“No,” Julian says, crossing the room. “Not yet. But we may need to expedite your departure.” He stops in front of me. “I just learned that an artist’s sketch of the three of us is being circulated in the local FBI’s office. The brother who got away must have a good memory for faces. The Sullivans are looking for us, and if they’re as well connected as we think, we don’t have much time.”

Fear wraps like barbed wire around my chest. “Do you think they already know about my parents?”

“I have no idea, but it’s not entirely out of the question. Call them now, and tell them to pack what they can. We’ll pick them up in an hour, and I’ll bring all of you to the airport.”

“Wait a minute.” I stare at Julian. “All of us? What about you?”

“I need to deal with the Sullivan threat. Lucas and I will remain behind along with most of the guards.”

“What?” I find it hard to breathe all of a sudden. “What do you mean, you’ll remain behind?”

“I need to clean up this mess,” Julian says impatiently. “Now, are we going to waste time talking about this, or are you calling your parents?”

I swallow the bitter objections rising in my throat. “I’m going to call them now,” I say tightly, reaching for my phone.

Julian is right; now is not the time to argue about this. However, if he thinks I’m going to meekly go along with this, he’s deeply mistaken.

I will do whatever it takes not to lose him again.

32

Julian

The drive to Nora’s parents’ house passes in tense silence. I’m busy coordinating the security logistics with my team, and Nora is furiously texting with her parents, who seem to be bombarding her with questions about the sudden change of plans. Rosa watches us both quietly, the black-and-blue swelling on her face hiding her expression.

As soon as we arrive, Nora hurries into the house, and I follow her in, not wanting to leave her alone for even a half hour. Rosa remains in the car with Lucas, explaining that she doesn’t want to be in the way.

When I walk in, I see that Rosa was right to stay outside.

Inside, the Lestons’ place is a madhouse. Gabriela is rushing around, trying to stuff as many items as possible into a huge suitcase, and her husband is speaking loudly on the phone, explaining to someone that yes, he has to leave the country now, and no, he’s sorry he couldn’t give more notice.

“They’re going to fire me,” he mutters darkly as he hangs up, and I resist the urge to say that no job is worth his life.

“If they fire you, I’ll help you find another position, Tony,” I say instead, sitting down at the kitchen table. Nora’s father shoots me an angry glare in response, but I ignore him, focusing on the dozens of emails that managed to pile up in my inbox in the last few hours.