I flicked up the surveillance on my laptop, the feed snapping into place in a split second as two figures resolved on the porch, one standing rigid and straight-backed with the unmistakable posture born of military discipline, shoulders squared, weight balanced, already scanning for threats, while the other was the complete opposite, leaning casually against the railing, one hand lifted in an easy wave directed straight at the camera that he shouldn’t have been able to see, and that single detail sent a spike of unease through me because it meant either he was guessing and very good at it, or he knew where we were and how we were watching, and neither option was good.
The one leaning into the camera tilted his head, smiled, unbothered, and then he tapped two fingers against the porch post right where the lens would be mounted.
“Hey,” he said, voice carrying clean through the external mic, casual like this was a doorstep chat and not a secured location. “You watching? I hope so because that saves time.”
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder without looking back. “That’s Zach. He’s the boring sensible one, but try not to shoot him.”
The straight-backed one didn’t react or glance at him, just kept scanning the tree line, alert in a way that said he’d clocked every angle already.
“I’m Kai,” he went on, shifting his weight. “Killian got Ethan to send us. We’re Sanctuary, well, Shadow Team. Special Ops.” He paused. “Y’know, likeKnight Riderwithout the cool car.” He grinned and sang the rest with added jazz hands. “Team one, activate! You’ve got a problem, we’ve got answers.”
“Jesus, Kai,” the second man—Zach—groaned.
Kai snorted a laugh. “Maybe don’t make us wait out here?”
I ran facial recognition and pulled up an excess of messages from Lyric all sent in the last hour, confirming Killian had contacted this Shadow Team out of Maine, that the two men outside were going to help our asses, and—almost as an afterthought—telling us not to get killed.
“Friendlies,” I murmured to Novak, but something in him had already locked down; he stepped in front of me with both weapons up, body angling to block the doorway and me, a hard glance cutting back over his shoulder that said this was his problem.
I was torn between the sharp, immediate pull of it and the equally strong, rising irritation I was being handled, as if I couldn’t deal with what was on the other side of that door,because I could, and he knew it. He released the lock and opened the door, a gun in each hand, one pointed at each man.
Kai didn’t flinch.
In fact, he grinned wider, lifting both hands in an exaggerated show of surrender that somehow managed to seem as if he was enjoying himself.
“Well, hey, big guy,” he said, eyes flicking over Novak with open interest. “You’re even taller than my boo, here.” He jerked his thumb toward Zach. Boo? That implied more than teammates? “Nice tats,” he added.
In direct contrast to Kai, Zach’s posture was locked, gaze steady, reading the room, reading Novak, reading me, taking everything in.
“We were in the area,” Kai went on, already stepping closer as if Novak pointing lethal force directly at his chest was merely an inconvenience. “Visiting our nephew over in San Diego, got the call you needed help, figured we’d swing by before the morning got boring.”
He tilted his head, peering past Novak into the house. “You got weapons? A plan? Coffee? I need coffee.” A beat, and then, because apparently, he didn’t have an off-switch, “Got woken up this morning with a five-year-old bouncing on my chest like I was a damn trampoline. I deserve caffeine.”
Novak didn’t lower the gun, blink, or acknowledge a single word of that.
Kai’s gaze flicked to the weapon, then back up again, amused, calculating, and then he moved—fast enough to be deliberate but not threatening—ducking enough to slip past Novak’s line of fire withoutchallengingit.
“Cool, we’ll take that as a yes,” he said as he headed straight for the kitchen.
Zach stepped forward and extended a hand toward Novak.
“Zach. Team principal, Shadow Team One.”
“Team one, activate!” Kai yelled from the kitchen, and Zach rolled his eyes.
Novak didn’t take the proffered hand. Didn’t even look at it. So, Zach turned to me instead.
We shook. “I’m Caleb, and that’s Novak.”
“Heard you might need some assistance.”
“Depends on what you’re offering,” I said, not entirely sure what this Shadow Team got involved with.
“Depends on what we’re facing,” he shot back.
“Trafficking. Kids. Pregnant girl. Extraction from a former military compound, plenty of bad guys to take out.”
“Trafficking kids?” Zach asked. “Count us in.”
