“Were we, though?” He bites his bottom lip, taking hold of the side of the door like he wants to use it as a shield between us. “I’m beginning to think that anyone with you is a stand-in for him.”
I wish I could say that he was wrong. “I’m very sorry, Matthew.”
“What about the other one?”
“Miles.” Somehow, he’s even more complicated. “He and Xavier are a package deal.” Even before it was a sexual thing, that was true. There has never been a time I’ve known Xavier that Miles hasn’t been nearby. Not even I know the true extent of their history or how they met. What keeps Miles so loyal. “May I come inside?” What I want to speak to him about isn’t something I’m comfortable discussing out in the open. Very few people know what I do for a living, even fewer are invited to see even further beyond that. He deserves more than a passing explanation.
He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, knuckles going white on the door. “Uh—I…” A sharp nod. “Yeah, okay, c’mon in.” He opens the door wider, but I don’t step through.
Awareness flickers at the back of my neck, and I turn just in time to see a black Mercedes-Benz SUV driving past with the window down. Something about it isn’t quite right. It’s moving too fast.
The glint of metal raises all of my instincts, and I shove Matthew inside before following, tackling him to the ground and kicking the door shut with my foot at the same time. Bullets hit the door where we’d been standing.
“What thefuck?” Matthew exclaims. He tries to push me off, and I keep him down with a hand on his shoulder even as I lift to one knee and twist.
“Shh. Stay down there.” He obeys instantly, and I bite down the urge to praise him. Not really the time. Turning my head a fraction, I listen carefully. Tires squealing. Doors slamming. Not a drive-by. They’re coming in. Goddammit. “Where’s your back door?”
“My—why?”
“How are you at climbing?” I ask, ignoring his question. Yanking him to his feet with me, I pull out my gun and make sure it’s loaded, mostly out of habit. There’s a spare magazine in the inner pocket of my jacket and in the holster itself.
“Why the hell are you carrying a gun?” he asks weakly. There’s no trace of red on his cheeks now; he’s paler than I’ve ever seen him.
“Not the time for questions, we need to move. Unless you want to get shot?”
“It wasn’t on today’s to-do list!” he says, a little hysteria entering his voice.
“Back door,” I prompt.
“Oh my God, what is happening right now?” he mutters to himself while leading me through the warm, cozy home. I wish I had more time to admire it, that things were different. A pointless road to travel.
We’re in the kitchen when the front door is kicked in. Matthew jolts in panic, and he grabs my side.
“Relax,” I soothe, closing the sliding door between us and the hallway. “Keep going.” I don’t know how many there are, and I’d rather not stick around to find out. If I were by myself or with someone who could handle themselves in this situation, then I might do it differently. My only concern right now is getting Matthew somewhere safe.
He trips on his way to the door and fumbles with the doorknob. A man crashes into the kitchen behind us. When I fire, he yells in surprise, ducking his head. Another shot, and the attacker is dead on the floor, blood pooling under his head. At least it wasn’t on the carpet.
“What did you—”
“Don’t turn around,” I order. “Open the door, Matthew.”
“It—it’s open.”
“Go through it.”
“Right.”
When I reach the door, he makes the mistake of turning around and looking back into the kitchen. His eyes widen in horror. “Youkilledhim.”
“Would you rather I let him shoot you?” There’s no back gate, and we can’t go back around the front. The best way is up and over. “Time to climb.” I’m especially glad that I didn’t park out the front, otherwise getting out of this situation would be a hell of a lot harder.
“Climb? You mean over the fence? Yeah, no fucking way. I’m not one of those fitness guys that can lift themselves up over anything. I play PlayStation on the weekends while there are reruns ofStargateon in the background.”
Cute. “Let me boost you. Hurry.” There’s a yell from inside—they must have found their friend—and it won’t be long before they come this way, looking for us. Momentarily placing my gun on the ground beside us—the feeling of vulnerability sits uncomfortably—I lace my fingers and get on one knee. “Now, Matthew.”
He swears more than a few times as he braces himself with hands on my shoulders and then hikes himself up and over the wooden fence. Based on the curse andthudas he hits the ground on the other side, I doubt he landed gracefully. At least he’s alive and uninjured.
By the time I join him, he’s dusting himself off, and there are bits of grass in his hair.
