Chapter 19: Micah - Keeping Knight

“I don’t like this.”

As I burst onto the sidewalk outside Ruby’s building, I glance over at Rogue. “It’s too convenient,” I continue. “For it to happen now? While I’m gone? I have a bad feeling about it.”

Keeping pace to my right, Rogue yanks out his phone and starts typing without missing a step. “It might be a coincidence,” he replies. “Don’t assume the worst. Not yet.”

“How can I not?” Darting around a woman with a double stroller, I race towards the intersection, intent on hitting it before the light turns. Not that I have any plans of stopping, but it’ll be easier to get across if I don’t have to dodge Manhattan traffic to do it. “I’m gone for two hours and this happens. Two damn hours. What are the odds?”

“Not great,” he concedes. “But it could be a false alarm.”

“There’s smoke. Ruby said they were evacuating the floor.” Keeping one eye on the pedestrian traffic and the other on my phone, I pull up the video feed from the hallway outside my condo. The hallway is empty now, and the smoke has dissipated from when I last looked at it. The emergency lights are still flashing. But when I tap the speaker to listen, the alarms are off.

“I’m checking the status of the response.” Rogue takes another quick look at his phone. “Looks like two stations responded already. Nine-one-one calls reported smoke on the thirty-ninth floor. They’re moving everyone to the thirty-sixth floor.”

Just as we reach the intersection, the walk light begins to flash. Putting on an extra burst of speed, I sprint across the street. Instead of slowing when I reach the other side, I keep running as fear urges me forward.

Ruby’s in trouble. I know it. From the moment I read her text about the fire alarm, my gut just knew.

The timing is too damn perfect. We get a lead, and not two hours after I leave to investigate it, the fire alarm goes off, forcing Ruby to leave the safety of the condo.

“Have you gotten hold of Beau?” I ask.

Rogue sounds grim. “Not yet.” He sidesteps a teenager wearing giant headphones and singing at the top of his lungs, then taps his phone and lifts it to his ear. After a few seconds, he shakes his head. “Still no answer.”

“Shit,” I curse loudly. An older woman shoots me a scolding look as I pass her, and out of habit, I mutter, “Sorry.”

“There could be an explanation,” Rogue says. He’s not out of breath, even though we’re running at full speed. But then again, neither am I. “If they’re in a stairwell, with all the fireproofing…”

“Maybe,” I concede. A quick glance at the street sign tells me we’re still ten blocks from my place. It’s a pleasant walk on a good day, but today? It feels like I’m ten light-years away, instead.

Although if I tried to find a ride right now, it would be even worse. With the traffic as bad as it is, I could be stuck for twice as long as it would take to run. The subway? Far too unreliable. A bus? Forget it.

For the next few blocks, Rogue and I run in relative silence. He keeps trying to reach Beau. I keep calling Ruby. And the more time that passes without either of them responding, the more my worry grows.

When we’re six blocks out, Rogue veers closer to me. “Still nothing from Beau. But I’ve got Jester and Wraith heading over. I still think it could be nothing. Probably is nothing. But better safe than sorry.”

“Do you really think it’s nothing?” I shoot back. “After hearing what Haverford had to say?”

“I don’t know,” he replies after a few seconds’ thought. “On paper, it makes sense.”

On paper, it does. We have an older, single guy living in close proximity to Ruby. As the manager of the building, he would know all the ins-and-outs of it—where the few security cameras were located, which fire escape was Ruby’s, and if anyone saw him lingering around her apartment, it could easily be explained away as maintenance. And that’s only the circumstantial evidence. Combined with the positive ID on the surveillance footage and the photos of Ruby we found on Haverford’s computer⁠—

My jaw clenches as the memory comes back to me. Looking over Rogue’s shoulder at the hidden folders on Haverford’s hard drive, and opening one of them to find dozens of photos of Ruby inside.

Ruby walking into the building, her arms laden with grocery bags.

Ruby in the laundry room, obviously oblivious to the camera on her.

