Marie-Terese threw open the door. She was white faced and scared to death, but her first words were: “Are you okay?”

It was at that moment that he knew he loved her. Plain and simple.

There was no time to go into that shit now, though.

Vin kissed her quickly. “I want you out of this place. In case she comes back here.”

And as soon as Marie-Terese was safe, he was going to call Jim. He needed one hell of a wingman, and he couldn’t think of anyone better than a son of a bitch who’d already beaten death once and didn’t seem freaked out by shit that would make most guys take a crap in their Calvins.

Abruptly, she wobbled. “I—I think I’m going to pass out—”

“Put your head down—come on, kneel for me….” He laid his hand on her bare shoulder and gently eased her onto the floor. Then he bent her over so that her long hair touched the marble and her hands fell to her ankles. “Breathe nice and slow.”

As she took a couple of inhales and her body shuddered, he wanted to peel his own skin from his bones. Goddamn him, he was worse than her ex-husband. Much more destructive.

Even though his heart was in the right place for the first time in his adult life, what he had exposed her to was more horrifying than anything the mob could pull out of their back pockets.

And it wasn’t like that bunch of sleep-with-the-fishes types were nancies.

Marie-Terese glanced over at him. “Her eyes…What the hell did I just see?”

“Vin! Yo, Vin?”

At the sound of the muffled holler, he leaned around the doorjamb and called out, “Jim?”

“Yeah,” came the response. “I’m here with reinforcements, as they say.”

“In that case, come up.” This was perfect. There was a back exit on the second floor they could get Marie-Terese out of—and wouldn’t it be great to do that with some cover.

“I’m going to run across and get some clothes on,” he told her. “How about you get dressed, too?”

When she nodded, he kissed her, went and gathered up her clothes for her and then closed the bedroom door on his way out.

As heavy boots hit the stairs, Vin went to his room, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and got his gun out of the bedside table—all the while hoping like hell that the “backup” was along the lines of Jim.

And what do you know, they were. The two big bastards were the ones who’d been at the hospital after Jim had been electrocuted—and in spite of the fact that the pair were dressed as civilians, they had the stares of fighters.