“Yes. No engines.” Rowan killed the call as Gael was revealing the safe bolted behind the bookshelves. His brother punched in the code, and the door hissed open to reveal their weapons stash.
Rowan grabbed his preferred AR-15 with a suppressor threaded on and a mag loaded with hollow points. He shrugged on the sling and attached the weapon to it. He briefly considered leaving it at that, but old habits die hard, and he grabbed two K-Bars and strapped one onto his ankle and the other onto his left arm. His backup sidearm went in his boot.
He hit the ranch-wide alert on the wall panel, and three short bursts of low-frequency tones that wouldn’t carry beyond the bunkhouse and barn sounded, along with sending an alert to every man on the property’s phone. Gael geared up next to him with his suppressed MP5 slung across his chest, and knowing his twin, probably at least half a dozen blades were hidden somewhere on his body.
“Perimeter?” Rowan chambered a round and jerked his chin toward the computer. He grabbed some comms units, checked the batteries, and tossed one to his twin.
“Clear so far. Sensors show the breach climbing the east side of the gate.” Gael jerked his chin toward the window, where the ranch house lights stayed dim. “Team’s ready to roll. We fanning out?”
Rowan nodded once. “Stack on me. Jericho takes point recon. Move quiet.”
They slipped out the back door into the chilly, pre-dawn morning. The grass was slick under their boots. Rowan led the way, hugging the fence line where the shadows pooled deepest, the weight of his weapon steady in his hands. Gael flanked left, and Jericho went right. Within seconds Rowan couldn’t see them anymore.
It wasn’t long before the gate’s silhouette loomed in front of them, its iron bars glinting faintly under moonlight. Colson peeled off to cover the treeline, and Bronx dropped into cover behind a stack of hay bales. The rest of his men pressed on, their boots almost silent as they closed half the distance without a sound.
Rowan crouched low behind a weathered fence post when Jericho signaled halt with a fist. His point man had his eyes locked on the shadows around the gate. When Jericho touched his fingers to his right ear, Rowan cocked his head to one side to listen. Then he heard it too, a faint muttering coming from the direction of the gate as if someone were talking to themselves.
If this is some drunk who wanted to take a damn piss in private, I’m going to shoot his fucking dick off, just for shits and giggles.
His earpiece crackled as Theo came online. “Boss, TOC. I got intel on that vehicle at the gate..”
“Go ahead, TOC, gimmie what you got.”
“It’s a black Jeep Wrangler. I ran the plates through DMV, and they came back as registered to Enya Moore.”
What the fuck?
Rowan froze, as his pulse kicked up. “Verify that intel again TOC.”
“I did, sir,” Theo grumbled. “I ran the damn plates three times. Your girl is at the gates, Prince Charming.”
“My girl, my ass.” He didn’t need that Prince Charming shit starting up again. “I swear to fuck, if this is one of you assholes pulling a prank, when I find out who did it, you’ll be cleaning my damn barn with a toothbrush.”
“No prank, sir,” Theo replied. “Seahorse Two, TOC, confirm to One that this isn’t a joke.”
Gael peered at something on his phone, then moved positions to come beside him. He shoved the screen under Rowan’s nose. “That her rig?”
“How the hell would I know? I’ve never seen her vehicle.” Rowan’s mind raced as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. People didn’t just turn up at someone’s house in the middle of the night without a damn good reason. Especially when they weren’t in the drop-in-whenever category of friends group.
She must have come because of Rain.
He supposed that was as legit a reason as any. He’d go to the ends of the earth for a horse wearing the SHR brand. “Jericho, advance to overlook. Colson, flank to our three o’clock on a quiet sweep. Bronx, cover from the bales.” Rowan reeled off commands, and his men peeled off like shadows merging with the night to follow his orders.
Rowan stepped clear of the fence post’s cover with deliberate slowness, his weapon still at ready position until he remembered this was a traumatized woman he was approaching, and he lowered it to point at the ground.
How the hell am I supposed to appear unthreatening?
As the others fanned out behind him, he figured considering who they were and the fact they were armed to the teeth, unthreatening wasn’t going to happen, so he proceeded toward the gate with Gael covering his flank.
Until he could make out the small figure crouched in the shadows of the ranch gates. He didn’t need to get closer to know it was Enya.
Her head snapped up at the rustle of movement, and even from this distance, he could see her eyes widen when she saw them. She scrambled back, her boots kicking against the dirt, sending up a small spray of pebbles that rattled against the gate, and a half-gasp, half-sob tore from her throat. “Don’t—” Her voice cracked, raw and uneven. “I’m sorry.”
Yeah, no, fuck that shit.
Rowan kept his pace slow and deliberate, as if he were approaching a spooked colt in a thunderstorm.
“Enya.” His voice was low, steady. “It’s Rowan. What are you doing here, Sugar?” He winced as soon as the endearment was out of his mouth. There was no way the guys missed it, and no doubt would bring fucking Prince Charming back into existence.