Ruby sitting out on her fire escape, a glass of iced tea beside her and a book in her lap.

All meticulously labeled by date and time, stretching back for nearly a year.

Considering all of that, Haverford looks guilty. If we turn over the evidence to the police—anonymously, since we’d rather not explain our methods of getting the evidence to begin with—I’m pretty sure it would be enough to charge him.

The only problem? When Haverford insisted he never did anything to Ruby, my gut said he was telling the truth.

Maybe he’s just a talented actor. But his reaction rang true. “Hurt Ruby?” he asked, his expression aghast. “I would never. Why would I want to hurt a sweet girl like that?”

“Maybe you were angry that she wasn’t responding to your advances,” I shot back. “Or maybe you wanted to hurt a sweet girl like her.”

“No,” he protested, shaking his head. “No. I like Ruby. I tried to help her, especially after her dad died. I would never hurt her.”

“Why are there photos of her on your computer?” Rogue snapped. “Are you going to claim you were trying to help Ruby by stalking her?”

Haverford’s frightened gaze jumped from my silicone mask to Rogue’s. “I didn’t take them. I don’t know how they got there. I swear.”

Of course, he could have been lying. Most suspects, when confronted with evidence of their guilt, claim innocence. But there was something in his expression that planted a seed of doubt in my mind. And now, with the conveniently-timed fire… the roots are taking hold.

“On paper it makes sense,” I agree. “But what does your gut say?”

Rogue glances at me. His mouth pinches. “It says there’s more to this.”

“Yeah.” My jaw clenches again. “I think there is.”

We both fall silent again as we come up behind a trio of women carrying what looks like their weight in shopping bags. Once we pass them, Rogue says, “If there’s more to get out of him, Houdini will do it.”

When I got Ruby’s text about the fire midway through questioning Haverford, there was no question of me going home. Initially, I thought I’d go alone. But Rogue insisted on going with me, and Houdini agreed. As we quickly conferenced in Haverford’s kitchen, while the terrified building manager sat passively in his restraints, Houdini reasoned, “I can handle this guy myself. You two should go back. Make sure everything is okay with Ruby.”

So Rogue and I left, leaving Houdini to continue questioning Haverford. “Don’t push him too much on my account,” I warned Houdini. “Don’t do anything you could get in serious trouble for.”

A touch ironic, considering we broke into Haverford’s apartment while wearing custom silicone masks to disguise our identities and illegally restrained the guy once we were inside. But we hadn’t gotten to the real intimidation part yet—the part I referred to as unconventional when I talked to Ruby earlier.

“Fuck off,” Houdini replied. “We’re in this together. And Ruby’s part of the family now. Whatever it takes to ensure her safety, I’ll do it.”

“There are the trucks,” Rogue says, gesturing with his chin at the flashing lights up ahead. “Not as many as I’d thought there’d be. Maybe it was a false alarm after all.”

“Maybe,” I mutter. A false alarm should be good news. Unless it was intentionally set in an attempt to draw Ruby out.

“Still no Beau?” I ask. Without waiting for an answer, I dial Ruby’s number again. It rings uselessly before switching over to voicemail, and I repeat the same message I’ve left numerous times already. “Call me, Rue. Right away. It’s an emergency.”

Then I switch over to the tracking app to check on Ruby’s location again. The tracker hidden inside the necklace I gave her displays a small red dot at my building. But as much as I’d like to take comfort from it, I can’t. There are too many uncertainties. Did she put the necklace on after her shower, or did she leave it off, assuming she didn’t need the added security when she was inside my condo? What if she lost it during the evacuation? What if someone took it from her?

Just as I pocket my phone again, Rogue does the same. Deep frown lines are etched across his forehead. “Still no Beau.” He grimaces. “I’m worried.”

Hearing him say that reinforces my own fears, sending my stomach swooping to my feet. “Shit.”

In unspoken agreement, we pick up our pace, sprinting outright as we close the final block to my building. As we approach, I scan the crowd of bystanders, hoping against hope to spot Ruby among them. But she’s not there. Neither are Beau or Sampson.

