by Lexi C. Foss
He crept up behind the unsuspecting male—who was still facing the wrong fucking way and not being at all careful of his surroundings. Tom shook his head, withholding a tsk. He needed this to be mostly silent.
Which was totally ruined when Justin finally glanced over his shoulder.
The young man’s eyes widened. “Sh—”
Tom jumped on him, his pistol already in his right hand, and clocked the asshole over the head. He fell limp to the roof below him.
Tom pulled the earpiece from Justin’s ear, listening intently for any chatter.
Nothing.
Checking his jacket, Tom found his microphone. Off.
Thank fuck.
“Jacque, I have a pickup on three,” he said softly, noting the number they assigned this location on the map.
The teleporter appeared at his side, grabbed the unconscious Sentinel, and disappeared without a word. They’d agreed that any men captured alive would be deposited in the cells in Hydria. Apparently, there were several.
“A teleport down would have been great, by the way,” he muttered as he started the silent trek off the house.
Amelia’s lips were squeezed tight with laughter by the time he returned to her, his curses having been clearly heard through the communication link.
He glowered at her, which only made her smile bigger.
“One and four are clear.” Luc’s voice was soft but clear over the comms. “And the street appears to be empty as well.”
“What about two?” Tom asked.
“Closer to you,” Luc replied.
“Checking it out now,” Tom murmured, indicating with his head for Amelia to follow him. He’d punish her later for laughing at him.
The snow stuck to his jeans, making him thankful he’d chosen boots. Amelia had chosen similar footwear, as well as a sweater that hugged her curves and neck, keeping her warm. He approved, and not just because she looked sexy as fuck in her outfit. Although, that was an added benefit.
She arched a brow at his blatant appraisal, causing him to grin and continue moving over the wintry ground. Almost to the road. The next location was—
Crack!
Tom staggered, pain shooting up his side.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his knees giving out beneath him. Icy pavement bit into the side of his face as he fell, his heart hammering in his ribs. “Ow.”
Amelia’s shout was lost to the thundering in his head, his eyes misting from the collision. Shit, he couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned, his mouth open on a silent groan.
He lifted his hand, touching his side, finding the source of the pain. Right through his motherfucking jacket. And he liked that coat, too.
Another shot rang out, this one too close. And loud. It rang through his ears, clearing his mind.
Gotta move, he told himself, trying to sit up.
A string of curses hit him next as Amelia fell beside him, her hands roaming over his body. She inspected his arms, his neck, his chest, moving downward to his abs and up under the black sweater he wore beneath his jacket.
“Lower,” he encouraged with a cough. Argh, that hurt. No more moving. Not yet.
“Christ.” Her forehead fell to his. “You scared the shit out of me, you arse!”
He tried to laugh but couldn’t, his side aching from the bullet hitting the thin vest Mateo had created for everyone. “Armor works,” he managed to say, his voice higher than usual.
“Good. While I appreciate you testing it for me, try not to get shot again, yeah?” Mateo asked.
“Sure,” Tom replied. “On the list.” He tried to sit up, but the world spun around him. Amelia caught him around the shoulders, lending him her strength. She had a wild gleam to her eyes that made him want to kiss her.
“I shot him,” she whispered. “I… I just reacted.”
And there went the inappropriate urge. He followed her gaze to the body lying facedown a few yards away. The stocky build and dark hair suggested it was Greg. That damn Sentinel was always jumping the gun and trying to play hero. It seemed he’d finally paid the price for his brash actions.
Tom forced himself to move, his body complaining even while healing. The vest Mateo manufactured blocked all bullets—including the incendiary one Greg had fired at him. Good thing, or Tom would be dead right now.
Amelia stood with him, her hands clasped in front of her, lips twisted.
“You did the right thing, sweetheart,” he assured her as he slowly made his way toward the body.
Definitely Greg.
And he was still breathing.
