by Misty Evans
She and Maria had taken three steps down the hall when the lights went out, plunging them into darkness.
CAL DIDN’T KNOW who the people in the black van were, or what the fuck they wanted, but they meant trouble. All of his instincts were firing like tiny machine guns, the warning bells in his head ringing loud and clear.
Which was why he’d SOS’d McKenzie and sent Hunter outside to try and get some intel.
Save Beatrice. Save the baby.
The words circled his brain. Knowing this was no welcome-to-the-neighborhood party, he’d tried calling 911 thirty seconds ago in order to get an ambulance inbound.
Not for Beatrice. He’d protect her. The ambulance was for him. Whatever went down in the next few minutes, he was pretty damn sure either he or the people coming after him were going to need medical attention.
Might need a few body bags too.
While he and Beatrice had been careful to keep their personal information buried, his enemies were plentiful all over the globe. It could be the Russians, the Chinese, or ISIS.
Maybe they’re here for Beatrice.
Or Hunter.
Shit. The NSA, the CIA, one of the president’s former colleagues—there were too many possibilities to contemplate.
But the bastards had turned on a cell jammer and his call to 911 went nowhere. Now they’d killed the electricity to the house.
“Situation report?” he said softly into his comm unit as he made his way through the dark with his night vision glasses in place. The military-grade comms designed by Emit, the founder of SFI, had an extra, high-tech, transductive EMI shield, keeping the jammer from screwing them up.
“Four men, one woman,” Hunter responded. “Plus the driver. All armed. Woman is approaching the front door. Driver is still in the van with the engine running. The others are stationed at your rear and side exit points.”
Meaning the back door and windows.
So the group about to come after him had them completely surrounded.
“Cal?”
Beatrice’s voice startled him and he whipped around. “B? What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you,” she said, her voice strained. Whether it was from their current situation or from labor, he couldn’t be sure. “Why are the lights out? Did we blow a fuse again?”
He could see she was hunched over, Maria by her side. “Yeah, we must have. It’s not safe out here. You might stumble and fall. Go back to our bedroom and I’ll see if I can fix it, okay?”
She reached for him in the dark and he grabbed her hand, keeping his other hand, complete with his weapon, at his side. He gave her a squeeze and felt her grip tighten. “After you get it fixed, can you come sit with me?”
Vulnerability. It laced her normally strong, direct voice and his heart pinched. She’d been a vulnerable little girl too, but growing up she’d built her own version of Emit’s EMI shield. She used her intellect to cover her emotions.
Once in a while, her vulnerability surfaced, making her not so much helpless or defenseless, but just plain human.
One of the things he loved about her. She had the heart of a SEAL.
He suspected that’s why all of the men who worked at SFI felt the same. They recognized the kindness and loyalty in Beatrice as well as the warrior.
“I’ll be there shortly.” He gave her another squeeze. He would have kissed her except she would have felt the night vision goggles bumping into her face. “You be careful walking back.”
Maria tugged on Beatrice’s arm. “Come on, Beatrice. Watch your step.”
As her fingers released his and she put her hand on the wall to use as guidance, Cal’s heart pinched again. He had no clue who was surrounding their house with weapons, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to let them get to B and his baby.
Turning toward the front of the house, he skirted along the wall until he had a clear shot of the front door. Just like Hunter said, someone was standing there, her pale shadow falling across the glass window in the side transom. Did she really believe she could simply walk in? Or did she plan to shoot her way in?
Inching forward, he stuck to the deep shadows in case she tried to peer in the window. Why was she just standing there? What was she waiting for?
“Can you ID any of them?” Cal murmured into his comm.
“Negative, sir,” Trace came back. “Gunmen are wearing ski masks. The woman leading them is wearing a hood.”
He inched closer to the door. Too bad he’d installed a metal entry door in place of the previous wooden one. He could have shot through the wood and dropped her where she stood.
But being solid metal, that door would hold up under a lot of pressure. It would act as a shield from bullets.
A smart person would shoot out the side window instead. Good thing he’d installed bulletproof glass.
The security system blinked, letting him know it was still working, regardless of the lack of electricity. Emit had helped him install the state-of-the-art system and if he could get to it and manually set off the alarm, the police would be here within minutes.
He wasn’t sure he had minutes. The risk to Beatrice was too great not to try it, though.
He dropped to his belly and started sliding across the floor.
Tile. We need to redo this entryway with tile.
Exactly what he’d told Beatrice the first time they’d looked at the place. She’d disagreed, saying she liked the old wooden floors. It was homier.
Beatrice was always right, but he wished he hadn’t listened to her.
Not that he was planning on doing his commando slide across this section of floor ever again.
Sitting up under the security system box with his back to the wall, he lifted his fingers to find the silent alarm button.
“Mr. Reese.” The woman spoke through the door, making him freeze. “I suggest you put down your weapon and open the door. This will go much easier if you do.”
What was that accent? Not British. Not French. Definitely not Russian or Middle Eastern.