At least a dozen firefighters and police officers are clustered around the entrance, keeping everyone clear. Two firefighters head inside while I’m watching, moving quickly, but not running like I’d imagine they would be if there were an actual fire.

“You can’t go inside,” one of the officers barks at us. “Emergency personnel only.”

“I live here,” I snap. “My girlfriend is inside.”

His stern expression softens slightly. “You have to wait out here until the place is cleared. I’m sorry. Have you tried calling her?”

My fist itches to punch him. “Of course I’ve called her. She’s not answering. That’s why I need to get to her.”

My gaze slides over to meet Rogue’s. I don’t have to say anything. He knows what I’m thinking.

Straightening, he holds his hand out to the officer. “I’m Nico Parisi. Founder and CEO of Fox & Falcon Security. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of us, but we often work with the NYPD.”

The officer’s eyes widen in recognition. “Fox & Falcon? Yeah, I’ve heard of you guys.” Then he shakes his head as he gives us an apologetic smile. “Still can’t let you inside, though. Rules are rules.”

Rogue shifts slightly, maneuvering the officer so his back is to me. “Maybe you can just tell me what’s going on here. Is it an actual fire? Or another false alarm wasting everyone’s time?”

I watch the officer carefully, waiting for my chance to move.

“Shit,” he replies. “Talk about a waste of time. From what I heard, someone set off a couple of smoke bombs. Got everyone all panicked. A punk teenager, at my best guess. Hopefully, we can catch him. Teach him a lesson.”

“I hope so,” Rogue says grimly. His gaze cuts over to mine.

I nod in agreement. Then, as soon as the officer starts talking again, I bolt for the entrance.

I make it within twenty feet of the entrance before voices start calling for me to stop. But the head start Rogue gave me is enough to ensure I beat them inside. Blasting through the double glass doors, I sprint for the stairs, deciding to pick up the elevator on a higher floor instead.

My legs burn as I push them harder than I ever have before. I take the stairs three at a time, using the bannister as leverage to launch myself up them. When I get to the third floor, I shove through the stairwell door and into the hallway. As I race for the elevator, I send up a silent prayer that it’s still running.

When I see the little green light glowing on the keypad, I let out a sigh of relief. I’m not sure how high I’ll be able to get, but anything is better than running up another thirty-six flights of stairs. At the elevator, I yank out my wallet and find my access card tucked inside. With a quick wave of the card at the keypad, the metal doors slide open, and I leap inside.

On the way up to my floor, I call Ruby three more times. Then I try calling Beau for good measure. “Dammit!” I bite out when the call switches over to voicemail. My fist thunks the elevator wall with a hollow thunk. “Answer the damn phone!”

By the time I reach the thirty-ninth floor, I’m on the verge of losing it. Panic is ballooning in my chest, making every breath an effort. My heart is in my throat. The adrenaline zipping through me makes it impossible to stay still.

As soon as the doors begin to slide open, I wrench them far enough apart to squeeze through. The hallway is empty, save for a single shoe lying discarded halfway down it. There’s a sour smell in the air. A haze lingers near the ceiling.

Reaching beneath my shirt, I remove my gun from my belt holster and hold it in low ready position. Though I want to go tearing down the hallway, I force myself to move cautiously, the way I was trained. As I creep towards my condo, I keep scanning my surroundings. I listen for a woman’s cry or the sharp sound of a dog barking.

But, dammit, there’s nothing.

After what feels like hours but was probably only thirty seconds or so, I reach my front door. Heart pounding in a combination of anticipation and fear, I punch in my access code on the keypad, then press my finger to the biometric reader. A moment later, the lock opens with a soft click.

Hand on the doorknob, instinct shouts at me to go rushing inside. Find Ruby, it demands. Why are you wasting time?

My gut. That’s why. Plus all the other shit leading up to now. They’re all telling me something is wrong. That Haverford was set up. That this fire alarm was a ploy to get Ruby alone. And dammit, I fell for it.

