Nope. He had no interest in playing hide-and-kill with the bad guys. He was safer up here.
“I’m coming,” Gunner grunted into his ear. “Where are you?”
“Outside,” he dared to whisper, praying the microphone was sensitive enough to pick up the bare thread of sound.
“Outside?” Gunner echoed. “Where?”
“Porch roof, near the tree.”
“Brilliant. Stay put. I’m going to go in and clear the house.”
He clicked the microphone twice. Emphatically. In fact, he repeated the double negative click for good measure.
“Don’t worry,” Gunner muttered. “They’re dead men walking.”
Chas flinched. The cold violence in Gunner’s voice was unlike anything he’d ever heard from him.
It was cold out here, and Chas began to shiver. He hugged his knees to his chest and lay on his side on the rough roof shingles. The angle of the roof was uncomfortable as hell, and when the wind blew, he shivered harder and crepe myrtle twigs poked him painfully. But he was alive. So far.
He tried to distract himself by attempting to spot Gunner coming. But he never saw even a hint of movement. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed at how good Gunner was or depressed at how bad he was at doing the whole Special Forces thing.
He listened intently, expecting to hear gunfire inside the house at any second. But as the minutes ticked by, silence reigned. Did he dare ask Gunner what was up? Or would transmitting give away Gunner’s position?
He opted to remain silent and just wait, but it was hell. Was Gunner lying only a few feet away from him, hurt or maybe even dying? Should he be brave enough to check on Gunner? The thought of just cowering here while something happened to him—
It was unbearable. He reached for the button on the headset to transmit. Maybe just one click to see if Gunner reacted.
Click.
A long, long pause.
Click.
Oh, thank God. Gunner had clicked back. Reassured, he hugged his knees more tightly to preserve his meager body heat. His toes were never going to feel warm again.
Without warning, gunfire exploded nearby and he lurched violently.
Sweet baby Jesus. Was Gunner hurt?
GUNNER DIVED under the dining room table just in time to avoid being shot. It had taken him longer than he’d wanted to creep across the lawn to the house, but he dared not rush in like some unthinking idiot and get himself wasted without knowing how many hostiles there were and if they’d posted a lookout outside the house.
He’d finally low-crawled all the way to the back door, which had conveniently been left open. He didn’t even have to oil the damned thing to get past the squeak. He’d just slipped inside low and scanned the kitchen quickly. Clear.
He considered the door to the basement, but he doubted the hostiles had started there. They’d be double-checking to make sure Poppy wasn’t really hidden somewhere upstairs and likely be planning to kill anyone who got in their way.
He’d cleared the half bath and butler’s pantry beside the kitchen and was just turning into the dining room when a hostile rounded the corner from the living room. It was a close thing to double tap the guy and then dive for cover.
His target went down but squeezed the trigger of his weapon as he toppled over, spraying lead all over the damned room.
So much for the element of surprise. Dammit.
A male voice called out from somewhere upstairs.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Gunner grunted, “I’m okay.”
The voice called back, “Keep searching.”
He moved quickly to the downed hostile and checked for a pulse. The guy was dead. He crouched beside the corpse for thirty seconds or so, and nobody came rushing downstairs on the attack.
Okay. He’d gotten away with his ruse. Better, he knew at least one more hostile was upstairs.
He spun low and fast into the darkened living room. He avoided the soft spot that creaked in the floor by the front window, and quickly cleared the room. After a quick check of the big office, it was time to head upstairs.
He took each step with care, easing his weight onto the tread slowly enough to prevent the casual squeak. He skipped the first step above the landing that always squeaked, and crouched lower and lower as he approached the second floor. The landing in front of him was empty.
He stopped a few steps from the top, almost lying on his belly to peer through the railings down the central hall. He saw a shadow move into the right rear bedroom—Spencer and Drago’s master bedroom.
He pushed upright and ran lightly down the hall before pausing beside the doorway. All at once he spun inside. The man across the room, currently peering in a closet, turned in surprise. Assuming that the bad guys had control of the house was the man’s last mistake. Gunner double-tapped his weapon into the guy’s torso.
On the assumption that the guy was wearing body armor, Gunner charged forward immediately after he shot, while his target was still flying backward and slamming into the wall. Drawing his Ka-Bar knife from his ankle sheath as he leaped, he jumped on the hostile’s chest and drew the blade under the guy’s ear and across his throat fast and deep.
He leaped back as the hostile went limp beneath him, shoved the blade in its sheath, and spun out into the hall, kneeling on one knee, waiting for a response to the gunfire.
The house was eerily silent.
He began a methodical search to clear the house. He cleared the bedroom across the hall and worked his way back toward the stairs. He’d almost finished with the second floor and was getting ready to head downstairs when he heard a click in his ear.
It took him a second to figure out what it was. Chas. On their private frequency. He had no doubt heard the gunfire and was scared shitless. Gunner clicked back. He hoped that held Chas for a few more minutes. He wasn’t willing to break silence until he’d cleared the entire house.
He headed downstairs and, in an abundance of caution, cleared the ground floor again. Then he headed down to the basement, which was dark, damp, and blessedly empty.
Now to make a circuit outside.
But first, a quick call to Chas. The guy was probably losing his mind if he had to guess.
“Hey, babe, it’s me. The house is clear, but now I have to check around a bit in the woods. Are you gonna be okay holding your position on the roof, or do you want me to come get you first?”
Chas sounded scared but in control of himself, whispering, “As long as you’re safe, I’ll be okay up here. Do your job.”
“Love you, Chas.”
“Love you too.”
Sonofabitch. They’d finally managed to tell each other they loved each other at the same time like normal people did. Of course, they’d had to wait until the middle of a shootout to pull it off.
Nope. Nothing normal about the two of them.
CHAS WATCHED the yard and surrounding woods intently while he waited for Gunner to come get him. It was quiet for several minutes, but then he thought he saw someone moving toward the house in the woods along the driveway.
Horrified, he reached for his throat microphone button. “Incoming,” he breathed. “Paralleling the driveway.” He thought quickly about the compass directions and added, “East side. In the trees.”
A single click was the only response.
Satisfied that he’d been helpful to Gunner, he lay still in his odd little hiding spot, praying harder than he’d ever prayed before. He prayed for Gunner to be safe and for himself to live through the night. He prayed for Poppy and Spencer and Drago, and for Mr. and Mrs. Brentwood, who’d been kind enough to take in Poppy and protect her.