He lined himself up flat against the house and listened. There was no sound of anyone approaching from the sides or the back. Inside, the sharp inflection of a French accent fired up Hudson’s temper. He shifted, and what he saw was someone writing his own obituary. Julian was standing only inches from Allie, who was backed up to a massive desk. Her face was frozen in a mask concealing what he knew was a replay of the gruesome scene she’d walked in on not long ago.
Impulse told him to storm in there and assume control of the situation. But as much as it killed him to admit it, he had to wait. Still, the urge was damn near overwhelming, and the feeling only intensified as he watched the scene play out in front of him.
Julian pivoted and crossed the room to a safe concealed in the bookcases. Hudson’s eyes refocused, his gaze tightening on the iron box as Julian spun the dial—right, left, then right again. He swung the door open, and when he turned back around, Hudson’s blood went ice cold. It wasn’t the papers in Julian’s left hand that did the deed, but the glock gripped in his right.
Hell no. Hell motherfucking no.
Allie’s chest rose and fell with each breath, and her body trembled. Julian was even closer now, direct-contact close, and the rank joy on his face was a kick to the head. The prick looked like he was in the throes of some orgasmic rush.
Hudson shifted his weight, bracing his feet in the patches of snow that clung to the earth. His spine straightened, his stance widened, and his glare narrowed on the guy who stood precariously close to the edge of his own death.
One fucking move . . .
Then he was touching her. Julian’s fingers twisted in Allie’s hair before trailing down her neck. Abruptly his expression changed and his face contorted with rage. Allie flinched as he ripped down the front of her blouse with a sharp jerk, leaving the delicate garment in tatters and exposing the recording device tucked inside her lace bra.
Fueled by hatred and protective instinct, Hudson surged forward at a dead run. His shoulder slammed into the door, smashing it back against the wall and shattering the glass into a million pieces. Julian’s head shot up at the unexpected interruption, with the business end of the gun following his line of sight. With that hardware in his hand, Hudson knew Julian was a man with a purpose. But so was he. And anyone who got in his way was putting themselves in front of a speeding fucking train.
On a crash course, Hudson launched himself at Julian with brutal force. The two men collided, and using the full weight of his body, Hudson shoved Julian hard against the mantel. Picture frames clattered to the floor and a crystal vase took a dive. One hand wrapped around Julian’s throat while the other caught his wrist. The veins in Julian’s neck bulged and Hudson tightened his grip, hoping like hell the fucker would go hypoxic on him. But the son of a bitch wasn’t going down without a fight. He locked eyes with Hudson and twisted the gun between their bodies.
* * *
Allie’s world stopped spinning at the sound of the gunshot. The thundering noise echoed in her ears, and the smell of gunpowder burned her nostrils. For several agonizing seconds she stood frozen, watching the two men locked in a violent embrace with a gun lodged between them. Then a scream was ripped from somewhere deep within her as Hudson fell to the floor, blood soaking through his shirt in an ever expanding circle.
She dropped to her knees beside him. His eyes were closed and his body was so still. “Hudson . . . stay with me.” The words lodged in her throat as she tried to choke them out. “Please. Don’t leave me.” Tears blurred her vision as she placed both hands over the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. Beneath her palms she felt no heartbeat, no rise and fall of his chest, only a wet pool of crimson.
Julian grabbed her arm. His fingers dug into her flesh as he tried to pull her away.
“No.” Allie struggled against his hold. “Let go of me.”
“Get up,” he snarled, yanking her to her feet and shoving the barrel of the gun beneath her ribs.
“We can’t just leave him like that.” Tears flowed hot and steady down her cheeks as he dragged her down the hall. “We need to call an ambulance.”
Julian ignored her, but she could see the panic in his eyes. Sweat had formed on his brow and upper lip, and his breath came in short, shallow pants. If she could reason with him, even offer him a way out, maybe it wouldn’t be too late.
“Please,” she cried, sobs racking her entire frame. “Don’t do this. He might still be alive. Let me call for help.” Her words tumbled out in a desperate plea. “You can leave with Philippe. I swear, I won’t tell anyone you were here. I’ll say someone broke in, or that it was an accident, just please . . .”
“Shut up,” Julian shouted. Lashing out, he backhanded Allie across the face. The force of the blow spun her toward the table, and she landed with a crash atop a place setting of china. “And stop crying, for fuck’s sake. I need to think.”
In the reflection of the cracked mirror Allie watched as Julian reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He jabbed the screen with his thumb and almost immediately began barking orders. “Bring the car around back . . . No, in the garage. There’s a situation I need you to clean up.”
Allie pushed to her feet. Everywhere she looked she saw blood. Her mother’s, streaked across the wall in front of her; her own, dripping from the cut on her face; and Hudson’s, smeared across the white linen where her hands had tried to break her fall. Down the hall her husband lay dying, or maybe he was already dead. She needed to be by his side. Julian had taken her parents from her. There was no way she was letting him take the only man she’d ever loved.
Julian ended the call and strode to where she stood, her arms braced against the table. She drew a shaky breath as he reached for her, and when his fingers curled in her hair, hers curled around the knife resting alongside the cracked plate.
“Let’s go,” he growled. He yanked Allie up by the roots of her hair. She turned, ignoring the look of terror that registered in Julian’s eyes as she plunged the knife into his heart.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Allie rode with Hudson in the ambulance. At first they’d tried to tell her she had to follow in a different car, but after a few quietly spoken words from Max, she’d been ushered to a seat in the corner of the rig and told to stay back and allow them to work. She had no idea what he’d said to them, or to the police for that matter, but he’d made it possible for her to stay with her husband, and for that she would always be grateful.
Max had arrived shortly after she’d called 911 and immediately took control of the situation. His confident and calm demeanor was her lifeline amidst the bedlam that erupted after what had seemed liked hours but in reality had only been a matter of minutes. Paramedics and police, loud sirens and flashing lights. Allie blocked them all out and kept her focus on the man Hudson trusted most in the world, relying on him to see her through the darkest moment of her life.
The ride to the hospital was a blur. Allie sat in the corner as instructed, wearing the jacket Max had given her to cover her torn blouse, and offering silent prayers. A team met them when they arrived, and she watched in fascinated horror as the scene before her played out like one of Dick Wolf’s television shows. Words that had no meaning to her were barked by men and women wearing hospital scrubs or white coats. There were a million questions she wanted to ask them, but before she had time to form even one, Hudson was being whisked through a set of double doors.