The door opened, and the silver barrel of a gun emerged from the darkness.
“Down!” He bellowed, charging forward.
He smacked the gun out of his way and tackled the gunman, taking them both down to the floor hard. He grabbed the guy’s shoulders and rolled them over, using the asshole as a shield in case there was another attacker. The guy punched Raider in the throat, and Raider secured his legs around his attacker’s, pressing his forearm against the guy’s neck and yanking his head down with his other hand to cut off the guy’s air.
Pain lanced through his head and down his hip, but he let adrenaline shove it away. No pain. Only fight.
The attacker flopped against him like a landed trout. He was dressed in a silk suit with a tie that bunched up beneath Raider’s chin. Was it one of the mob guys? How had they found him?
The hard tile bit into Raider’s back, and he held on tighter.
“Raider!” Brigid yelled, flipping on the entryway light.
“Get out of here,” he snapped, looking frantically around for another attacker. His gaze caught on a second man, this one leaning against the kitchen counter. His suit was a worn brown and his shoes scuffed with age. “Agent Fields?” he coughed out. The older agent with the grizzled salt-and-pepper beard just nodded.
Brigid shut the door and looked from one to the other. “Um.”
Raider released his hold and shoved over the unconscious body of Agent Rutherford. The younger agent had blond hair and wore expensive suits. Guy hadn’t fought worth shit, though. “What the hell are you two doing here?” Raider shoved himself to his feet and kicked the silver gun toward the living room. The two HDD agents acted as the liaisons between the HDD and the Deep Ops unit, a fact that nobody seemed to like much. As a handler, Raider really didn’t like having handlers. Now more than ever.
Pain flooded through Raider once again, and he fought it. This wasn’t the time to feel.
Fields finished unwrapping a peppermint candy and popped it in his mouth, eyeing his motionless young partner. “He’s supposed to be the best fighter in his generation in hand-to-hand. Apparently not.” Even his voice was grizzled, and his eyes had that weary look most agents earned if they survived decades in Homeland Defense.
Raider eyed the prone agent. He was breathing all right but hadn’t regained consciousness. “Why did he have a gun pointed at me?”
“Didn’t know it was you,” Fields said around the peppermint. “We heard Brigid arrive, but there’s no peephole, and she didn’t come in. So, as usual, Rutherford led with his gun.” Fields crunched through the candy. “Apparently that was a mistake.” He didn’t much sound like he cared one way or the other.
Rutherford groaned but otherwise didn’t move.
Facts slammed together with a loud bang in Raider’s head. He focused on the redhead, who was eyeing the scene like she wanted to run back out the door. “Brigid?” His voice remained calm and level. “Want to tell me why these two agents are waiting patiently in your apartment?” Fury spiraled from his gut up his esophagus, and he swallowed it back down faster than Fields had eaten the candy.
She bit her lip. “I was going to tell you in the truck, but then you carried me inside, and then I wanted to tell you, but then you kissed me, and, well . . .”
“You kissed her?” Fields snorted, the thick lines at the sides of his eyes crinkling. “Tough duty, Tanaka?”
Raider breathed in and then out deeply, calming every instinct he had to punch the older guy. He looked at Brigid, somewhat surprised when she met his gaze evenly. “So much for trusting your partner, huh?” God, he was a moron. All it took was a pretty face with green eyes, and he’d assumed he knew her—assumed that she was the person he’d read about on paper and then met. Hell. He’d wanted to save her and show her that she could use her skills with computers in an honorable way. His ego had certainly led the way on this one. The woman didn’t need him as a savior.
She exhaled loudly, twisted her head as she stared at Rutherford. “Is he going to need medical assistance?”
“No,” Raider said shortly, itching to grab the booze he had stashed back at his place. A shot of Jack would go down perfectly right now, but showing that weakness to the HDD agents wasn’t going to happen.
In a surprisingly smooth move, Rutherford catapulted to his feet, ducked his head, and rushed at Raider, hitting him hard enough to lift him off his feet.
Ah, hell. Agony zipped through him like knives. Raider slammed his elbows down onto Rutherford’s shoulders and angled in, hitting the sides of the agent’s neck. Rutherford dropped like a stone, and Raider landed on his feet, leaping between the man and Brigid just in case. He’d choked the guy out; maybe the agent wasn’t in his right mind yet.
Rutherford rolled again and stood, but this time, Fields grabbed his arm. “Knock it off,” Fields growled. “I ain’t taking you to the hospital tonight. Have a big date.”
Rutherford straightened to his full six-foot-something height and brushed back his light hair, his eyes throwing daggers. It was the first time Raider had seen the spit-and-polished agent anything but perfectly put together. “At some point, you and I are going to finish this,” Rutherford snarled.
Raider lifted a shoulder. “I’ve been fighting since I was seven years old. Something tells me you haven’t.” While the guy had decent moves, he’d learned in training and not in reality. Definitely not on the streets. “My shoulder was out of joint yesterday, I have seven stitches in my left hip, ten in my right thigh, the remains of a concussion, and I just choked you out. If you really want to fight, this is probably your best chance.” Man, he hurt right now. Bad.
Rutherford yanked his arm free.
“Everyone calm down,” Brigid said, tossing her purse on the back of the sofa. “We’re all on the same team.”
Rutherford angled his head to see Brigid past Raider. “Don’t forget what’s at stake here, lady.”
Heat spiraled through Raider, and he took a step toward the agent. “You’re not threatening her, are you?” He’d be more than happy to choke the asshole out again. Maybe for longer than thirty seconds this time.
