He wasn’t sure how the NSA operated on things like this, but he guessed they’d have someone on hand to do an efficient sweep and clean of the place. Including washing the sheets.
After dropping his bag by the front door, he took the stairs two at a time. Since the bathroom door was closed, he set Karen’s clothes on the bed and headed back downstairs. Because if he stayed and waited for her, he had a feeling they might end up naked. Okay, probably not, since he knew a team was arriving soon, but damn, he wished they had more time together.
He kept replaying every sound she’d made, how she’d tasted, the sweet way her body had opened for him. He could still feel the way she’d dug her fingernails and feet into his back and ass, urging him on. The way she’d moaned his name as she climaxed . . . He shook his head as he reached the kitchen.
Nope, not gonna think about that right now. Wouldn’t do for his dick to be on full alert when her people showed up.
It didn’t take him long to locate a garbage bag. He replaced the one they’d used and wiped down most of the surfaces in the kitchen with Lysol wipes. After wiping down the small laundry room anywhere he might have touched, he started for the stairs. He wasn’t exactly worried about leaving prints behind, but with everything going on, he wasn’t taking chances.
Remembering he needed to replace the small garbage bag in the bathroom, he stopped and detoured to the kitchen.
Adrenaline flooded him as he reached the threshold of the entryway. A soft snicking sound came from the back doorway. The heat wasn’t running and Karen was quiet upstairs, so it was easy to discern. He knew what it was immediately.
Someone had sprung the lock on the kitchen door—which led to the backyard.
It could be the two men coming for him and Karen, but they’d said they’d text Karen when they arrived. It was too soon for them to be there anyway.
Withdrawing his weapon, he backtracked the way he’d come. Instead of heading up the stairs, he ducked into the living room right next to the stairs. Using the shadows to blend in, he flattened himself against one of the walls so that he had the perfect visual of the hallway. Because of the way the house was designed, there was no other way for someone to get upstairs without having to go past him.
The only way anyone was getting to Karen was if he was dead. That wasn’t happening.
Soft footfalls filled the air, the faintest squeak of shoe on tile. The intruder was inside the kitchen now. Tucker hadn’t heard the door open or close, so whoever was in was good. Or decent enough for B and E.
He heard another quiet footfall from the direction of the kitchen, then movement upstairs. He bit back a curse, hating that he hadn’t had enough time to warn Karen. But he could use this to his advantage. Whoever was in the house now would hear the same thing he was hearing and realize the person upstairs wasn’t trying to be quiet.
The intruder would think no one had been alerted to his presence.
Tucker’s grip on his SIG was steady as he heard more footfalls, a fraction quicker than the last time.
A man stepped from the shadows of the hallway, moving down it with a pistol in his hand and a black mask pulled over his face. The pistol had a suppressor. Oh yeah, this guy wasn’t one of Karen’s people. Unless the NSA had sent someone to kill both of them.
He’d find out soon enough.
The intruder wasn’t making hand signals to anyone, and when he passed the entryway to the living room—barely glancing inside, fucking amateur—Tucker moved from his position.
It was a calculated risk, but he’d only heard one set of feet and the lack of hand signals was a huge indicator this guy was alone. Not to mention that the guy who’d come after them earlier had been alone also. Most operators like this were. People did hits alone, not in tandem.
The risk was there that he might be ambushed from behind, but he considered it worth it. Because no one was making it up those stairs. No one.
Without his shoes on, he was quiet as he swept out from his hiding spot and into the hallway.
The guy was still moving forward without a backward glance. It had been foolish not to check the living room, and now this guy was going to pay for it.
Tucker weighed his options as he approached the guy from behind. He could simply end him now, he could tell him to drop his weapon and risk the guy trying to attack him, or—
A door upstairs opened. “Tucker, I think my underwear is still in the dryer. Unless you’re trying to keep it, pervert,” Karen called out, muted laughter in her voice.
The man stiffened and started to turn. He’d realized his tactical error. Too late.
Tucker slammed his weapon across the back of the guy’s head. Sometimes they went down for good, sometimes they didn’t. Crying out, the man stumbled into the hallway wall, knocking a picture off it. His weapon tumbled to the floor as he made to turn toward Tucker.
He didn’t give the guy a chance. Moving lightning quick, he attacked from behind, wrapping his left arm around the man’s neck and his right arm up under his armpit. Instead of doing a blood choke, he squeezed the guy’s airway.
The man gasped and clawed at Tucker’s arms. Tucker used his taller height and lifted him off his feet. He ignored the man’s blows.
“Tucker!” There was a sound of fast movement, as if Karen was headed downstairs.
“Stay up there!” he shouted to Karen.
Still choking the man, he half turned so that he had a better visual of the hallway in case there was a partner.
Gradually the man stopped kicking and the hands that had been ineffectually trying to strike Tucker stilled, then dropped completely.
He waited another ten full seconds before loosening his grip. The guy fell like a deadweight, but he was still breathing. Tucker hefted him back to the kitchen and dropped him facedown on the tile. He located an extension cord and used it to secure the man’s arms behind his back, then pulled his legs back so that he was hog-tied.
This bastard wasn’t going anywhere.
The kitchen door had been shut, but not locked, so Tucker flipped the lock before calling for Karen.
She definitely wasn’t quiet as she hurried down the stairs and hallway. Her switchblade was out as she entered the kitchen, the sight making him smile.
“You can put it away,” he murmured as he pulled the mask off the guy. Didn’t recognize him.
Eyes wide, Karen closed the blade. “Is he dead?” she whispered.
“No, I didn’t cut off his carotid, just his oxygen.” Tucker wondered if later he’d regret not killing this guy, but they needed to know more about who they were up against. He grabbed a handful of the man’s hair and lifted his head. “You know him?”
Crouching down, Karen got a good look at him and shook her head. “No.”
Some of Tucker’s tension eased, but not much. “I haven’t used any of my current burner phones to contact my parents or even my guys. And none of them are on.”
“You think someone triangulated my cell?” Surprise was in her voice as she stood back up. “I guess it’s possible. Crap, I left it on, thinking that since”—she looked down at the unconscious guy—“my people already knew where I was, it didn’t matter. Hey, is that how you found me?” she suddenly demanded.
Snorting, he shook his head and started patting the man down for weapons, ID, and communications devices. “He’s got to have transportation near here.” After the man had killed them, he’d have wanted to make a quick getaway.
Once the NSA agents arrived they’d be able to track it down. Tucker pulled a knife and another pistol off the guy. Nothing else, though. The man might be an amateur, but he’d been smart enough to leave any identifiers behind. Not that it mattered once they ran his prints and face. This guy was screwed. Of course that was only if he was in one or more of the multiple databases the NSA used, but Tucker guessed he’d be in one. Either a military or criminal history because the guy had moved like an operator, albeit not a pro like him, but good enough.
“Are you going to answer me?” Karen asked as he stood.