Unbreakable

believe, but I would never take a chance like that.”

“Then why run?”

“A lot of fucking reasons. You killed Josie and set me up to take the fall. If her father hadn’t covered for me . . .”

Landon shook his head. “I told you that I had nothing to do with that. Nothing.”

“And you didn’t order the shit beat out of me?”

“No.” Landon sighed, reached out and put a hand on Gunner’s shoulder. “You disappointed me. I got rid of you. When the opportunity for you to redeem yourself came up, I gave you the second chance I knew you wanted. You fucked that up. I promised I’d find you and I keep those promises. Always.”

Landon’s hand lingered on his shoulder, then moved slowly down his biceps. Gunner willed himself to stand there under the touch.

“I like the new look.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

Landon smiled. “You didn’t miss anything about working for me?”

Landon was better to Gunner than Powell had been. Didn’t hit him. Treated him like an adult. Taught him things.

Lured him in, let him think he was doing things for the greater good.

“I’m not like your father,” was what Landon used to say, and Gunner wanted to believe that so badly that he talked himself into it.

“I never smuggled humans who didn’t want to be smuggled. I don’t play with life like that.”

Gunner knew that—Landon had lost his mother and sister to human traffickers, which fueled his obsession with stopping as many of them as he could. It’s what made believing he was doing the right thing so easy at times for Gunner.

Landon did, however, move people around like chess pieces on his own personal board, and Gunner reminded him of that. “You take out people to further your business.”

“That’s what business is all about,” Landon said. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Landon.”

“Guest room, James. I don’t want anything more from you that you’re not willing to give.”

“Well, that’s a first,” he muttered.

“I don’t want to break you, Gunner,” Landon told him, using that name for the first time ever. “I don’t think anyone ever could.”

He wouldn’t tell Landon that one person could, that maybe she already had.

Gunner pushed himself up from the table. “Call me James,” he said before he walked out of the sliding glass door and back into the smoke.

* * *

Three minutes. Avery desperately tried to remain calm and was failing. Her hands shook and it was getting harder to hold on to the vase. None of this made sense.

Memories flashed in her mind, almost too quickly for her to hang on to any of them—Gunner, holding her while she’d cried. Gunner tattooing her. Gunner, in her bed . . .

She avoided talking about anything that could be construed as asking him to stay. Instead, she asked, “Why tattoos?”

“Tattoos are like a resume,” he explained. “They’re where you’ve been, where you want to go. In some cultures, they tell everything about you, if you’ve been to prison. If you’ve killed.”

He went quiet then, and she asked, “What do yours say?”

“More than you want to know.”

But she did want to know. She thought on those final hours, about how Gunner had remained under her, how he hadn’t struggled or moved. How she’d been the one to finally roll off.

He hadn’t wanted to let her go. And she’d forced his hand, let him slide out of bed and dress and leave as casually as if he’d be back that night for dinner.

Now, two weeks later, she had more regrets than she could stand. And obviously, so did he.

She could believe the flowers were from him. But the bomb . . .

She wouldn’t stand here waiting for death. She was going to grab that bitch by the balls.

She raised her arms above her head, felt her body shift into gear as adrenaline raced. And then she read the note one last time before throwing the flowers into the air and letting go.

Chapter Six

Avery was shaking so hard her teeth chattered. The only thing that kept her from falling apart completely and immediately was the thought of Billie Jean and her text, sent right before the knock on the door from the flower delivery.

Someone’s been here asking questions about you.

She raced out the door of the panic room that led into the garage, took the alley away from the street and headed to find Billie Jean.

She only hoped she was wrong about not being the only target, that she wasn’t too late. The fact that whoever did this to her tried to make her think Gunner did this to her made her angrier.

The door was locked. She banged on it, tried to see inside but it was dark.

“We’re not open.”

She whirled around to find Lenny getting out of his car.

“Please, I think Billie Jean’s in trouble.”

“She’s not supposed to come in until seven,” Lenny told her. She wanted to shake him, almost grabbed the keys from his hands as he jangled them, looking for the right one.

“Please. Someone tried to kill me. I think Billie’s in real trouble.”

She pushed past Lenny into the darkened bar, listened, heard a moan. Weapon drawn, she motioned for Lenny to stay outside as she cleared the room.

A light that escaped from the partially open kitchen door allowed her to see that there was no one in the main dining area.

She looked behind the bar. Nothing.

She peered into the kitchen. Saw the blood on the floor by the industrial stove. She kicked the door open, ready to take anyone out.

The only one there was Billie, lying on her side on the floor.

“Billie, I’m here. Lenny, call the ambulance and police now!” she yelled, and Lenny came rushing in.

“Shit,” he said, grabbed the cordless phone from its holder and began dialing as she opened the door to the alley. It was well lit and empty.

She closed and locked the door behind her and grabbed clean towels. She put some under Billie’s head, used the others to press the wound in her belly.

Billie’s eyes fluttered open and she laughed weakly. “Guess this ring’s not such good luck after all.”

“You’re still breathing, so I’d say it is.” Avery looked around. Where was the goddamned ambulance? “Billie Jean, help’s coming. You stay with me.”

“Trying.” She gave a short laugh. “Funny, but I thought it’d be you who’d do me in when I first met you.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Avery told her.

“You’re not,” Billie rasped, clutched Avery’s wrist. “Avery, something terrible’s going to happen to you.”

“It already did. I got away,” she quickly reassured the woman.

“Avery, there was a guy in here the other night asking about you. He wasn’t Cajun but he lives here. Has for years. I got the feeling he might know Gunner.”

Billie Jean’s mother had been psychic, and although Billie Jean told Avery she didn’t have skills anywhere close, she got strong feelings at times. It was how she’d known Gunner was in love with Avery. It was how she’d