Window Man went still beneath him.
Wes turned to see what had happened.
Rowan stood against the far cabinet, a gun raised in both hands. Her arms shook and her jaw was set with a determination that made his chest clench.
She’d found a weapon. And it wasn’t his.
His gun still lay near the door.
Across the kitchen, Remington had Beefy Man pinned to the floor, one massive paw on his chest and his muzzle inches from the man’s throat. A low, menacing growl warned the man not to even flinch.
Beefy Man had gone completely still. He knew Remington wasn’t making an empty threat.
Wes kept his forearm across Window Man’s chest and didn’t move.
“Rowan.” He kept his voice low and steady. “You’re doing great. Hold your position.”
Her eyes flicked to him for just a second. Something moved through them—relief, fear, the effort of holding herself together—before they went back to the man in front of her.
“I’ve got this one,” Wes said. “Don’t move the gun. Don’t lower it. Just keep your eyes on the room.”
She gave a single tight nod.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Wes meant it in more ways than one.
Wes shifted his weight and reached for Window Man’s wrist, working to get control of his arms before he could think about using them.
The man resisted with a short sharp push against Wes’s grip. But with his partner immobile and a gun trained on the room, he was running a different calculation now.
“Lauren.” Wes kept his voice even. “I need you to look around the kitchen. Is there something—a cord, a belt, anything—we can use to tie his hands?”
Lauren blinked. Looked around.
“My mom has a junk drawer,” Rowan said. “Beside the sink. To the left. There might be zip ties in there.”
“Find them.” Wes told her.
Lauren pushed herself off the refrigerator on unsteady legs and moved toward the far end of the counter. She pulled the drawer open with shaking hands.
Wes kept his attention divided between the two men and the room.
Rowan hadn’t moved. Her arms still trembled, but the gun stayed level. The look on her face had shifted from terror into something quieter.
She was holding her own.
He almost had Window Man’s wrists controlled when he caught the movement.
Not from his man.
From the beefy one on the floor.
The one Remington had pinned.
The man had been still. His gaze was latched onto the gun in Rowan’s hands. In the fraction of a second that Remington’s attention shifted toward Lauren crossing the kitchen, the man’s body coiled.
“Remi—” Wes started.
But the man was already moving.
