Killian reacted before the second shot rang out.
He dropped Isla onto the bed and was moving, grabbing the gun he kept in her nightstand—when had he put that there?—and pressing it into her hands.
"Lock the door behind me," he ordered, his voice deadly calm. "Get in the closet. Don't come out unless I come for you or you hear silence for more than thirty minutes. If anyone comes through that door who isn't me—shoot them."
"Killian—"
"Do you remember what I taught you?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then use it." He cupped her face for one desperate second. "I love you. No matter what happens. I love you."
Then he was gone.
Isla heard the lock click as he secured it from outside. Heard his footsteps running down the hallway. Heard more gunfire—closer now, definitely inside the penthouse.
Her hands shook as she chambered a round the way he'd taught her.
Get in the closet. Hide. Wait for him to come back.
Every instinct screamed at her to follow those instructions.
But then she heard it.