“He’s not dead.” Tom knelt beside the unconscious Sentinel. He’d fallen in front of a house toward the end of the block, suggesting he’d been patrolling the sidewalk when Tom and Amelia had waltzed into sight.
Tom shook his head. Rookie mistake. He should have checked his surroundings before emerging from between the houses.
“He’s alive?” Amelia asked, sounding surprised.
“Yeah, just knocked out from the impact against his vest.” Which probably should have happened to Tom as well, but he’d focus on that detail later. “Jacque, cleanup about thirty meters southeast of two.”
“On it.” The teleporter appeared with a nod of acknowledgment before disappearing with Greg’s body.
Amelia stood with her arms wrapped around herself, shaking. Tom pulled her into a quick hug, pressing his lips to her cheek. “We need to—”
“Dude. Turn on your fucking radio,” a deep voice said from behind them. “John said to keep the mics off unless something came up. Not the whole fucking set.”
Charlie.
Tom pointed to the closest porch, telling Amelia to hide while he ducked behind a nearby bush. The Sentinel appeared within seconds, his gaze sweeping the front yard. He’d clearly followed Greg’s footprints, which meant his eyes went straight to the spot his friend fell. Pretty obvious what happened considering the male-shaped imprint in the snow.
Charlie whipped out his pistol, carrying it low with both hands, his training and form on point. He tracked the patterns along the ground while Tom quietly maneuvered to the side, away from the bushes and into the shadow of the awning overhead.
Come a little closer, he urged, wishing he had the power to compel like Stas. Alas, all he had were his thoughts. Just a few more steps, Charlie. You can do it.
The Sentinel continued along the path, aiming his gun at the bushes Tom had just occupied. But he didn’t fire. No. Charlie was smarter than that. He crept forward, vigilant, and used the barrel of his gun to part the branches and peek into the empty space behind them.
Tom used the brief distraction to his advantage, pouncing on the Sentinel and hitting the gun out of Charlie’s hands. It went sideways, disappearing into the white earth, as the two engaged in a brawl of arms and legs.
“Fitzgerald,” Charlie growled as he tried to win the upper hand.
“Miss me?” Tom asked, his fist connecting with the Sentinel’s square jaw. Charlie responded with an upward knee jab that almost hit the family jewels, and a clever ankle hook that sent Tom to his back. “Shit, you’ve learned to fight.”
“I always knew how to fight, asshole.” Charlie slammed his elbow into Tom’s chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. That, coupled with his still-aching side, made him begin to reconsider his plan of the hand-to-hand combat.
A flash above them had Tom’s gaze narrowing just as something crashed into Charlie’s head. Twice.
Is that a bat?
Amelia swung it a third time, sufficiently knocking out the Sentinel. He landed with a thud beside Tom, sending red splatters across the snow.
“Shit,” Tom breathed, gazing upward at his avenging female. “Nice form, asset.”
“Found it on the porch.” Her chest rose and fell in quick succession, the metal bat falling from her hands. “I still bloody hate baseball. But I’ll concede that it provides useful weapons.”
He laughed, amused as hell despite the pain ricocheting throug
h his being. “I told you she didn’t need me,” he said through the microphone. “She’s saved my ass twice now.”
Luc snorted. “You don’t deserve her.”
“You’re not wrong,” Tom replied as he pushed himself up off the ground. “Final pickup, Jacque.”
“Wait,” Amelia said when the teleporter appeared.
He arched a bushy black brow. “Yeah?”
“I have an idea.” She pulled off her sweater, revealing the vest she wore beneath—with nothing else. And began unfastening her pants.
Tom stepped in front of her, blocking the teleporter’s view. “What are you doing?”
“Changing,” she replied. “I need Charlie’s clothes.”
He frowned. “Why?”
She met his gaze. “Because I’m going to shift into his skin and then enter Rosalie’s house.”
34
Amelia
“How do I look?” Amelia asked, her voice deep and masculine, exactly like the Sentinel that Jacque had just teleported away.
