“Three heat signatures in the basement, two more heading that direction. Breach!”
Thank fuck Ryker agreed to stay in the van. He’s calm in a way I could never be. Not with Hope’s life at stake. Glass shatters to the east, and I break down the front door with a hard kick. Asshole was so confident in his security, he didn’t bother to reinforce the lock.
Raelynn sweeps into the great room from the north. “Clear. On your six, Yankee.”
“Multiple hostiles in and around the garage.” This from Graham. “I count eight.”
“Five now,” Inara says. “On my way.”
The door to the basement doesn’t budge, even when I give it a second and third kick. “Out of the way,” Raelynn hisses. I turn to argue, until I see the det cord coiled in her gloved fingers.
Thirty seconds later, we retreat behind the wall of Simon’s office. She tugs at her black knit cap, then pulls out the detonator.
“Fire in the—” Bits of plaster pelt us as bullets land in the drywall between us. “Sheeiiit.”
We drop and roll. The small, plastic control box slips from her hand. With one bad bounce on the marble floor, the cover pops off.
No!
I need to get to the basement. Right fucking now. “Cover me!”
She fires—a good six shots—but whoever’s on the other side of the wall must be weaving, because we’re still pinned down behind a heavy oak desk taking hits every few seconds.
The detonator pieces almost slip from my hands. I have to get my shit together. Hope’s life depends on it. “Need an assist,” Raelynn says. “South-east corner office.”
West answers, “Two minutes.”
That’s ninety seconds too long. “Romeo?” I ask. The detonator’s toast. I’ll have to blow the door the hard way.
My watch buzzes, and I glance down at the screen. I’ve never been so thankful for tech in my entire fucking life. The thermal scan of the great room on the other side of the wall shows two hostiles in constant motion.
Raelynn gives me a wicked smile. “Like shootin’ fish in a barrel.” Bracing her right hand on her left forearm, she tracks their movements. “Get ready to move.”
I nod, crouched like I’m about to compete in the fifty-yard-dash. After two shots, I take off. A guy in a black t-shirt and khaki pants races down the stairs, and I drop him with two shots, center mass.
Should have worn body armor, asshole.
Pressing myself against the wall twenty feet from the basement door, I take aim. “Romeo? Am I clear?”
“Clear.”
The entire door pops off its hinges with one shot to the det cord. It teeters for a split second, then hits the floor with a massive crack.
Another buzz on my wrist, and I’m looking at the scan of the basement. It’s grainy, the cement walls interfering with the signal. But all the heat signatures are close together.
“Give it up, asswipe!” I shout. “Send Hope and Bettina up the stairs, and maybe we’ll let you live!”
Hope’s choked scream nearly sends me to my knees. Arrens is hurting her, and nothing—not even a set of stairs with zero cover—is going to keep me away from her a moment longer.
“Don’t be a damn fool,” Raelynn says as she hits wall next to me. Another cry, this one weaker, and I glare at her. “We’re gettin’ her back. But we ain’t fixin’ to charge down there like someone jerked a knot in our tail.”
“If it were the love of your life down there—”
Her blue eyes harden, and she reaches into the pocket of her tactical vest. “The love of my life died in my arms. Bring him up again, and I’ll break my foot off in your ass.” She pulls the pin on the flash bang and shouts, “Hope y’all have sunscreen!”
The stun grenade hits the stairs, and we both cover our ears and squeeze our eyes shut. Even from thirty feet away, I can feel the blast. When the sound fades, I fly down the stairs at a dead run, praying Hope at least had time to close her eyes.
Kyle’s sprawled on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, only inches from the spent grenade, not moving. A folding table’s on its side across the room. Where the fuck is Hope?
