“Man, seriously? We are not in a Bond movie. Make the f**kin’ call,” Tack clipped and at his loss of patience, everyone in the room shifted.
Lescheva looked to Mitch. “It would be a shame if any harm were to come to the beautiful Mara Hanover.”
He’d been watching her.
And he liked watching her.
Fuck.
Mitch drew in breath and the men in the room shifted again.
“I will see that doesn’t happen,” Lescheva said quietly.
“My kids,” Mitch prompted.
Lescheva’s brows went up. “You claim them?”
“They’re mine,” Mitch stated.
Lescheva studied him.
Then he whispered, “This, I did not know.”
He’d been watching but he didn’t understand what he saw. Mitch got this. Lescheva thought Mitch’s moves were about Mara and they were. But it wasn’t only about her.
It was the closest he’d get to an apology.
And it didn’t mean smack because he also went after Mara even knowing she was Mitch’s.
Mitch didn’t reply.
Lescheva lifted his chin.
Assent.
“The call,” Mitch pushed.
“I’ll find these children for you,” Lescheva stated gregariously.
“You do that, as in, now,” Delgado entered the conversation and Lescheva looked to him then he looked to Tack.
Then he muttered, “Strange bedfellows,” and he did this while reaching into his inside suit coat pocket.
The room went wired and two guns moved to him.
Lescheva smiled calmly and his hand came out with his phone.
* * * * *
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
Mitch heard the men’s calls as he moved through the house, his gun up, his flashlight up under it.
He moved up the stairs, Slim at his back. At the top landing, two ways to go. He turned, flicking two fingers right to Slim. Slim jerked up his chin, took the last two stairs and moved right.