Impotent anger threatens to cloud my focus, and I take a steadying breath while trying to wrangle it under control. There’s no place for anger right now. No place for emotion. I need to get inside, assess the situation, and get Ruby to safety. That’s my only priority. Everything else can wait.

After another deep breath and exhale, I push open the door and look inside.

At first glance, the living room looks just as it did when I left. But on a second sweep of the room, I notice a bright blue phone case lying on the floor beside the couch.

Ruby’s phone.

My pulse jumps. Why is her phone on the floor? Why doesn’t she have it with her? She wouldn’t have left the condo without it. I know she wouldn’t. Unless…

Unless someone took her.

From my pocket, my phone buzzes silently. I want to answer it, but I can’t.

Sig at the ready, I creep further into the room. My neck prickles, like icy fingers trailed across it. I hold my breath, listening.

Then I hear it. From upstairs, I catch the low rumble of a man’s voice. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but his tone is rough. Angry.

Moving faster, I make a beeline for the stairs. My heart races, thundering in my head. Its rapid pounding threatens to drown out everything else.

Calm down, I tell myself. Panicking won’t help Ruby. This is a mission. Focus on getting it done.

But I’ve never been this afraid on a mission before.

Halfway up the stairs, the man speaks again. This time I can understand him.

“You stupid whore,” he snarls. “I thought you were different. Acting all nice, making me cookies, smiling and flirting with me. I thought we had something special. But then you spread your legs for that rich fucking asshole.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ruby replies. Her voice is small. Frightened. And the sound of it almost brings me to my knees.

She’s alive. Here. Whatever threat this man is to her, I can neutralize it.

“Don’t know what I’m talking about?” His voice rises. “Ten months I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve been so fucking patient. You were worth the wait, I told myself. I read that you lost your dad, so I thought I’d give you time to grieve. But no! You throw me aside for that rich fucker instead!”

Once I reach the second-floor hallway, I pause briefly while trying to figure out which room they’re in. My bedroom? Ruby’s? One of the closets? The laundry?

“Please, Henry,” Ruby begs. “Just leave. We can pretend this never happened. I won’t go back to my apartment. You won’t have to see me again.”

Henry? Who’s Henry? And how dare he call Ruby a whore?

Rage surges, igniting white-hot in my chest. My fingers tighten around my gun.

As I continue down the hallway, I cast my mind to our list of potentials. Clients of Ruby’s. Coworkers. Residents of her building.

And that’s when it comes to me. Henry. Thirty-five. Lives in a one-bedroom apartment on the fifth floor, just upstairs from Ruby. No criminal record. Nothing suspicious in his background. When we asked Ruby about him, she said he was nice enough, but she rarely spoke to him.

We didn’t find anything useful on Henry. But here he is. In my condo. Calling my girlfriend a whore. And if he hurt her…

“You’re right,” he replies. “I won’t see you again. Because you’ll be dead. You and this fucking dog and your fucking rich asshole boyfriend.”

“No.” A small sob carries down the hallway. “Please. Don’t hurt them. If you want me… I’ll go with you. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt them. Please.”

Now that I’m closer, I can tell their voices are coming from Ruby’s bedroom.

“I think I’ll kill you last,” Henry says, sounding very matter of fact about it. “So you can see what you did. And your piece of shit boyfriend can die knowing all his efforts were for nothing.” He laughs. “Bet you wish you’d made a different choice now, don’t you?”

“Henry, please, no⁠—”

Ruby yelps.

Sampson barks.

“Shut the damn dog up!” he shouts.

“No!” she cries. “Don’t hurt him!”

Something falls inside Ruby’s bedroom. Sampson barks again.

Why didn’t he take this asshole out? I wonder. Ruby knows the command for him to attack. Unless, in her panic, she forgot? Or⁠—

But as soon as I reach the doorway, I know.

In a series of freeze frames, I take in everything.

