Opal chuckled. “I’m always in danger, young man. I can assure you that Quan and I are more than safe at my place. You attended the holiday party here, remember? The security is superb.” She chuckled again. “Um, have to go. ’Bye.” She hung up.
“Shit.” Angus looked at Nari. “Stay here with Roscoe. I’ll call it in to HDD, but I need to get to Opal. She’s Lassiter’s next target.” The bastard somehow knew where she was. He ran out of the room, dialing HDD for backup.
“You need me?” Jethro asked.
“No,” Angus said tersely. “All of HDD will descend there before I can even have Brigid trace her location. Protect Nari.” He yanked on a shirt and ran out the door, grabbing his jacket and weapon on the way. He had to get to the woman before Lassiter did. The head of HDD was in danger from a serial killer because of her connection to him.
This was all his fault.
* * *
He’d made the drive in less than an hour.
Angus kept his back to the perfectly manicured hedges, his gun out and his aim steady. The administrator was correct that her security was excellent. It was just unfortunate that it had been turned off—or cut. He had easily scaled the gate and now ran up the long drive toward the luxurious house. Where was everybody?
The place should be crawling with HDD agents. Yet only silence, thick and heavy, surrounded the place, along with the rain. He blinked water out of his eyes and kept running, reaching the side of the house. If Lassiter was around, it’d be better to go in the back.
Angus crouched low and ran along the side of the home, ducking beneath the various windows. It was a gorgeous, Victorian-style house, white with a wide porch in back. He stepped gingerly onto the porch and angled to the first sliding glass door to peer inside. The room appeared to be a guest room, with floral patterns, and appeared untouched. When he looked through the next slider he saw a prone figure on the ground, facedown.
Rain pummeled him, and he had to wipe his eyes to see better. Was that Quan? Angus could make out dark hair. He forced himself to breathe evenly while reaching for the handle. The door, high quality and heavy, slid open easily.
Keeping low, he pushed inside and shut out the rain. The room appeared to be a kitchen nook, with a round table and high chairs, flanked by twin hutches holding pale pink and blue dishes. He listened and could only hear the rain. So he moved forward, dropped to his haunches, and leaned over to see better in the semidarkness of the cloudy day. It was Quan; his eyes were closed and blood flowed from his forehead.
Angus felt for a pulse. It was steady and weak. The man was alive.
Where the hell was HDD? The agents should already be there.
Angus reached for his phone to call for an ambulance. Dead. He shook it. Jammed? Had somebody jammed all electronics? That would explain the malfunctioning gate.
He shoved his phone back in place and leaned over in case Quan could hear him. “I’ll be back. Just hold on. Also, sorry I suspected you of being tied to Lassiter.” He stood and walked silently out of the breakfast nook, through a sparkling-clean kitchen to a living room that looked out to the rainy porch.
Silence ticked around him, heavy with warning. He followed a hallway to the left and cleared a spacious office, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Nothing.
Yet instinct propelled him to stay silent and not call out for Opal. He turned back the other way and cleared another bathroom, an exercise room, and a laundry. That left the closed French doors of what must be the master bedroom. He took a deep breath, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t find Opal Clemonte dead in there.
Then he opened the door and walked inside. The bedroom was wide, with white furniture and a king-size bed covered with a purple bedspread. Perfectly made. His shoulders relaxed and he cleared the closet and bathroom before walking back out. All right. Was there a panic room? If so, how the hell would he find it? For now, he had to get Quan medical attention.
He returned to the living room, where Opal now stood near the fireplace, a gun in her hand and a bandage around her injured arm. She was facing out the windows, tracking something with her eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low and looking for the threat.
“No.” She turned to face him. Fire lanced from her eyes and she looked every inch the powerful operative she was, even in her light-green linen pants and matching sweater.
He shook his head. “Where’s the threat?” he whispered, edging toward the sliding glass door.
“Right here.” She lifted her gun and pointed it at his head.
He paused. “What the hell are you doing?’
Reaching for the bookcase behind herself, she tossed a pair of handcuffs at him. “In front is fine.”
He caught the cuffs, his head spinning. “I’m not the threat, Administrator. What happened to Quan?”
She smiled then, and the world ground to a stop. Holy shit. Quan hadn’t been the threat, but his lover had? Could Angus raise his gun fast enough?
“You won’t make it, and believe me, you don’t want to die yet,” she said quietly, no emotion in her eyes. “The game is just getting interesting. I need you alive for now.”
The game? Lassiter’s last few quoted poems ran through Angus’s head. This was crazy. Insane, actually. “It’s your face haunting Lassiter?” Angus shook his head, trying to angle his body between the woman and the breakfast nook.
“I have a clear line on Quan’s head right now,” Opal said easily. “You take one more step and I’m blowing out his brains. What there is of them, that is.”
