“You got an address?” Gabe asked in full team leader mode.
“Already entered into my phone’s GPS app.”
To Gabe, Matt asked, “When do we leave?”
Three hours later, under the cover of the night sky, Matt and the others made their way across Anderson’s vast back yard. Dressed all in black, they kept their guns at the ready as they prepared to breach the private residence.
According to Derek, shutting down Anderson’s security system had been child’s play. Seeing how it took the guy less than two minutes to hack in and disable the property’s entire system, Matt believed him.
Kole had laughed, commenting on how Anderson should’ve paid as close attention to keeping his home secure as he had hiding the electronic trail that led them here in the first place. Matt was just thankful they were here because that meant they were one step closer to finding Kat.
After a semi-silent entrance through the home’s back door, the team walked in the same, straight-line formation they’d use on any other op. Once they’d cleared the spacious main level, the four men spread out as planned.
Kole and Derek took the basement while Matt and Gabe held their positions in the home’s entryway. Some may think it unnecessary to take such lengthy precautions but keeping each other safe was never a waste of time.
After all, Anderson was involved in a plot to steal a formula, which if sold to the wrong person, could cost American soldiers’ lives. No way in hell would Matt or anyone else enter this bastard’s home without being prepared for the worst.
Once those areas were found to be clear, the team made its way upstairs. Brian, Kat’s deceased husband, had been Sloane Anderson’s only child, and the man had been divorced for several years. According to everything Derek could find on the guy, he wasn’t currently involved in a romantic relationship of any kind, which meant he would most likely be sleeping alone. Still, like with everything else R.I.S.C. related, the guys took nothing for granted.
After clearing the other upstairs rooms, the team stopped outside the set of large, double doors. With Derek having already accessed the floor plans to the home, they knew this was the master suite.
With a single nod, Gabe gave him the go-ahead. Matt wrapped his gloved hand around one of the doors’ knobs, took a breath, and opened the door. Flipping off the flashlight mounted on his gun to help with the element of surprise, Matt got as close to Sloane Anderson’s sleeping form as he could before pressing the end of the barrel to the man’s forehead.
Grimacing, it took the drowsy man a few seconds to realize what had woken him. As soon as he saw Matt and the others, his eyes grew round with fear.
“What the hell?” Anderson yelled as he scrambled to get away from Matt—and his gun.
“Don’t move, asshole.” Matt shifted his gun lower, pointing directly at the man’s heart.
“W-who the hell are you?” Anderson stammered. “What do you want?”
“Who hired you to steal the formula?” Matt got straight to the point.
“Formula? W-what formula?”
“Don’t play fucking games with me,” Matt growled. Pushing the barrel into the guy’s chest, he demanded, “Who. Hired. You?”
“I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Not in the mood to deal with this shit, Matt flipped the safety on his gun, swung it around so it hung off his shoulder, and reached for Anderson. Filling both fists with the front of the asshole’s shirt, Matt picked him up and tossed him to the carpeted floor.
“Ah!” Sloane cried out as he landed with a thud. “Stop!” He tried crab-walking backward. “Y-you can’t do this!”
“Oh, I can.” Matt followed him slowly. “And I will.”
“I have money! In a safe in my office downstairs. It’s all yours if you’ll just go and leave me alone.”
For some reason, that pissed Matt the hell off. “You think this is about money?” He towered over the asshole. Using only one hand this time, Matt reached down and dragged him to his feet. “I don’t want your fucking money, Anderson. I want the name of the person who hired you to pay off Todd Kennedy.”
“I d-don’t—”
Matt’s tight fist cut the lie off as he threw the man to the floor. Ignoring Anderson’s grunts and groans, he lifted him off his feet again, this time shoving the traitorous prick against the bedroom window. The glass cracked from the pressure.
“Stop fucking lying, you sack of shit,” Matt growled in the man’s face. “You paid Kennedy to steal the formula, and then you paid him to try and kill Katherine Marsh.”
“No, I-I—”
Matt pulled his pistol from his holster and shoved the barrel beneath Anderson’s chin. “You think I’m playing?”
