—God knows how many thousands, but a hell of a lot more than the twenty grand Bogdan had bargained for. "Take this." She stuffed packets into his pockets, into his hand. "Go home and see your mother."
    Standing back from him, she added, "Patrick and I have to go. There are some men coming. Good guys. You can trust them. They'll get you to a doctor—and out of the country. Just do what they say."
    When Bogdan nodded again, she turned to Patrick.
    "Let's go."

 
     
     
    Chapter 9

     
    Patrick wanted to meet this Tanner guy, but it didn't happen. All he saw was a hand emerge from a limo parked on the street at the bottom of the driveway. Gina put the journal in the hand, said a few words he couldn't hear, the window went up, and the limo drove off all sleek and silent.
    Game over. Definitely over for Coleman.
    Patrick spotted six shadowy figures making their way up the driveway to the main house. The cleanup crew. Tanner was nothing if not effective.
    Gina came back to where he was standing under a dripping chestnut tree. She stood in front of him, but said nothing.
    He pointed in the direction of his Ford half a block away. "Where to?"
    She chewed on her lip for a time, then said, "Your place?"
    He nodded, and they walked without touching toward his car.
    "Everything okay?" he asked.
    "Good. It's all good."
    "Your brother?"
    "Tanner has a line on Safi. Once he lets her know Coleman's been neutralized, and the Ravens have the journal, Marco will call."
    In the short time it took to drive to his apartment, there was no more conversation. Gina spent the ride staring out the window, as far away from him as she could get in the front seat of a car.
    She looked beat. No surprise. It was long past four in the morning.
    At the bottom of the stairs leading to his place, which were on the outside of the old, two-story building, she took his hand. They climbed together.
    Once inside, he flipped on a single lamp, then asked, "Hungry? Want a drink? What?"
    "Sleep. I want sleep." She met his eyes. "Preferably with you."
    Something crumbled inside his chest. "Probably not a good idea."
    "Just sleep, Patrick. It wouldn't be the first time we've... just slept with each other."
    "Yeah, but it's been a long time. And right now I'm not up for a character test." He nodded to one of two doors in his small apartment. "That way lies a bed. Take it. I'll take the sofa."
    She stared at him a long time, then gave him the barest hint of a smile. "I could change your mind."
    He thought about that. "You could. But you won't." He jerked his head toward the second door. "That's the bathroom. You can get at it from the bedroom too. I'm going for a walk." He felt as much like heading out into the rain and wind as downing a razor-laced vodka martini, but if he didn't get out of here, he'd explode. Heading out the door, he thought this had to be where the expression "cock-of-the walk" originated—from a guy and his untrustworthy dick, walking away from trouble.
    He gave her half an hour, and when he got back, the lamp was still on. The living room was empty. Heart-in-mouth—thinking she was gone—he checked the bedroom.
    Gina lay sprawled across his bed on her stomach, wearing one of his T-shirts. Her ridiculous blond hair covered her face and one arm dangled over the edge of the bed. All he could do was stand there and listen to her deep, slow breathing. Like a song, it was. It took a minute or two—or five—before he managed to turn away and close the door behind him. He did some deep breathing and shoved the heels of his hands against his burning eyes.
    Fuck if his damn heart didn't hurt like a wounded beast.
    Patrick