“Horrible,” Tom replied emphatically. “You resemble Charlie, which is not attractive.”
Her lips twitched. “You mean you don’t want to kiss me right now?”
He stared at her. “I love you, but no. This is not a memory I want to keep.”
“Then we’ll make it a quick one,” she suggested, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. He grimaced in reply, causing her to giggle. “I’m ready, Luc.”
“You are to go in, determine if there are other Sentinels in the house, and then leave,” he replied through the comms. “Do you understand?”
Seriously? “I can take care of myself, Lucian.” As she’d just proven by aiding Tom. Sure, she was still learning, but she had one hell of an instructor—one she’d just assisted twice.
“Do you understand?” her brother repeated. “I went through the experience of losing you once. I will not live through that again.” While he uttered the admission in a stern voice, she heard the hint of emotion on that final word.
She sighed, understanding. This wasn’t about his lack of trust in her abilities but about his fear of losing her. He hadn’t even begun to mourn Aidan. She couldn’t add to that misery, refused to give him another reason to close himself off from everyone.
“All right, Luc,” she murmured. “I won’t do anything rash.”
“Good. I’ll meet you around back, Tom.”
“Roger that,” Tom replied, grabbing Amelia’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “If you suspect for one second that he’s caught on to who you are, shoot him.”
She nodded. “Shoot to kill, not to wound.” That was part of an early lesson between them—never try to incapacitate an attacker; that only works in the movies.
“Such a good student.” He winked. “Try to make it quick. This face really isn’t doing it for me.”
She stuck out her tongue, making him laugh.
“I take it back. That is amusing.”
Amelia snorted. “Go meet my brother, arse.”
“As you wish, asset.” He took a step away, then turned to grab her around the waist, yanking her up against his hard body, his lips at her ear. “Be safe.”
Ah, she couldn’t handle him being worried about her, too. She needed his confidence, his strength, his reassurance that everything would be fine. She swallowed, searching for a way to lighten the tone. If she allowed nerves to overtake her now, she’d never be able to do this. “Try not to get shot again,” she suggested.
He snorted and slapped her on the ass. “You’ll just save me.”
Yes, much better. “Damn right I will.”
He grinned and pulled away. “Next time I see you, I hope it’s your real face.”
“I’m going to stay like this for a day just for fun.” Complete and utter bollocks, of course. She much preferred her own skin.
He scoffed at that. “I give it an hour.” He waggled his brows. “We both know you can’t resist my lips on you, sweetheart.” He blew her a kiss and wandered off, leaving her sighing in his wake. Because he was right.
Arse.
She wiped her clammy palms against her jeans and took a deep breath to calm her insides. You can do this, she told herself. It was a solid plan—walk into Rosalie’s home, search for additional Sentinels, and leave to report back to Tom and Luc.
Amelia could do this.
Easy.
She swallowed and began her trek through the thick snow. Fortunately, the road was paved. Same with some of the sidewalks and the driveway leading up to Rosalie’s home.
Jonathan may not even be here, she reminded herself. Mateo could be wrong.
But she suspected he wasn’t. Especially as they found several Sentinels lurking about already. Why would they be here without Jonathan?
Okay, so he’s here, she thought. That’s fine. I can handle him.
Perspiration dotted her brow as she approached the porch, nearly a decade of memories flooding her in an instant.
All those attempts to harvest her gift of being able to shift her appearance.
The lab tests.
Jonathan’s endless torture.
She shivered, her stomach revolting.
“You can do this, sweetheart,” Tom murmured in her ear. “I’m right here.”
How did he know?
She shook her head, her lips threatening to curl. The man always knew. He was her heart, her better half, the one who brought her back from the darkness every time.
“Take a deep breath,” he continued softly. “And walk up those stairs as if you’re me. Put some swagger into it.”
