Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
My team had the surroundings scoped out well enough that I was only a little worried about a sniper. I was a little worried about everything. If we could have gotten away with using Wren as bait here, too, I would have pushed for that. But Cooper had reminded us, “You saw him when you saved Sylvie, and he knows it. He needs both of you now.”
Sylvie had refused to consider me playing bait unless she was beside me. I’d lost that argument too.
We pretended to watch TV, Sylvie curled into me, her leg bouncing restlessly out of sight of the window. We both jerked in alarm when the doorbell rang. My phone beeped with a message from Ryder.
All clear. Food delivery.
I opened the door to what I guessed was a college student picking up extra cash. He handed me our food and left. We ate, every bite tasting like sawdust. I hated to waste a good burger, but I couldn’t relax enough to enjoy anything when every sense I had was on high alert.
There were no more knocks on the door. No creak of a footstep on the porch. Nothing. By midnight, both of us were flagging.
“Do we just go to bed?” Sylvie asked, her shoulders drooping in disappointment and fatigue.
“We can try again tomorrow,” I said. “But yeah. For now, let’s get some rest.”
I checked the secure messaging app on my phone. No updates. The team would swap out in half an hour. We were as safe as we could be, and Sylvie needed sleep. From the bed, we had a direct view down the short hallway to the front door. I lay beside her, watching the rise and fall of her chest as I slipped into a light sleep. I wouldn’t let myself go all the way under. Not until Sylvie was safe.
The vibration of my phone, followed by the low creak of the porch stairs, jerked me fully awake not long after three a.m. I tightened my arm around Sylvie, sliding a hand over her mouth. Her eyes flew open, and I whispered in her ear, “We’ve got action. Don’t move.”
She gave a short nod, and I slid my hand away.
“Trust,” I breathed, rolling into her, half shielding her body, feigning sleep as I heard the front door swing open and close almost silently, and saw a dark shape move down the hallway toward us. All they would see was a couple wrapped in each other, tucked into bed, fast asleep. Vulnerable. Easy prey.
The footsteps stopped at the door to the bedroom. Through slitted eyes, I watched the bomber’s arm rise and take aim at us, the black metal of his weapon catching the faint light from the hall. I braced, reminding myself: Trust.
A shadow moved in the hall behind him. He caught the scuff of a shoe and started to turn, but he was too late. A second later the gun was wrenched from his grip. The light flicked on, and Ryder was there, the barrel of his 9mm shoved into the back of the bomber’s skull. Maddox stood beside them, the bomber’s gun in his hand, trained on its owner.
“Secure him,” Ryder said.
Maddox flipped the safety and stowed the extra weapon in his cargoes. He pulled a set of restraints out of his pocket, wrenching our would-be killer’s hands behind him.
Ryder tapped his ear with his free hand. “Call it in. He’s secured.”
Law enforcement had been interested in our guy. Now that we had him, the FBI would be on the way, happy to take him off our hands.
In the time we had left, we wanted answers.
“Who hired you?” Ryder demanded.
The bomber’s expression was flat. Sylvie had said he was charming and friendly when they first met at the building he’d blown up. There was no sign of charm here. The bomber’s eyes were dead, his jaw hard, face resolved.
He didn’t answer Ryder’s question. Didn’t even flinch.
It was the reaction of a professional. Not that I’d had any doubt that was who we were dealing with. I sat up, shoving Sylvie behind me. He was disarmed and secured, but a primal part of me didn’t want so much as his eyes to touch her.
“What is Ghost Trace?” I asked, studying his face for any reaction.
Nothing.
“Did Ghost Trace hire you?” Maddox demanded. “How close are you to Silas?”
The faintest smirk crossed the bomber’s face. “Closer than you,” he said.
“But not close enough,” I pushed. A faint nod. Apparently, he agreed. “And Ghost Trace. Why did they hire you?”
“Ghost Trace isn’t a they,” he said. His tone was smug, but there was something else there. Fear? Resignation at being caught? He wasn’t scared of us, I could tell. Which meant he was afraid of something else.
“Then what is it?” Ryder demanded, nudging the barrel of his gun into the back of the bomber’s head.