“Shut up,” he hissed, gun twitching toward her.
Gabe moved with it, staying in the line of fire. The barrel settled dead center on his chest.
He slowly lowered his arm. Just a few inches and he’d have his hand on the grip of his own gun.
He should have pulled it when he stormed into the room, but the only thought in his mind was getting to Felicity.
“Hands up!” Andrew snapped.
Gabe slowly lifted his hands. Behind him, Felicity’s fingers tightened in his shirt—then froze as she felt the hard steel snug against his spine.
He felt the slightest tremor run through her, then she eased her fingers under his shirt.
“Let her go.” Gabe had to keep Andrew distracted from what Felicity was doing. “Take this up with the police and Henry’s lawyers if you think you’ve got a claim. You’re not getting out of this house with her. That’s a promise.”
Andrew laughed, a short, ugly sound. “And you’re going to stop me? One disgraced Marine who thinks his trauma’s healed? You haven’t begun to see trauma yet.”
He didn’t respond to the taunt, just fixed his stare on Andrew, calculating the tiny shifts he made that told him where the man’s weight was and where it would go next.
And he watched his finger hovering over that trigger.
At that moment, Felicity eased the weapon out of Gabe’s waistband.
Andrew’s gun arm dipped a fraction.
“Now!” He reached behind himself, and Felicity shoved the gun into his hand. He swept her out of the way just as Andrew swung the weapon at her…
And pulled the trigger.
The sound ricocheted around the room, deafening. Felicity screamed, and Gabe dived sideways.
The bullet seared a line of fire across his upper arm, hot and tearing.
But not enough to stop him.
He lunged forward, slamming Andrew into the doorframe. His gun skittered across the floor, spinning. Gabe followed him down, pinning his wrist, driving his knee into the man’s ribs with brutal efficiency.
Andrew snarled, bucking. But he was no soldier. No trained operative. He was just a rich man with a gun and a taste for control.
Gabe had been forged to steel in far uglier places.
He wrenched Andrew’s arm behind his back, grinding his face into the expensive floor until he heard the air punch from his lungs. “Don’t move,” he growled.
Andrew went still, panting.
“Felicity?”
“I’m okay.” Her voice shook but he heard the truth behind her statement.
“Good. You hear those sirens?”
“Y-yes.”
He looked up to see her swaying on her feet. “Can you sit down?”
“Yes.” She slowly sank to the floor, legs clutched to her chest.
Sirens grew louder, and a car screeched to a stop out front. Moments later, uniformed officers flooded the study, weapons drawn.