But it was haughty, well-educated, condescending.
Swedish? German?
Bottom line, it didn’t matter. Armed men outside his house didn’t get a free pass just because he couldn’t guess their leader’s identity or purpose.
Fuck you, he mentally told her as he pushed the silent alarm button.
“Thermal sensors,” Hunter said in his ear. “They’re tracking your movements.”
No wonder she was speaking at a normal level through the door. She knew he could hear her. She knew exactly where he was and what he’d just done.
“I assumed you’d force my hand,” she said, sounding slightly disappointed. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”
“Back door!” Hunter’s voice rose. “They’re coming in through the back door!”
Cal jumped to his feet and started running.
Chapter Four
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CONNOR KEPT GETTING static on his comm.
He stopped on the ridge, looking down into the valley. “Zeppelin, this is Slash. Do you read?”
The tree cover was dense, but it was the straightest shot to the back of the Reese property. He flipped up his night-vision lenses and stared at the motionless valley below, awash in a soft light from the half-moon above.
With no response from Cal, he tried raising Hunter. “Coldplay, do you read? Come in.”
Nothing.
Sabrina trudged up behind him, finally catching up. She’d swapped out those fancy heeled boots for combat boots, which he was sort of sorry and annoyed about. Seeing her in those sexy heels turned him on; having her defy his orders and follow him also kind of turned him on.
Sick.
He was one sick bastard.
Because she could get hurt and it would be on his head.
But there was no stopping her. The woman had a mind of her own and made her intentions
very clear.
Like when she gave him that look.
The one she was giving him right now as she snapped off her night-vision goggles, huffing and puffing. “Either you’re spending way more time running on the SFI track than I thought, or I’m out of shape.”
She was definitely not out of shape. The vest she wore over her fatigues was bulky on her but even that couldn’t hide her fabulous curves.
The woody he’d had since they’d met in the weapons room was still at attention. Seeing Sabrina in combat gear should have deflated it, but no. If anything it made him harder.
Yep, he was one sick SOB.
He’d run his ass off getting to this ridge that looked down into the valley where the house sat, closing the distance to Cal and Beatrice. He’d also ran his ass off trying to gain distance from this woman who was fucking up his body and his brain.
“Thirteen miles a day on the track,” he said, checking his compass. He tended to run late at night when things at headquarters were calmer. “You’re welcome to join me anytime.”
“Thirteen?” She scrunched up her nose. “No thanks. I don’t need any more bad luck.”
So she was superstitious. Another reason to stay away from her. “Thirteen is my lucky number.”
Especially since you don’t like it.
“You’re cute.” She touched her earbud. “I’m getting static but nothing else. The static means their comms are on and they’re using them, right? Why can’t we get through to them or hear what they’re saying? We should be in range by now.”
Cute? Jesus. He’d show her cute some day. He looked at his SFI-enhanced phone and the app he had open on it. “Something is dampening the signal. Looks like our bad guys put a perimeter around the house to block transmissions, so Cal and Trace are still able to correspond with each other but not us. Once we breach that perimeter, we’ll be able to communicate again.”
Flipping his lenses back down over his goggles, he took off, not waiting for further discussion. They’d ran nearly half a mile already but they were still quite a ways from the house due to the woods, hills, and the creek that flowed between their landing spot and here. Summer rains had caused the creek to overflow its banks and the current was river-swift.
If Connor had been alone, he would have swam across. With Sabrina along, and a healthy supply of weapons on both of them, he didn’t want to chance it. So he’d taken the long way around, finding a safer, more narrow crossing point.
He heard another burst of static and what might have been Hunter yelling. He couldn’t tell for sure. Hitting the edge of the ridge, he did a slip-and-slide down the hill—layers of dead leaves, fresh, green undergrowth, and a sharp embankment sped up his descent.
More than once, he nearly went down on his ass, but his balance was as good as his 5-minute mile and he managed to land at the bottom on his feet.
Sabrina wasn’t so lucky.
She wasn’t even halfway down when one of her ankles turned and she went sideways, jerking her into a pencil roll.
Except there were too many tree trunks in her way and she smacked into one with a grunt.
“Sabrina!” Connor hauled himself up the embankment, cursing and sliding two steps backward for every one he took.
“I’m okay,” she said, pushing herself into a sitting position. She held up a hand to him. “Stay there.”
Gaining her footing, she held onto the tree and began making her way at a slower pace down to him. As she neared, he managed to hike several feet up and held out a hand to her. “Grab on.”
They finished the last few yards to the bottom of the embankment together. “You hurt?” he asked her.
“I’ll have a bruise, but I’m fine. Let’s go.”
They started running again, this time across an open field. “Zeppelin, Coldplay, this is Slash. If you can hear me, we’re four hundred yards out and closing in. Over.”
Static responded. Which could be good—maybe they could hear him even if he couldn’t hear them.
Off to his right, a nocturnal creature jumped from its hiding place and tore off. Connor glanced over his shoulder and saw Sabrina twenty feet back, her body listing slightly to one side.
