Chapter 130
"What are you thinking about?" Lucas asked.
"Thinking about how pathetic your brother is," Juliana said, half-joking.
Lucas let out a soft laugh and squeezed her hand in his. "He brought it on himself."
The car didn't head back to the hotel. It weaved through streets, eventually entering what looked like a run-down old neighborhood.
Finally, it stopped in front of an unremarkable bar.
It was daytime, so the bar wasn't open. A "CLOSED" sign hung on the door.
The driver got out and knocked. The door cracked open and a burly guy in a leather jacket poked his head out, eyeing them warily. The driver said something in a low voice. The guy's expression shifted, and he opened the door.
Lucas led Juliana inside.
The bar was dimly lit.
An old man with graying hair and a face full of wrinkles but sharp eyes sat behind the counter, wiping glasses.
He was the local "Snake"—the guy with the best intel in these parts.
The old man looked up at Lucas. "Mr. Sharp. Long time no see."
His voice was gravelly, like sandpaper.
Lucas pulled a yellowed photo from his pocket and slid it across the bar.
It was the VP from Juliana's parents' company.
"I'm looking for this man."
Snake picked up the photo and glanced at it.
He tapped his knuckles on the man's face in the picture.
"Don't need to look."
Juliana's heart jumped to her throat.
The old man spoke slowly. "This guy died recently."
Those few words hit like ice picks driving straight into Juliana's ears.
Dead.
The lead she'd been chasing for seven years—gone.
Her hand on the bar counter grew cold, fingertip by fingertip.
Lucas reacted quickly. "When did he die? How?"
Snake grinned, showing yellowed teeth. "Mr. Sharp, information has different price points. A living person and a dead person? Not the same price."
Lucas pulled a check from his inside jacket pocket and slid it over.
"Talk."
The old man pocketed the check with satisfaction, then spoke leisurely. "About two weeks ago. Snatched from his home. The people who took him weren't local thugs—too professional. Family hasn't received any ransom demands to this day."
He paused, then delivered his verdict. "This kind of job? Either revenge or silencing someone. Two weeks with no word? Ninety percent chance he's already fish food."
That tiny spark of hope that had just ignited was doused from head to toe with ice-cold water.
……
They walked out of the bar. The sunlight outside was almost blinding, but Juliana felt cold all over.
The car was too quiet.
Lucas didn't offer any comforting words. His palm was dry and warm, steadily transmitting a calming strength.
Back at the hotel's presidential suite, Juliana headed straight for the liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
"Have a drink with me." She set the wine and glasses on the coffee table, her voice slightly hoarse.
Lucas looked at her pale face but didn't say anything. He just took off his suit jacket.
As he casually draped it over the couch, Juliana noticed a dark red bloodstain seeping through the side of his white dress shirt near his waist.
The spot wasn't large, but it was glaring.
"You're hurt?" Juliana's heart clenched.
Lucas glanced down, unconcerned. "Got scraped last night. It's nothing."
But Juliana's brow furrowed deeply. Without a word, she walked over and reached for his shirt buttons.
Lucas caught her wrist. "I'm really fine."
"I'm a doctor. I decide if you're fine." Juliana's tone left no room for argument.
They locked eyes for a few seconds. Lucas gave in first. He released her hand and let her unbutton his shirt.
Button by button came undone, revealing the man's defined chest and abs. On his left side near his ribs was a long but shallow cut—probably from the assassin's knife during last night's struggle.
Because it hadn't been treated promptly, and after a full day of activity, the wound had torn slightly and was seeping blood.
"Sit down. Don't move." Juliana pushed him onto the couch and turned to get the room's first aid kit.
She pulled out antiseptic and gauze, then knelt in front of Lucas and began treating his wound with practiced movements.
The cotton swab, soaked in antiseptic, gently cleaned the wound's edges.
Lucas didn't make a sound. He just looked down at her focused profile.
Her lashes were long, casting small shadows below her eyes. Her expression was as serious as if she were performing delicate surgery.
The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of gauze packaging being opened.
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly.
"No."
But Juliana's touch grew even gentler.
After she finished bandaging the wound, she finally relaxed and looked up to say "all done."
She lifted her head and found herself staring into his bottomless eyes.
Those eyes were looking at her without blinking.
They were so close she could feel his warm breath brushing against her forehead.
Juliana's cheeks warmed. She started to stand and put some distance between them, but Lucas suddenly raised his hand and brushed his fingertips across her cheek.
"Don't move." His voice was deeper than before. "You've got something on your face."
Juliana froze, forgetting to react.
Lucas wiped away a bit of dust that had somehow gotten on her face, then withdrew his hand and buttoned his shirt as if nothing had happened.
Only then did Juliana snap out of it. She stood up somewhat awkwardly and picked up the wine bottle again.
She poured two glasses and handed one to Lucas.
Lucas took it but didn't drink.
Just as Juliana tilted her head back, about to down her entire glass, Lucas suddenly stopped.
He looked up, something flashing through his dark pupils—too quick to catch.
"Wait."
He reached out and pressed down on Juliana's hand holding the glass.
Juliana looked at him, confused.
"Those two guys last night," Lucas said, staring at her, enunciating each word clearly. "Before they were taken down, one of them said this was their second job."
Second job.
Those words struck like lightning, cutting through all the fog in Juliana's mind.
The VP's kidnappers—professional.
Last night's would-be assassins—also professional.
One just happened.
The other followed immediately after.
One job. One silencing.
These two incidents were connected!
Professional hitmen weren't common. The person who hired them was very likely the same person.
Logan!