A tall, shaggy-haired man with horn-rimmed glasses stands not six feet from Ruby, holding a gun on her.

And not just any man. The same fucking man who appeared in the hallway the night of Ruby’s attack. The helpful neighbor; the one who called 911 for us. And the one I’d put money on being the one who hurt her.

Ruby faces him, her face pale and tear-stained, her chin jutting out defiantly. She has Sampson’s collar clutched in one hand as she tries to keep him behind her. Sampson’s teeth are bared. His growls are a constant rumble. His body is tensed like a spring about to explode.

But he’s not moving. Which means Ruby told him to hold.

Shit. Of course she would. As soon as she saw the gun, her concern would have been Sampson’s safety. She’d use herself as a shield to protect him.

Henry is facing Ruby, so he doesn’t notice me standing in the doorway. Neither does Ruby. But Sampson must catch my scent, because his head jerks towards me. His gaze begs silently for me to let him attack.

But I can’t. Not with Ruby so close to the gun. Given the caliber of it, if she’s shot at such close range, the injury could be deadly.

“Let me put the dog in another room,” Ruby says. “You don’t need to hurt him. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Henry flicks a glance at Sampson. “I don’t think so.” He lowers the gun so it points at Sampson and cocks the trigger. “In fact⁠—”

“No!” Ruby steps in front of Sampson. “I won’t let you!”

My heart stops.

I need to end this. Now.

Raising my Sig, I aim for Henry’s right shoulder. If I hit it in the right place, it’ll deaden the nerves and make him drop his weapon.

“I’ll do what I want!” Henry bellows.

His gun swings back up to point at Ruby’s heart.

“Drop it!” I shout.

Henry spins toward me, rage contorting his face as he spits, “You!”

We both fire at the same time.

I duck, but not fast enough. A burning hot poker stabs into my chest.

At the same time, my bullet slams into his shoulder. Crimson blooms. His gun falls to the floor.

“Micah!” Ruby screams.

“Get back!” I yell at her as I race across the room. “Get away from him!”

Ruby stares at me with a horrified expression. “Micah!”

I kick Henry’s discarded gun out of the way, then leap on him and wrestle him to the ground. He yelps when I wrench his injured arm behind him, and I smile in grim satisfaction. “Defend,” I order Sampson. Because shit, I don’t know if this asshole has an accomplice lurking around somewhere. “Defend.”

“Micah, oh God, Micah.” Ruby crouches beside me. “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.” Pinning Henry’s hands with one of mine, I reach into my pocket with the other and grab a handful of the zip ties I’m never without.

“He shot you!” she cries. “Oh, God. Micah.”

Once I have Henry fully restrained, I glance over at Ruby. There’s a nasty bruise on her cheek that ignites my rage all over again. “Where else are you hurt?” I ask her. “Did he touch you? What did he do to you?”

“Nothing,” she sobs. “Micah. He shot you. You need to lie down. I need to get help.”

“He hit you,” I growl.

“I was trying to protect Sampson. He got mad and hit me. But that was it.”

“You fucking whore!” Henry shouts. His eyes roll wildly. “Fucking slut!”

My fury turns incendiary. Flipping him over, I press my forearm into his throat. “Don’t call her that!” I add pressure to his throat, and his face starts to turn red. “Don’t you ever call her that!”

Dimly, I can feel hot dampness soaking my shirt. I know I’m bleeding. I know this asshole hit me. But I’ve been shot before. As far as I can tell, this isn’t a critical injury. Which means I have time for more important things.

“Ruby,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “Get my phone out of my pocket. Start recording.”

“Wha—what?” She shakes her head, like she’s trying to clear it. “Your phone?” A beat later, she jolts. “Oh! Nine-one-one! I’m sorry!”

“No.” As soon as she has my phone, I catch her hand. “The police are later. First—” My voice dips dangerously. “We’re getting a confession.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Henry bleats. “I⁠—”

But he can’t talk anymore, because my arm is digging into his trachea. “Ruby. Turn on the recorder,” I say. “Then I want you to put the phone on the floor and go into the closet. I don’t want you seeing this.”