She almost laughed. He and Luc had obviously repositioned themselves to watch the house from the front. The temptation to glance over her shoulder hit her hard, but she forced herself upward instead.
I survived hell, she thought as she approached the door. Now it’s time to seek vengeance against the devil. Against Jonathan.
“Don’t knock. Just walk inside,” Tom told her. “You’re supposed to be there. Own it.”
She nodded, agreeing.
The knob shifted beneath her oversized hand, the door opening without hesitation. Beyond it was a foyer with a dull rug, a small wall table, and a staircase off to one side. A living area opened to the other, the quilts and tapestries giving the room a homey feel. This was the sort of home that should hold the aroma of apple pies or freshly baked cookies, not cigar smoke and aftershave. But that was all she scented as she slipped inside.
Dust had gathered on the photos decorating the corridor. Amelia spotted one of a young Tom. He wasn’t smiling the way a boy of that age should. No, he stared at the camera like an emotionless soldier, his military school uniform adding to the overall vibe.
Amelia’s heart panged uncomfortably in her chest at the reminder of his not-so-warm childhood. She at least had a mother and a father who adored her. While she missed Aidan, she cherished their memories together—all fond, loving, and nurturing. If she had to choose fates, she would pick hers every day of the week.
She continued deeper into the home, reaching a room with an oversized couch that opened into a small breakfast nook and kitchen. Sliding doors behind the dining table opened to the backyard. And to her left was another set of stairs that led downward.
Not a Sentinel in sight.
And the house was silent, too.
Where’s J—
“What are you doing?” a deep voice demanded from behind her.
Think of the devil and he shall appear.
“Repeat after me,” Tom said into her ear. “Just looking around.”
She cleared her throat and faced the familiar devil behind her. “Just looking around,” she parroted, her deep baritone sounding wrong to her ears.
“I needed some water,” Tom added.
She repeated the phrase.
Jonathan gave her a bored look. “Then go grab a water.” He gestured to the kitchen. “Did you find Justin?”
“Yes,” she replied, turning stiffly toward the
kitchen. Placing her back to Jonathan felt wrong—dangerous. She swallowed twice, maneuvering into the room and opening the fridge to search for a bottle. Thankfully, one sat on the top shelf. She popped the tab and took two swigs. “I’ll just be outside.”
Jonathan frowned. “Why?”
“Tell him you want some fresh air,” Tom replied, his voice warm and comforting in her ear.
She answered as he directed, causing Jonathan to shrug. “All right. But I need you… Hold on.” He slid his hand into the pocket of his black dress pants and pulled out a phone. After reading the information on the display, he answered, “Yes?” He held up a finger, telling Amelia to wait while he listened to what sounded like female chatter over the line.
It would be so easy to unholster the gun on her belt and shoot him. He stood close, only about five feet away, his hip casually leaning against the counter beside the stove.
One shot.
Between the eyes.
And he’d be dead.
Her fingers itched to react, to put this man in his grave, to pay him back for everything he’d done to her. But she couldn’t do that to Tom. To Luc. To Issac. Everyone had a right for revenge. Taking it from them would be selfish.
“That’s interesting,” Jonathan murmured. “Thank you for informing me. Yes, my dear, I’ll see you soon.” He pocketed the phone with a smile. “Sorry about that. What were we discussing?”
“I was about to go outside,” she replied, taking a step in that direction.
“Right. You know, it’s funny; I was just reminded of that time in Bulgaria. Crazy déjà vu. Do you remember that mission? The one with Alan?”
“Fuck.” Tom’s curse jolted down her spine. “He knows. Get out. Get out now!”
Amelia swallowed. “I, uh, I don’t,” she replied, answering honestly as she took another step toward the exit. “Remind me of what happened?”
Jonathan chuckled. “You know, I’ll show you instead.” He lunged for her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her back against the wall. The bottle slipped from her hand as she tried to go for her gun, but he got there first, pulling the pistol from her hip and placing the end of the barrel against her head.
