on your side,” he assured her, “but what’s your name?”
“Madelyn,” she said. “My name is Madelyn Thompkins.”
“Madelyn,” the man said, pulling her closer still, “I’m Roman.”
“Why do I need to know who you are?”
“Because as an Eagle Scout, I’m honor bound to introduce myself to any distressed damsels that I kiss.”
* * *
Roman wrapped his arms around Madelyn’s waist and pulled her to him. She gave a little mew of surprise. The kiss was for show and at the same time, blood pounded at the base of Roman’s skull with his desire for more. He didn’t mind all the hours spent alone, but damn—holding Madelyn felt good, like he truly had come home.
Even though it hadn’t been part of his plan, Roman slid his tongue into her mouth. She pushed at him, her hands splayed against his chest. Yet as the kiss deepened and she returned the ardor, the tension in her arms relaxed and her body formed to his.
Overhead, the light blazed to life.
“Roman Black.” The alias always sounded foreign to his ears, yet he recognized the person who spoke as The Prow’s owner, Oleg Zavalov. “What the hell’s going on here?”
Roman broke away from the kiss. He did so reluctantly—as if forced to stop something he enjoyed—and it wasn’t exactly an act.
Oleg Zavalov stood in the doorway. Hair slicked back, he wore a tailored suit, along with a button-down shirt, open at the throat. He was flanked by his two underlings from Russia, Anton and Serge. Both men were tall and broad and stupid, a complete contrast to Oleg. And Roman was certain that one of them was Nikolai’s great-nephew.
“Oleg.” Roman pulled Madelyn into his chest. “Sorry about using your office. We just needed a moment of privacy and the beer cooler didn’t seem like a classy place to take a lady.”
Oleg always had a beautiful woman or two hanging off his arm. So Roman knew that he’d never begrudge anyone a quick hookup.
With a shake of his head, Oleg clapped Roman on the shoulder. “I knew you’d eventually find someone you liked. Next time use the stockroom like everyone else.”
“Sure,” said Roman. His eye went to the place where he’d hastily planted the ELD. He forced himself to look away. Grabbing Madelyn’s hand, he led her to the door and into the hallway.
“Hey, Black,” Oleg called.
He turned. Oleg sat on the edge of his desk. His leg swung lazily back and forth and his rear was settled right above the ELD.
Roman began to sweat. “Yeah?”
“They need a keg upstairs. Get the beer to the bar and then if you want a break, take one.”
Silently, Anton and Serge slipped into the office. Like twin pillars of brute force, they took up positions at opposite sides of the door.
“Sure,” Roman said. “I’ll take care of the beer right away.”
Roman’s hand remained on Madelyn’s back. Her muscles tensed under his touch. He assumed she was sensitive to the implication of what a break entailed and he hated that she might see him as creep.
For the first time in months, Roman wanted to explain himself to someone—to Madelyn, specifically. To hell with his undercover work, he needed her to see him as the good guy and not a part of all this, the criminal underbelly of Boulder.
His hand still on Madelyn’s back, he led her to the stairs. That ELD wasn’t going to stay hidden for long and the best Roman could hope for was another chance to reposition it later in the night.
But first, he needed to get Madelyn out of the bar and make sure she was safe. She ascended the stairs. One. Two. Three. He followed close behind. As her foot landed on the fourth step, a metallic thunk filed from the office and swept into the corridor.
The ELD really hadn’t stayed hidden for long.
“Run,” he whispered into Madelyn’s ear.
She took the remaining steps two at a time, Roman on her heels.
“What the hell?” There was a moment of silence and then Oleg began to curse. “Roman!” he bellowed.
Roman didn’t bother to slow his stride or answer.
“Get back here.”
Roman felt an invisible target between his shoulder blades. He imagined one on Madelyn’s, as well.
“Roman!”
Roman had very few options. Run, and get shot in the back. Or stay, and be murdered in Oleg’s office. Neither appealed, but he refused to be taken down without a fight.
With the door just two steps away, Roman reached around Madelyn to grip the handle. A familiar click resounded through the hallway. Such a small noise, insignificant and yet so momentous that it reverberated in his chest. It was the unmistakable sound of a gun’s safety being released.
* * *
Madelyn’s thoughts were disjointed and jumbled all at once. She could barely comprehend what had just happened. The men. Their guns. Icy terror clawing at her throat. A strong arm pushing open the door. Rushing into the bar, she stumbled on the last step. The same strong arm lifted her and ushered her forward. She ran, stumbling again as she heard a crack, the whiff of sulfur, followed by buzzing in her ears.
She looked over her shoulder, and the continuum of time began to flow again. The men with the guns were right behind her. One stood, his weapon drawn, a tendril of smoke swirling from the barrel. Roman, the man who’d kissed her—warned her about this bar—turned back. He lifted a bar stool and brought it around. It crashed into the man with a gun. He teetered. The firearm flew from his grasp. The second man lifted his arm, gun in hand. Roman delivered a kick to his knee and the shooter crumpled to the floor. Frightened bar patrons scattered to the corners of the room.
“Roman,” she screamed.
The first man had risen to his knees and was reaching for his gun. Roman planted one foot on the outstretched hand. His other foot connected with the man’s chin. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his head snapped back. The second man was unsteady, but up. He leveled his gun with Roman’s chest. Without thought, Madelyn lifted a glass from the bar and threw. It hit the man in the shoulder. There wasn’t adequate force to knock him down, just enough to ruin his aim.
“Get the hell out of here,” Roman said to her.
Madelyn didn’t need to be told twice. Pivoting, she sprinted to the door. She pushed it open and took in one gulping breath of clean, fresh air. But then...
An arm encircled her waist. Her lungs emptied in a gasp and her feet dangled above the floor.
“Hold on there. You aren’t going anywhere.” The stench of beer breath and cologne washed over her. Acidic fear rose in the back of her throat.
Madelyn grabbed the hand that held