She’d banged up her rib, he’d bet on it. His constant guilt reared its ugly head.
She’d insisted on coming with him, so really what could he have done? He couldn’t exactly handcuff her to the helo.
Although that was an idea he could get onboard with.
He shoved away the fantasy, his woody already making it entirely too hard to run.
Shaking off the grin that surfaced, he slowed his pace ever so slightly, giving her a chance to catch up. He hated not running full out in order to get to Beatrice and Cal, but he had to take the situation with his unwanted teammate into account. Beatrice would skin him alive if he let anything happen to Sabrina.
Not to mention what he’d do to himself if she got hurt.
Which now she kind of was.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
His fucking life story.
“Why’d you leave the SEALs?” she asked, bending at the waist and breathing deeply. “Why’d you join Shadow Force?”
Now wasn’t the time to get into his lousy life story, but he knew what she was trying to do. Slow him down a notch and catch her breath so she could keep moving through the pain of her ankle.
He’d loved being a SEAL. Loved being part of his unit. He hadn’t loved the torture he’d endured at the hands of 12 September, but he’d survived it. Spit in their faces and refused to give them the details about the accountant and his family that Connor and his unit had been sent in to sneak out of Germany. The accountant on the run from Hezbollah, ISIS, and practically every other terrorist organization out there. He had information that would cripple them all.
But the man and his family had ended up dead. Connor’s buddies had too.
He’d been the only one to get out alive.
Most days, he wished he’d died with his teammates.
“Not much to tell,” he lied. “I had some…health issues after my last mission. Recovery took too long, so I bailed from the SEALs. Wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I got out, but my friend, Colton Bells, put me in touch with Beatrice and SFI. Next thing I knew, I’m making coffee and answering phones.”
“You do more than that,” Sabrina said, gingerly rolling her ankle.
“Why don’t you head back to the helo? I’ve got this.”
“Are you kidding? This is the most fun I’ve had in months. Lead on, Conmeister.”
“Red…” Tough, stubborn woman.
“21 Pilots,” she countered. “But you can call me Red when we’re not on a mission.”
Her grin was a direct lightning strike to his heart.
He wanted to reach out and throw her arm over his shoulders so he could take her weight; the determined look in her eye said that would be exactly the wrong thing to do.
So he started walking, pretending he believed she was competent enough to judge her condition. God knew he hated it when people assumed they knew what was good for him. The last thing he was going to do was assume he knew anything about Sabrina Merinos.
Other than the fact that her father owned UConn, the cutting-edge telecom innovator Forbes claimed was worth six billion dollars. Leonardo was infamous for the think tank people he hired—DJs, rock stars, even a former US president—and apparently it paid off in spades.
The property at the end of the cul-de-sac came into view. A sweeping expanse with a five-foot high fence bordering it.
What do you want to bet they have a guard dog?
He was about to go up and over and find out when he heard Sabrina speak softly in his earbud.
“I’ll go southeast and skirt through the woods.”
After her tumble down the mountain, throwing herself over a fence probably wasn’t high on her list of fun. She was damn tough, but she wasn’t stupid.
He wasn’t either. The fastest way to his
boss was over this fence.
And splitting up his ground forces had backfired on him once before. Backfired was putting it mildly.
No way in hell he was letting Sabrina go anywhere alone.
“I’m coming with you,” he said and diverted his forward motion to the east.
He’d gone two steps when the guard dog he’d suspected was on the other side of the fence went ballistic.
“CAN YOU TAKE any of them?” Cal said. Thank God he hadn’t finished the wood floors yet in the hallway. He ran full out from the living room and hit the floor on his ass, sliding down toward the bedroom door.
A grunt came over his comm. “On it,” Hunter responded.
One down. Three to go.
“Cal?” Beatrice’s voice came from inside the bedroom. “What’s going on out there?”
“Not a fuse,” he said, hearing the back door explode open. “Get in the closet and lock the door!”
He was already on his feet, grabbing the bedroom door, locking and pulling it shut behind him. In the next breath, he sprinted for the backside of the house, gun drawn and ready for the bastard that had broken down his back door.
Was it too much to hope Hunter had already nailed the guy?
His brain kept demanding an answer as to who these people were and what the hell they wanted. Knowing might help him figure out how to defeat them, but in the heat of the action, he couldn’t take time to analyze it.
At this point, it didn’t matter. They were here to do bodily harm to him and Beatrice, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.
He rounded the corner and pulled up short. A man in full tactical gear stood backlit in the busted doorway, a gas mask covering his face under his helmet. An H&K MP7 dangled from one hand and a small canister glinted in the moonlight in his other.
A flick of his arm and the canister sailed through the air, landing with a solid thunk not far from Cal’s feet.
He had less than a second to dive back the way he’d come, grabbing for the doorknob on the hidey-hole closet under the staircase. Behind him, the canister didn’t explode, but he heard the hiss of gas.
