Page 126 of Connor's Claim

Genevieve and I had moved with him, and she stared at the head of security. “What is it?”

“Cop cars. What looks like one of the TV crew vans as well. More incoming.”

She breathed out. “It’s a setup.”

A body left somewhere near the warehouse with the police and cameras appearing at the same time, right as the skeleton crew were primed to go to war. My heart raced. She was right.

“Get them back inside,” Genevieve demanded. “They’re armed. If they get arrested, that’s enough to get them sent down. Get them back inside, Manny!”

The howl of pain that came from outside pierced the door and our thoughts, and somehow the night got darker still.

Chapter 42

Connor

From a lamppost on the riverbank path, a body swung by its feet. Alisha. Oh fucking God, no.

I threw myself down the incline to the path and scrambled to her, her head and shoulders at the height of my own, but inverted and facing the water. Reaching out, I cradled her, turned her.

Desperate hope iced over into freezing shock.

It was too late.

A red gash tore through her throat. Not a neat line like with Natasha, but a hack to the bone.

At my side, Arran howled in anguish.

“Get her down.” My words came out choked.

Above us, on the cobbled boulevard that led from the warehouse all the way into the centre of town, the crew members who’d run with us spoke her name.

“It’s Alisha.”

“Murdered like the others.”

Their horrified whispers filled with pity. Some echoed the anger suspended inside me.

Then one of the men hollered out. “Shade, some fucker with a camera crew is coming down. The cops are right behind.”

I managed to find words through my despair. “Hold the cameras back. Let Kenney through if he’s here.”

In my arms, Alisha was cold.

Arran sliced through the rope, and I lowered her to the ground, stripping my jacket to cover her form, as if it could repair the shredding of her dignity. Of her life. As if we could do anything for her now. We should have taken better care of her.

Alisha had been one of us, and now she was gone.

Everything that happened next seemed to move in slow motion. Arran took control, disarming me and also himself, with a crewmember sneaking our weapons away a second ahead of a uniform appearing in my peripheral vision. He ordered everyone else to melt into the shadows then get back inside by the rear exit.

Chief Constable Kenney griped at us for cutting her down, but his tone held sympathy as well, and he snarled at the camera crew who’d forced their way closer.

We backed away. They gave us no choice.

The scene was cordoned off and a white tent erected. Arran and I were taken to the station to give evidence. Not a first for either of us, but never on behalf of someone we cared about.

All I could think about was our last conversation, where she’d been wistful and I’d only been distracted. If I’d listened properly, this might not have happened.

Which made it my fucking fault.