Slate had no idea what could go wrong during a visit to James’s house. He just knew that if he didn’t act, and Ashlyn needed him, he’d never forgive himself. For all he knew, she sent that text to make it clear that something was wrong. As a message. Or it might not have been Ashlyn who’d sent it at all. Either option wasn’t good.
He was grateful there wasn’t a lot of traffic on the roads, because Slate drove a little recklessly, his intuition pushing him to get to Ashlyn as soon as possible.
He was five minutes from James’s house when it occurred to him that he shouldn’t be going in alone. He’d been too preoccupied thinking about what could be wrong, and why Ashlyn didn’t answer her phone, and why she’d sent that odd text. He hadn’t even thought about calling his teammates.
He rectified that now.
“Hey, Slate. What’s up?” Mustang asked.
“I’m on my way to James Mason’s house. I need backup,” Slate told his team leader.
“What’s the situation?” Mustang asked in a no-nonsense tone that actually helped calm Slate a fraction.
“I don’t know. I’m going in blind. Ashlyn’s not answering her phone, and I just got a text that didn’t sound like her. There might not be anything wrong…but James gave her twenty grand yesterday that he’d been hiding around his house because he hates banks. Told her to keep it safe for him. He also fired his home health aide because he caught him spying on him after he’d supposedly left. I’m not getting warm and fuzzy feelings.”
“You call anyone else?”
“No. Just you.”
“I’ll take care of calling the team. Where are you?”
“I’ll be on location in three.”
“Wait for us,” Mustang ordered.
Slate didn’t like disobeying a direct order, but there was no way in hell he could wait outside when Ashlyn could be in danger. “You know I can’t do that,” he told his team leader.
“Fuck,” Mustang swore, but didn’t reprimand Slate. “Right. Get the lay of the land, gather intel, and pass it on before you go in then.”
If something was wrong, Slate wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that either, but he said, “Ten-four.”
“We’re comin’, Slate. No way we’re gonna let anything happen to your woman. Hear me?”
He did, but Slate knew better than most that sometimes shit happened no matter what preparations were made. No matter how deadly and accomplished the team was. “I hear you,” he said belatedly. “I hope like hell I’m overreacting,” he said, fear threatening to overwhelm him.
“You aren’t,” Mustang said. “I know you, and you might be an impatient son of a bitch, but your instincts are spot on. Watch your six and try not to shoot us when we make entry,” Mustang said before clicking off the connection.
His team leader wasn’t joking, it had happened in the past, team members getting caught in friendly fire incidents in chaotic situations, but that wouldn’t be an issue today—as Slate realized he’d left his house without a weapon. It was a dumbass move, but he’d been more concerned about getting to Ashlyn than arming himself.
Slate prayed he hadn’t made a deadly decision by leaving without his gun, but tried to reassure himself that he was just as lethal without one. He’d been trained by the best of the best, knew how to kill with his bare hands and how to use things in his surroundings as weapons if necessary. And if Ashlyn was in danger, nothing would prevent him from eliminating the threat.
A few minutes later, Slate pulled onto James’s street, and was actually relieved to see Ashlyn’s car parked in front of the house. That didn’t necessarily mean she was there, but it was a hell of a lot better than her phone being there and her car missing.
Slate threw his car into park a few houses down from James’s and got out, leaving the keys in the ignition. He went into SEAL mode and did his best to make himself invisible as he made his way toward his target.
Avoiding the front entrance, Slate continued around the house until he reached the side door, which led into the kitchen. The screen door was shut, but the inner door was wide open. He listened for a moment and didn’t hear anyone, which he didn’t consider a good sign. But more disturbing was the state of the kitchen. There was food and debris everywhere. It looked as if the contents of the cabinets had been thrown out and left lying all over the counters, table, and even the floor.
Swearing to himself, he moved to the window beyond the door. He glanced in carefully, and saw James lying still on his bed. It looked as if he was sleeping.
Praying the door didn’t squeak, Slate backtracked and entered the house. He stepped over as much of the broken ceramic and glass as he could, sticking to the wall. When he was just steps from the entryway that led into the living room, he finally heard someone speaking. But it wasn’t Ashlyn.
“Fuck! This is bullshit! Where the hell is it?”
Slate didn’t recognize the voice, but it didn’t matter. Peeking around the entry, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Ashlyn. She was sitting in the chair James usually occupied. Her hands were gripping the arms of the chair and she had her gaze locked on the other side of the room. On a man with his back turned.
All of his training flew out the window. Mustang would kick his ass when he heard about this, but Slate’s only thought was getting to Ashlyn.
He quickly stepped into the living area, his hands held out to his sides, indicating that he was unarmed.
Ashlyn’s eyes widened when she saw him, but she didn’t make a sound. The man in the room chose that moment to turn around.
Slate immediately recognized him as Aiden, the recently fired home health aide.
“What the fuck?” Aiden exclaimed. Ashlyn sprang up from the chair, even as Aiden barked, “No! Sit down!”
Ashlyn acted as if she didn’t hear him, racing to Slate.
He wrapped his arms around her and immediately turned his back to the room. If Aiden had a weapon, any shots fired would likely go right through him and into Ashlyn, but getting her out of the direct line of sight was instinctual.
He could feel her trembling against him, but other than being scared, she seemed to be uninjured. A huge weight lifted from Slate’s shoulders. She was upright, breathing, and seemed to be fine. He could work with that.
“Get away from her!” Aiden shouted.
Turning his head, Slate saw the man had taken a step closer. And he’d indeed produced a pistol. He could only assume he’d had it on his person somewhere.
“No,” Slate said, trying to stay calm as he assessed the situation.
“I knew you’d come,” Ashlyn whispered.
“Of course,” he said.
“Shut the fuck up!” Aiden yelled, a little hysterically now.
Tensing, Slate peeled Ashlyn away and pushed her farther behind him as he turned to face the man.
“Thought you were fired,” Slate said before he thought better of it. Agitating the man further wasn’t smart. He was just so damn relieved to see Ashlyn alive that he wasn’t thinking clearly. He had to get his shit together.
“Yeah, well, thought I’d come by and thank the old man personally for ruining my life,” Aiden sneered.