I winced. "Yeah, I took off my com unit while I was talking to Theroux."
"Jesus Christ, it's almost like you like to fight with him."
"Well, sometimes you need to fight to get what you want."
She shook her head. "You know what, the two of you deserve each other. I'm being serious. All your whining, you deserve each other. Entirely."
"Are you too tired to take me to the hospital?"
"Well, since you're the one who got the collar on Garreth Jameson, I suppose I could get you some medical attention."
"God, you're such a wuss."
"And you're such a twat. I could have killed you myself for going back in that tunnel. It was dangerous, Ny."
"I know. I know. And you don't even know half of the story right now."
"Good thing we’ve got the whole ride to the hospital for me to hear it."
"Yeah. Any chance you can ping East for me? I'm pretty sure I need to get that extra helping of 'what the fuck were you thinking’ over with before he— No, on second thought, give him a chance to cool off."
"That’s probably a good decision. He's not at all thrilled. How do you feel?"
"Like I’ve been shot. God, I fucking hate being shot."
She laughed. "I can imagine. Maybe next time, wait for backup?"
"Yeah, backup. Sure."
"You're okay?"
"Uh, not exactly sure, but I think I will be. Now, can you get me out of here before Denning has an afterthought to pick my brain about?"
"You don't have to worry about that. He's more concerned about saving his own arse right now. The director called after we arrested Jameson. He asked to speak to Denning, of course, to find out who to credit for the arrest. But when he asked to speak to me, I gave him the real deal. And then he asked to speak to Denning again. Since then, he's been shouting orders."
"You know what, at least one good thing came out of it."
"Yeah, at least one good thing. Come on, up you get."
"What would I do without you?"
"Thankfully, you never have to figure it out."
Chapter Twenty-Three East
She'd scared me. Seriously fucking scared me half to death.
When her eyes blinked open, I scowled down at her. "You have a lot of explaining to do, young lady." Nyla’s lips tipped up in a small smile, and then her eyes fluttered closed again. "Oh no, you don't. You're not asleep. You will explain to me how the fuck you got yourself shot again."
"Oh my God, can you bring the volume down a little? You're up here at nine point five. I really, really need you to dial it back to like a two. The meds they'd given me make my head hurt."
Panic raced through my blood, choking me. "Do I need to get you a new doctor?"
She coughed a laugh. "Oh my God, no. I don't need a new doctor. I perhaps need to stop getting shot, but I don't need a new doctor."
I glared down at her. "Do you think this is funny?"
"A little?"
"Nyla!"
She winced again. "No, goddamn it, I don't think it's funny."
"I don't love this new habit of yours."
"Well, you started the tradition, so this is really your fault."
"What the—" I forced myself to take a deep breath. "You're trying to make me lose my temper."
"Is it working?"
"Nyla, this isn't funny." I swallowed hard, trying to gather my thoughts and make sure that I said the words correctly. "At any point, I could have lost you, and I wouldn't have survived that."
Her eyes went soft. "I know, and I promise you, I was in no danger."
I was going to shoot her myself.
You tried that already, remember?
I scowled. "Would you take this seriously? I was scared.”
Her gaze softened then. "I understand. And I'm okay. I promise. See? Almost good as new. And he only managed to scrape my upper shoulder."
"So, you're saying I shouldn't go after him?"
"I think you can leave him be."
"Nyla, this isn't one of those times where you tell me Interpol will handle it. He shot you."
She sighed then. "I asked him to."
"What?" She had to be kidding.
"Look, I know you're jealous that you're not the only one to have ever shot me, but I let him go."
The woman I loved was lying on a hospital bed because some idiot had shot her. It was all too familiar. "What are you talking about?"
"Denning was coming, so I told Theroux to shoot me so he could get away."
Again, I blinked at her. "You need to start using English, because I'm clearly not understanding what language it is that you're speaking."
"Hardy-har. East, you understand."
"What is there to understand? He shot you, Ny."
She sighed. "I know he did. East, he's my father."
I froze then. "What?"
"Theroux is my father."
"Bullshit."
She sighed. "My mother was in a relationship with Theroux. And it seems that she and Warlow and Theroux were partners. And then something went wrong. They were going after a painting, one her family used to own. She was obsessed with this painting and she planned a heist to take it thirty-two years ago. And they did manage to steal it. It was the Wilson Collins painting that's been hanging outside of Lord Jameson’s, I mean, Henry Warlow’s office this whole time."
I whistled low. "Jesus fucking Christ."
"Yeah, Jesus fucking Christ. They stole it. Pulled off this huge heist, and then Warlow, jilted and upset that my mother chose Theroux instead of him, stole it from under their noses."
"God, he really is a peach, you know?"
"He is a piece of work, all right. So, anyway, he stole it from them, and then made my mother believe Theroux had done it and turned the police on them. Once the evidence fell on my mother, she started cutting deals.”
I stared at her. "Wow. My God. He really— I guess there really is no honor amongst thieves."
"Nope, there sure isn't."
"All right, so she thought Theroux
