The squeak of the bathroom door opening sent his thoughts snapping back to attention. A spike of adrenaline sharpened Kye’s senses, pouring information into his hypersensitive brain. Even the irrelevant details came pouring in. The asshole hadn’t bothered to wash his hands.
The creak on of the second-story floorboards announced that Purdy was in the hallway, about to head downstairs. Then silence. Had Purdy paused, listening before he revealed himself?
Kye’s stomach flipped as he heard a soft moan from inside the bedroom. Gunnar might have done himself some damage struggling to get out of bed alone. That knowledge gave him a sense of just how desperate Gunnar was to warn them. Or at least warn Yard.
Yardley. She was now depending on him, too.
Just the thought her being subjected to more violence after what she’d been through the night before brought every instinct to protect within him roaring to life. He pushed down hesitation and brought up his army MP training, mentally dusting off the cobwebs as footfalls sounded on the steps.
Whipping around from the bedroom door, he lifted his arms and arched his back to stretch as he let out a big yawn. Something to cover himself as he scanned the partially hidden stairwell.
He glanced over in time to see Purdy’s pant legs descending the stairs. The right one had been rearranged to cover the knife. Was Purdy wondering if he had seen it? Or was the knife now somewhere handier, like in his pocket? It had been a while since he’d had to disarm a man. Best not to let it come to that. Act first. Control the situation.
By now most of Purdy was visible on the stairs. His corduroy shirt was buttoned and tucked in. Less material to grab in a fight. And then his grinning face, lean with suspicious eyes, was staring at him. Coyote eyes, hungry and feral, and without compassion for its prey.
“You got a nice place here.”
Kye smiled. “It goes with the job. If you like dogs.”
The man gave Oleg’s kennel a sharp glance and stepped off early to avoid going past. The dog was watching their guest silently with slanted eyes. “Actually, I don’t.”
Lily had made herself scarce. Tollers didn’t like strangers or confrontation. Definitely not a fighter.
As Purdy wandered back to the fireplace, Kye wondered if he could free Oleg before Purdy realized he was about to be wolfdog bait. However, if Purdy got to his knife before the dog got to him, he could cut the K-9 to ribbons. He’d seen what a knife in practiced hands could do. A man mortally wounded before he even knew he’d been cut. No. He wouldn’t risk an animal like that. There were potential weapons everywhere. The household was full of them. His mind began ticking them off.
Guns. Handguns?
Yardley must have a firearm about the place. Personal handgun in the bedside drawer, maybe. Not a good option from here. At all costs he wanted to keep Purdy from Yardley.
Shotguns. Rifles. Flares. Flash bangs.
Harmonie Kennels used guns to accustom K-9s to the sounds of pistol and rifle fire, and other things they could be exposed to on the job. But he knew that those guns were kept in the locker in the classroom building on the other side of the bunkhouse. They might as well be in Mumbai for all the good they would do him at the moment. He was going to have to get the drop on Purdy before Purdy realized he’d been made.
“Heard from your friend?”
Purdy wagged his head and half reached for his phone. He was right-handed. Good to know. “Shit—oops. He ain’t answering his texts. Hope he ain’t got himself in a ditch somewhere on account of the snow.”
Had the man’s accent changed to more folksy than before? Maybe he wasn’t even a southerner. Not that it mattered. A hired killer’s point of origin was fucking useless knowledge, at the moment.
“Interested in the game?”
“Sure. Who’s playing?’
“Damned if I know.” Kye moved with a deliberately easy stride to turn on the TV. It would cover more sounds of movement coming from the bedroom. Every shift or sigh from within scraped along his nerves.
He reached for the remote. Punched it on and then turned up the sound louder than need be, as cover.
Purdy remained by the fire, as if his whippet body could never absorb too much heat. Kye’s gaze ranged beyond him.
Stacked logs. Fireplace poker.
He supposed he could say something like, Excuse me. Need to stir the fire. And then grab up the iron poker. But he wasn’t sure he could carry off a strike with enough power to disable Purdy with one blow. A man with a gun and a Ka-Bar wasn’t going to give him many chances to get it right.
Overwhelming force. That’s what he needed. And to give Yardley warning time to defend herself, if need be. Please, God, let there be a loaded gun within her reach.
“That coffee smells ready. Still want a cup?”
Purdy looked up from the TV, all easy manners. “I surely do. Thanks.”
Kye hated to turn his back on the man. But he called over his shoulder. “Come on in.”
“Where’s the wife?”
When Kye glanced at the man coming into the kitchen arch, his expression was still mild. Had he mistaken the edge in his voice?