“Damn it, Shane.”
From his perch on the bed, he glanced up at a boy, a large boy, towering over him. Embarrassment heated his face. “Wasn’t my fault, Mattie.”
Matt’s gray eyes flashed even as another boy about ten years old ran up, skirting beds. “He broke his arm?”
“Nathan, Shane broke his wrist. Sparring with Emery.” Matt dropped onto an adjacent bed, one of several scattered within the concrete-block walled room. A barracks.
“Shit, Matt.” Nathan sat next to Matt, his gray gaze serious on the cast. “Does the commander know?”
“Yes.” Dread slid down Shane’s spine. The scent of dust and pine cleanser made him bite back a sneeze. “He knows.” He glanced at his brothers, steeling his shoulders. “It’s okay. The fight was good and I hurt him, too. They won’t take me away.” Probably. He’d get to stay this time. Unless he allowed himself to get hurt again. “I’m sorry.”
His brothers shared a look.
“We need a diversion just in case,” Nathan muttered.
“Already on it.” Matt glanced at the large clock hanging over the door. “Jory is going to crash the computer system in about two minutes.”
Shane relaxed his shoulders. “Good. That’ll keep the commander busy.”
“This time.” Matt’s young face hardened. “We need to up our own training schedule.”
“We’ve been training all the time.” Shane shook his head. “Enough already.”
“Do what you’re told.” Nathan’s eyes turned the darker gray that meant he was about to hit somebody.
Shane glared at his older brother. “You always side with Matt.”
Nathan nodded. “Yeah, I do. Because if you get hurt…”
“You disappear,” Shane finished quietly. Panic and fear grabbed his heart and hurt worse than his arm. “You’re right. I’ll do better next time.”
Suddenly Shane jerked awake. What the hell? A barracks? Who the hell was the commander? If those were his brothers, where were they?
A rustle sounded in the quiet woods, and he eyed the brush. Some sort of small animal. But the forest had gone wholly quiet. The hair on the back of his neck rose.
Sliding out of the bag, he yanked on his boots and tucked his gun in his waistband. He crept to the edge of the trees where the house sat quietly. Too quietly. A shadow moved toward the garage. Then another one. He circled around, his eyes on the targets. They used hand signals—military. These guys were better trained than the others.
He listened. Nobody else. A team of two. Apparently two were enough for Marsh and Josie. That’s what they thought. At the idea of someone hunting his wife, his gut rolled. He stilled, and forced all emotion into nothingness. While the ability to do so wasn’t normal, he’d use the skill to save Josie and question it later.
As quiet as death, he crept forward. He leaped for the first man, aiming an elbow just below the guy’s neck. The man dropped to the ground, unconscious.
The other man turned, yanking a gun from his vest.
Shane kicked the guy’s hand and the gun went flying. He kicked for the face and the soldier blocked him, jumping forward and tackling him to the ground. Together they hit the concrete with a dull thud. Pebbles dug into Shane’s back, giving his shoulders a fulcrum. Bad move. Shane rolled the attacker over and shot three hard punches to the face that knocked the soldier out cold.
Shane jumped up. Man, he wasn’t even breathing heavily. In fact, his entire body was calm and relaxed. What the hell was wrong with him?
Now probably wasn’t the time to figure that out.
Tossing the men’s weapons into the forest, Shane ran to pound on the front door. Then he rang the bell. A light went on, and soon Marsh stood in the entryway, bare to the waist with an angry scowl on his face. Muscles lined his chest and abs. The guy worked out—probably practiced swinging sledgehammers.
Josie pounded down carpeted stairs dressed in a faded T-shirt, her hair in wild disarray. “Shane? What the hell?”
He turned toward Marsh. “Two men, over to the side of the garage. They’re knocked out, probably for a half hour. Call the police.”
Marsh twisted his head to see around Shane. “I don’t think so, Major.” He pulled out a gun, leveling the barrel at Shane’s chest. “Somehow I thought you’d show up. Most stalkers do.”
Josie hustled across rough tiles. “Tom! Put the gun down.”
Shane tensed, muscles bunching. She was getting too close to the gun. “Step back, angel.”
Marsh widened his stance. “Call the police, Josie. Tell them the major is here.”
Shane relaxed his shoulders. “Do call the police. Before the men outside wake up.”