“I got them, Con,” RT growled bitterly. “You help Z. Let’s get outta here.”
“Fine, but you better keep your eye on this squirrely bastard,” Conner affirmed, followed by a muted grunt, this time not from Conner. If Z had to guess, Conner had given the bad guy a gentle nudge before leaving his ass on the floor.
“Shit!” RT yelled. “Don’t fucking move!”
That didn’t sound good.
Silence followed, and Z waited for direction, keeping his eye on the girl while footsteps sounded from the hall. He knew people did crazy shit when they were scared—he’d been shot at, stabbed, and yes, kneed in the family jewels during more than one rescue attempt—and he didn’t care for surprises.
Z sidestepped the garbage on the floor and stuck his head out into the hall. There RT stood, holding a gun in each hand, one aimed toward the kitchen, the other into the living room.
“Problem?” Z asked.
“Fucker’s in the kitchen.”
As though making his location known, a gunshot erupted from that direction.
“Fuck. Get down!” RT yelled.
Great. So much for plan A. RT’s hostages were split, and one was trigger happy, which greatly diminished their likelihood for a cakewalk rescue.
“Back door’s blocked, Z.” RT’s voice sounded in his earpiece and from only a few feet away. “You and the girl’ll go out the window.”
“Roger that.” Z headed for the window, not bothering to tell RT he could toss the girl over his shoulder and walk out the front door with her. Where was the fun in that?
“Bars,” Z reminded them via the com link as he yanked the cheap plastic blinds down, letting them crash to the floor.
“Con! I can’t see him,” RT called. “Get to Z.”
“Ten four.”
Less than a minute later, the sound of someone rapping on the glass outside the window had Z looking down to see Conner frowning up at him, talking to him via the transmitter. “I need one minute. Get the girl away from the window,” Conner insisted, the man’s blunt tone broadcasting in Z’s earpiece.
Conner Kogan had been tasked with blowing the bars from the window if plan A didn’t work out—Conner’s suggestion, of course—and the man’s gift with explosives, a skill he’d picked up in the military, had apparently come in handy once again.
Z grabbed the girl and pulled her into the narrow closet with him, keeping her shielded by his own body since the bifold doors were hanging from the track, unable to offer them any cover. “Go!”
While he waited, Z listened to RT instructing the remaining bad guys to zip-tie themselves, his words clipped but steady. A couple of minutes later, a series of small explosions resounded, sending wood shards and glass flying into the room. The girl squealed, but she didn’t try to run.
“Let’s go!” Conner yelled, sticking his head in the window once the smoke cleared.
Z grabbed the girl, lightly shoved her toward Conner, and waited as the other man pulled her to safety.
“RT, need help?” Z questioned, turning to peer into the narrow hall.
“All good in here,” RT answered breathlessly. “Keep your eyes open out there. On my way now. See you at the van.”
With that, Z followed the rest of the plan to the letter, slipping out the window behind Conner and the girl, checking for the AWOL bad guy before darting through the backyard, then catapulting himself over the chain link fence into the alley. He took off running in the pitch-blackness, carefully dodging the trash cans and other debris in the narrow space between backyards.
Two minutes later, he was hopping into the van with Conner and the girl while Clay Trexler sat behind the wheel, ready to make tracks. Z held his breath, counting down from ten…nine, eight, seven…six…shit…five… The air escaped him in a rush of relief when RT jumped in the van, slamming his hand on the seat and telling Clay to go.
“Stop to have coffee?” Clay teased as he threw the van in drive.
“Nope. Just knock out the escapee. Don’t want to do a half-assed job.”
Z chuckled.
Conner was on the phone with the police, calling it in, and before they exited the alley, RT was dialing the girl’s parents to let them know she was okay.
“Everyone good?” Clay asked from the front seat. “Well, you know, aside from the bad guys?”
Z peered at the girl. She was still crying, her chest heaving with her sobs as she huddled in on herself in the backseat. Alive, yes. How well she’d fare after this ordeal was yet to be seen.
“As good as can be expected,” Z told him.
Conner glanced back, then met Z’s gaze. It was obvious the guy wanted to say something, but thankfully he kept his parental advice to himself.
A handful of minutes later, they were on the highway, making their way back to Dallas, another successful extraction completed.
TWO
WITH THE LONG DAY NOW behind him, going home and crashing was the first thing that crossed Ryan’s mind. Unfortunately, he knew that wasn’t going to be an easy feat. It never was. His body was exhausted, but the rest of him—namely his brain—hadn’t yet received that news flash.
First of all, the adrenaline spurred by the op was surging through his veins, his muscles still tense, heart rate slightly elevated, all leaving him restless. As he saw it, he had two choices: go to the office, drown himself in work until his eyes crossed and he couldn’t stand upright, or offer to take the guys out for a beer. As he thought about the endless amounts of paperwork that awaited him—something he didn’t look forward to doing on a good day, much less on a Friday night—he figured the beer was the more reasonable choice.
After they had delivered the terrified teenage girl back to her distraught, yet relieved, parents and briefly discussed her getting treatment for her injuries as well as counseling, Clay had turned the van in the direction of the Sniper 1 Security office, where they’d met up earlier. The trip back had been dull, especially bearing in mind the showdown at the drug house—and even that had been relatively simple, all things considered. In the van, Ryan had made a quick call to his father, letting Bryce know the mission was a success and that he’d share the details when he saw him next.
Now, as Ryan slid out of the passenger seat of the nondescript black van, waiting for Conner, Clay, and Z to follow, he glimpsed the four sport bikes lined up in a row along the concrete wall of the parking garage. What he wouldn’t give to hop on his motorcycle and hit the open road. It didn’t matter that it was closing in on midnight. The need for some quiet time to clear his head clawed at him, but he shoved it away. There was too much shit to do.
“I’m headin’ home,” Conner said gruffly. “See y’all later.”
That was Conner. Never mincing words.
Ryan knew better than to try and coerce Conner into going out for a beer. The guy hadn’t been in a sociable mood as of late. Not that anyone could really fault him for his less-than-stellar attitude. It’d been nearly two years since Conner’s wife had been murdered, leaving them all with a hole in their hearts but, most importantly, leaving Conner’s and his fourteen-year-old daughter Shelby’s lives irrevocably shattered.
“See ya Monday,” Ryan told Conner.
Conner nodded as he pulled his helmet over his head. Less than a minute later, he was roaring out of the parking garage at high speed. Ryan, along with Clay and Z, watched him go.
“Y’all wanna get a beer?” Ryan offered coolly, still staring out into the night, suddenly not really in the mood for going out after all but not looking forward to paperwork or going home to an empty house, either.
“Not me, man,” Clay answered. “I’ve been up for twenty-four hours. You didn’t even give me time to take a nap. I’m ready to crash.”
Ryan nodded at his younger brother, then turned to Z.
That sudden, overwhelming desire he’d been battling for longer than he cared to admit hit him square in the chest as his gaze slid over the big man. Z was dressed in all black, and his presence sucked all the oxygen from Ryan’s lungs. The man looked hot enough to…