Maybe it was the harrowing circumstances. Or maybe that stray thought she’d had about destiny hadn’t been just a stray thought. If the Olympian pantheon Piers worshipped had a hand in this, the Fates probably weren’t far behind. In fact, they were probably well ahead of everyone.

Sophie breathed Piers in, along with the crisp scents of pine boughs and winter. Mulled cider. Rink ice. Snow and a hint of exhaust. It was New York, after all. Piers’s big hand squeezed her shoulder, half comforting and half an erotic zap she felt deep in her belly. She wanted his hands on her. She wanted them everywhere. Her whole body tightened. Luckily, she was good at multitasking, because she’d just added Seduce Piers to her immediate agenda.

A red light flashed, distracting her. She glanced down. The little dot stopped on her chest, right over her heart. Her pulse exploded. “Oh my God,” Sophie breathed out, her muscles freezing solid.

“What is that?” With his free hand, Piers swiped at the little red spot on her parka. He tried again, scowling.

“Someone’s aiming a gun at me.” Fear shattered her voice down to a broken whisper. “They’re hidden somewhere. A rooftop. A window.” Only her eyes moved as she scanned the buildings in front of them, seeing nothing. “They can kill me from a distance.”

“Like with an arrow?” Piers’s sharp gaze followed hers to the rooftops. His arm tightened around her shoulders.

“A bullet. More powerful than an arrow. Faster.” She’d be dead before they even heard the shot go off. A tremor went through her. And here, she’d been feeling almost safe. Stupid. She should’ve stayed out of sight. She should’ve run to a new city. Stupid. Stupid. Panic surged, turning her heart into a sledgehammer.

Something sharp pressed into the small of Sophie’s back. Her eyes shot wide, and she sucked in a breath.

“You’re almost making this too easy,” a rough voice said behind her. “Give me the crystal, and you walk away from here. No mess. No questions. That’s what we all want, isn’t it?”

Piers dropped his arm from around her shoulders with such a hard downward strike that Sophie heard the knife clatter to the pavement. He yanked her hard at the same time, whirling her away. She dove behind the barrier overlooking the skating rink.

“Piers! Get down!” she shouted. A shot could go off at any second. Why didn’t it? Too many people? Too conspicuous? If a shooting in the heart of New York City at Christmas ever got traced back to Novalight Enterprises, it would ruin a man already disliked by millions.

She glanced anxiously around the plaza. Maybe the gun was just to scare her into cooperating, and the man with the knife was supposed to retrieve the ice shard.