He rocketed to his feet, snagging his gun from the end table. “Go to Emmy,” he whispered. “Stay in the bedroom.”
He yanked on his gray sweatpants and moved soundlessly over the carpeted floor. Laine raced to the bedroom across the hall and silently slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Her pulse galloped against her eardrums, her footsteps clumsy as she reached the bed.
Gently, she rocked Emmy’s arm. “Baby, wake up.”
Emmy groaned and rubbed her eyes.
“Shhh,” Laine urged, lifting Emmy before she could make another sound. “We need to be quiet.”
Emmy wrapped her arms around Laine’s neck, and her little body shook. “Mommy.” The sound was barely audible. “Did they find us?”
Laine pressed a kiss to her daughter’s plump cheek. “It’s okay.”
The lie burned her lips.
Chapter
Seventeen
Roarke pressed his back close to the wall as he descended the stairs. His body hot and rigid.
How the hell had they found them?
The gentle tinkling of metal on metal warned him the fucker was close to getting inside. The lock released, and a gloved hand pushed open the door inch by inch. A gun followed, a long silencer wrapped around its mouth.
Roarke surged forward, snagging the guy’s arm and hauling him into the foyer.
He threw the intruder to the ground, and his back connected with the floor. The gun swiveled to Roarke’s face. He jerked his head to the side and pinned the man’s weapon down just as he pulled the trigger.
A bullet whistled out and smacked into drywall.
A sharp cry of fear sounded from upstairs.
The man lurched beneath Roarke, slamming his knee into his gut.
Roarke grunted but held the man’s arms down. Determination filled him. He’d stop every one of Cameron’s men. Kill each bastard who found them until this shit was over. Drawing back his fist, he punched the guy in the face.
The force was enough to make him drop his gun. Roarke kicked the weapon, and it skittered across the floor toward the bottom of the stairs.
Whack!
Metal smacked against Roarke’s skull. His vision wavered. His muscles went weak for a fraction of a second. Rough hands came for his jaw from behind.
Surging to his feet, Roarke threw the second man backward. He turned and cracked the butt of his gun against his attacker’s temple. The man staggered and dropped to the floor, knocked out.
The first man lunged for his knees. Roarke caught the back of his shirt and drove the mouth of his Glock beneath the intruder’s head. He pulled the trigger.
The sharp crack echoed in the space. Their time was limited now. The police would be called, and the last thing they needed was for Roarke to end up in prison.
He dropped the dead body and turned toward the stairs. Laine stood on the bottom step the discarded gun in her hands, her gaze glued over his shoulder.
He froze. Pinpricks attacked the base of his spine, alerting him to the shifting of air behind him.
A gun dug into his back—fuck, he hadn’t hit the second guy hard enough. “Come here, lady. Or I’ll shoot him.”
Roarke hovered his finger on the trigger. If Laine weren’t so close, he’d fight the guy behind him. Doing so could get her killed.
Laine’s chest rose and fell erratically. “Drop your gun.” She held the weapon with both hands, her form solid and sure and ready.
