One pulled a knife.
“Barts, don’t do that.” Caleb shook his head.
“Looks like you don’t get a say.” Barts had a deadly look in his eye.
Rawlins backed up, still holding the gun aimed at him. Protecting herself. “Just knock him out and we can blow the place with him in it.”
Barts sneered, blood on his lips from some blow Caleb had dished out to him. The other agent, Walters, rolled his shoulders. Readying himself for what was next.
Bring it on.Caleb grinned. He wasn’t going to go so far as to wave on their advance, but they knew what he meant.
Barts rushed him, knife first. Caleb dipped to the side and blocked the blow, slamming Barts in the forearm with a swipe of his left arm. He punched Walters with his right, then kicked out at both men.
The next few seconds passed in a blur, interspersed with flashes of pain and the odd hitching breath. A fight for his life. These guys were the dirty agents—that was the best case scenario. He didn’t have a moment to figure out the worst between the gut punch and the stomp to his left calf.
They were going to leave him here to die and no one would ever know the truth. Noah would get dragged down in the mess and his career would be ruined.Not my brother.
Caleb gritted his teeth and grabbed Barts by the shoulders. He dragged the man down and slammed a knee into his chest.
“Finish it!” Rawlins screamed.
Walters slammed the butt of his gun into the side of Caleb’s head. He landed on all fours and Walters kicked him three times in the stomach. He grabbed Walters’ ankle and tipped him back.
Rawlins’ gun exploded in the tight hall, narrowly missing him. From this distance she should’ve killed him. It was a warning.
A boot slammed on the back of his head and everything narrowed into black.
He blinked, clawing at consciousness until he could focus enough to lift his head and push off the floor. Caleb rolled to his back and the sound of a heart beating in his ears receded enough for him to catch a steady click.
Countdown.
He scrambled up, listening to the tone grow faster and faster.
No way out of a window, or the door. Caleb rushed to the bathroom and dove into the tub, wrapping his arms around his head just as the world around him tore apart.
Chapter Two
Present day
Tessa Ashland dipped the mop like it was her dance partner and spun around, swiping a wet streak across the hall floor in her neighbor’s house. Worship music pumped in her earbuds.
Loud enough to drown out the thoughts she’d woken up with. The anxiety that liked to crowd her brain with thoughts—ones she needed to question. Were the thoughts hers, or were they spiritual warfare?
She sashayed back to the mop bucket, getting some hallelujahs in as she dipped the mop and pressed the pedal to spin it.
Thankfully Pops was outside breaking ice so the cows had something to drink on this frozen day, so she was all alone in the house. The last thing she needed was a parishioner seeing the preacher’s daughter making a fool of herself.
Ian Rourke wasn’therPops, but she called him that anyway. His grandsons didn’t visit much, and he only had an old dog forcompany. She tried to come over between the bi-weekly house cleaning she did just to make sure he had someone to talk to.
The song shifted to an angsty bridge, and she sang along, turning with the mop in her hands as she twisted around to go back the other direction. She collided with an immovable wall that shouldn’t be in the middle of the hallway.
“Oof.” The mop squished between them, and damp water ran down the front of her frumpy cleaning T-shirt from the County Fair two summers ago. Back inthosedays, fifty pounds ago.
She backed up fast because whoever he was, he was an intruder.
Tessa lifted her gaze to the man she’d smacked into. Dark, stringy hair hung on both sides of his face. He had a white tank on over a pair of workout pants. Scars from being burned on his right shoulder, and down the outside of his arm.
She backed up some more.
