Cami stirred beside me, her face placid and beautiful and trusting in her sleep. Through the pup monitor, I heard Bella snort, then snore. They were both safe, but if I didn’t figure out what the hell that noise was, that could change in an instant.
I rolled onto my stomach and reached toward the nightstand. I pressed finger to the print scanner and the top drawer popped open. I grabbed my Glock and its magazine and jumped to my feet, racking the magazine and listening closely for the slightest noise while I padded to the bedroom door. With the gun in both hands in front of me, I stepped into the hallway. Three quick beeps of my security system signaled that it was being disarmed. Someone had hacked into it.
The front door banged open. The barrel of a rifle entered first, followed by a man in tactical gear, including a black bullet-proof vest. He wore a silver motorcycle helmet, which made my thoughts click into place. The engine noise had been a chopper. Specifically, Logan Lang’s chopper, which he must have ridden through the woods to get here. My security system hadn’t been hacked. It had been taken over by HEAT.
“Rogers!” Lang shouted.
I dropped my Glock to my side. “I’m here, Lang. No hostiles on the premises.”
He pulled off his helmet and his longish, graying hair, fell into his face. He shoved it out of the way and stared up at me. The creases around his eyes deepened as he glowered.
“Why the hell did you go dark without informing anyone, Rogers?” He furrowed his brow. “No, he’s not fucking dead, Pasco, although he might be when I get through with him.” He was obviously connected to Pasco by one of our standard comms units, tiny, imperceptible ones that fit inside the ear. Possibly the rest of my team was listening as well.
Lang bent and snatched something off the bottom stair. He held up a pair of pink lace panties.
Fuck me. Then I realized my humiliation wasn’t over yet because my wake-up, grab-a-gun, stalk-to-the-hallway mental checklist had been missing the get-pants bullet point. Apparently, this was my week for giving people an eyeful of my junk.
“Christ, Rogers, where the hell are your clothes?”
I pointed over the railing to the floor beside him. “Can you toss me my shorts?”
Swearing, he picked them up, pulled my phone out of the pocket, and tossed them to me. He spoke into the comms again. “I found his missing phone.” A pause. “No, Pasco.” Another pause. “Are we going to have a problem? I didn’t think so. I’m signing off.” He tapped his ear to turn off the comms. He pointed to me. “You and I definitely have a problem.”
I zipped up my shorts and held out my hand. Lang tossed my phone to me. I scrolled through the list of missed messages and calls while I walked down the stairs. A handful of calls starting an hour ago and continuing over the course of about forty-five minutes, then at least half a dozen attempts at contact from each of my teammates over the past fifteen minutes. I stopped mid-staircase and sank down to sit on the landing, laying my Glock beside me. I tapped on a phone number and spoke as soon as the call connected. “Pasco, can you patch me into the comms call?”
“I’m not going to do that, for your own good,” Pasco said. “Kat’s not very happy with you right now. Our mandatory team meeting is in seven minutes. I’ll try to get her to a more Zen state by them.” He hung up on me. He immediately called back. “Glad you’re not dead, Rogers.” He hung up again.
The front door opened and our tactical team unit, aka my close buddies, stepped inside. Hayes’s short, dark hairspiked randomly, like he’d rushed out of his house without combing it. Wheeler’s blond hair looked blow-dried into place per usual, and when he pulled off his reflective aviators, he looked the best rested of the bunch. Like Lang, both new arrivals wore black vests and carried rifles.
Shit. When they hadn’t been able to get ahold of me, Kat had sent the fucking cavalry. No wonder she was pissed.
“No one had anything better to do this morning?” I asked.
Hayes gave me a pitying look. “It’s probably not the day for humor, especially when you talk to the bosses.”
“Or to me,” Lang growled.
Wheeler grinned from ear to ear. He snatched the panties from Lang. “We were worried you had a bullet in your head, but you were just getting head.”
“The humor comment applies to everyone,” Lang said.
Wheeler shrugged and tossed the panties to me. “I’ll start the coffee.” He headed for the kitchen. “Meeting starts in six minutes.”
“We’ll dial in from your office, since we’re all here,” Lang added, in case I was too thick to have grokked that.
I couldn’t say I blamed him, since I’d so recently acted like an idiot, being separated from my phone all night without giving anyone a heads up that I wouldn’t be contactable. I’d gotten carried away like a horny teenager. I’d never live this down.
“X will be on the call, too,” Hayes said, referring to Kat’s boss and the head of HEAT. “She’s been liaising with the FBI.”
“Tell me someone fired that asshole agent Forrester,” I said.
“Not to my knowledge,” Lang said. “But Kat demanded they take him off the investigation.”
“At least that’s something,” I said.
Wheeler returned, eating a container of yogurt.
“Did you take my last blueberry yogurt?” I asked.
