“I’m going to find out.” At the basement door, he leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “Stay put until you hear me say ‘firefly.’ Understand? No other word.”
“Firefly?” I’m confused. And scared. I clutch his forearm. “Wyatt—”
“Firefly. If anything happens to me and West comes for you, he knows the code word too. Do not open the door without it.” Wyatt hauls me against him. The kiss is so passionate that, for a moment, I forget how terrified I am. Until Murphy whines. With a nod, Wyatt deposits me on the second step. “Lock it. Now.”
The door slams, and suddenly, everything makes sense. There’s someone here. Someone who doesn’t belong.
Simon’s men. They’ve come for me.
I flip both locks. They’re heavy. So is the door. And when it shut, it didn’t sound like just wood. Duller somehow. God, I hope it’s reinforced.
Shit. The memory card is still in the safe. They won’t be able to get it, will they? Does it even matter? If they find me, I’ll wish I were dead. They’ll kill Wyatt. Murphy too. Tears burn my eyes. Sinking down onto the steps, I pray we’ll find some way out of this. That I haven’t signed the death warrant for the man I just might be falling for.
Wyatt
My dog—my best friend—paws at the floor. “I know, pal. Hold.” I’m not going anywhere without my Glock, my rifle, and the memory card. No way in hell is that asshole getting a hold of it. I’ll eat the damn thing if I have to.
At least Murph’s ears aren’t twitching yet. Whoever he saw—or heard—is at least half a mile away. Holster jammed onto my belt. Two extra mags in my pockets. The memory card gets tucked into the waistband of my briefs. Not the best place in the world, but a hell of a lot less obvious than in the safe.
On the way out the door, I snag the rifle and my small rucksack. “Target,” I whisper to Murphy. “Quiet.”
He bares his teeth, scenting the air, then darts left into the underbrush. We’re a team. Before I took him on his first mission, we trained together for over a year. He knows what to do. How far ahead he can get. And how to warn me if someone’s too close.
Not knowing how many of them are out there, I draw the pistol. The solid weight in my hand is familiar. Like an extension of my arm. Slinging the rifle over my shoulders, I scan the trees all around me for any unnatural movement.
It’s almost noon. Sampson should be close. Fuck. What I wouldn’t give for cell service right now.
Two thumps in the bushes straight ahead. Murphy’s tail. He’s locked onto a scent. When I reach him, I lower myself to one knee.
He’s the most intelligent animal I’ve ever met, but he can’t talk. Can’t tell me how many there are or what weapons they have on them. I rest my hand on his collar, then point to the ground. He drops to his belly, a single low growl coming from his throat.
A flash of dark fabric moves fifty yards to the north.
“Hold,” I whisper.
The Glock goes back in the holster, and I switch to the rifle. Better for long range. Through my sights, I get a closer look at the assholes. There are two of them, and if they didn’t pose such a serious threat to Hope’s safety, I’d laugh.
Black pants, black sweaters, and black boots. Not the hiking kind. Hell, they’re polished so well, the sun glares off the leather.
I just need them to come a little closer. From this angle, I can’t tell if they’re armed. The chance they’re civilians is less than point-oh-two percent of nothing, but I need some confirmation before I end them.
They’re making so much noise, I don’t know how these assholes expected to sneak up on anyone. Amateurs.
And then I hear a snap from behind me. Shit. Something hits my shoulder. The pop was so quiet, it had to be from a silenced weapon.
“Cover!” I grunt, and Murphy takes off like the devil himself is on his heels. A fiery pain starts to spread from the point of impact, and my fingers spasm. I can’t hold onto the rifle, and it hits the ground. Fuck.
“Shoot the goddamn dog!” a harsh voice orders, and I collapse onto my right side, pulling the pistol from its holster as I do. There’s no way these shitheads are going to kill my dog. Over my dead body.
Footsteps pound through the underbrush, closer by the second. No time to run. I can use this.
“Where is she?” One of those shiny boots presses to my shoulder. Pure agony rips through me. The man forces me onto my back. I should see the sky, but dark spots blot out the sun.
I don’t aim. This close, I don’t have to. The 9mm hollow point tears through the fuckwit’s chest, and his eyes go wide and glassy.
Motion to my left has me pushing to my knees. “Come out now and I’ll make it quick. Hurt my dog, and you’re gonna find out what your own ball sack tastes like, assholes.”
A shot hits the tree above me. Bits of bark slice my cheek, but I don’t care. My right arm is mostly useless, but I can shoot well enough with my left. I have to draw these pigfuckers away from the cabin. And Hope.