Because I’ll do whatever it takes to get his confession. And if Ruby weren’t here, I might actually kill him.

The thought flits through my mind, brief but tempting.

I could kill him. It would be self-defense. He forced his way into my condo, disguised as a firefighter, no less. He held my girlfriend at gunpoint. He shot me. I would have every right to use deadly force to defend myself.

Except Ruby’s here. And I don’t want her to be a part of it.

“No.” Ruby yanks off her shirt, so she’s left wearing only a bra. Then she folds the fabric into a square and presses it against my chest. Pain flares, and I grit my teeth to keep from reacting. “I’m staying here. With you.”

I don’t like it. But I’m not going to argue with her right now. Instead, I turn my attention back to Henry. Pinning him with a murderous glare, I snarl, “Tell me about attacking Ruby in her apartment. And don’t leave out anything.”

And he does. With a little creative convincing.

By the time we get to his plot to frame Haverford by hacking the security camera and adding an AI-generated video with the building manager’s face superimposed over his own, I’m feeling a little woozy from blood loss. But I keep at it, determined to at least get a full confession from this asshole if I can’t kill him.

Just as Henry is telling me about planting the photos of Ruby on Haverford’s computer, Rogue says, “Shit, Micah. What the fuck happened?” Then he turns to speak to someone in the hallway. “Tango restrained. Knight took a hit. I need you in here now.”

“He shot Micah,” Ruby blurts. Her voice is thick with tears. “There’s so much blood. Please⁠—”

Rogue rushes over to us. His gaze meets mine. “Shit. How bad?”

“It’s fine,” I say.

“It’s not fine!” Ruby interrupts. Her voice cracks. “You’re bleeding all over. You need to go to the hospital!”

“Move,” Rogue tells me. Then he nudges me to the side. “I’ve got this piece of shit. Get yourself looked at.”

Then he glances over his shoulder and starts firing off commands. “Cole. Check Knight. Looks like a through and through, upper-left quadrant. No arteries hit that I can tell. Jester. Get Ruby. Bring her into the other room and triage her.”

I try to stand, but my head swims, and I have to sit back down. “Cole?” I ask as I see my old Army buddy hurry into the room. “Am I hallucinating? What are you doing here?”

Cole kneels beside me and flashes me a quick smile. “I was meeting with a client and thought I’d stop in for a visit. I wasn’t expecting all this excitement.”

“I asked him to come along in case we needed medical attention,” Jester explains. “Clearly, my instinct was right.” Then he puts his arm around Ruby’s shoulders and gently adds, “Come on, honey. Let’s give these guys some space. Knight’s going to be okay.”

Ruby tugs away from him. “No. I’m not leaving Micah.” Then she scowls at Cole. “And who are you? Do you have medical training? Micah needs paramedics. Doctors. He—” Her face crumples, and she casts a desperate look at Rogue. “Please. Help him.”

“Rue,” I start. But my tongue feels too thick to continue.

Cole pushes me back to the floor. “Guess you’re getting slow in your old age,” he teases. “The old Knight would have ducked faster.”

“This is Cole Mitchell,” Rogue tells Ruby. “We used to serve together. He runs an outfit up in Sleepy Hollow. Security, investigations, that kind of thing. Cole’s a medic. He’ll take care of Knight until the paramedics get up here.”

“Get the rest of his confession,” I insist. But I sound drunk as I say it. “We’re recording. On my phone. Get his confession before you bring in the police.”

“Micah.” Ruby clutches my hand. Her face is wet with tears. “Don’t worry about that. Just… just be okay. Please.”

Jester comes over to pat my shoulder. “We’ve got it. We can take care of it from here.”

“Watch Ruby,” I reply. My vision blurs. Everything spins. “Keep her safe.”

“We will, Micah,” he replies, giving my shoulder a small squeeze. “Nothing will happen to her. That’s a promise.”