“They were moving him from the hospital,” Sarah said. “He was still being treated for burns.”
Burns.
The flare.
Jen’s hands shaking.
The stench of scorched flesh.
His gaze flicked to Jen.
In his bed.
“The FBI’s mobilizing,” Sarah went on. She hesitated—just a fraction, but it was there. “Wyatt, you cost him and he’s had at least an hour’s head start.”
He’s coming here.An hour’s head start.
Shit.He dragged a hand through his hair.
A team like that didn’t improvise. They could already be here. He’d dealt with this kind of fuckery before. But not with Jen barefoot in his bed, sleep still clinging to her skin. “He’s coming here.”
Silence hummed on the line. “You don’t know?—”
“We’re the ones who fucked with his plans.” He sighed. “And Jen’s the one who burned him.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
Sarah exhaled. “Okay. Okay.” The phone went muffled as she shouted commands, and then she was back on the line. “I’m mobilizing every deputy I’ve got. And I’m calling Ryder and Caleb. They’ll already be moving by the time I hang up.”
“How long?”
“We can be there in half an hour.”
Too long.
If Akilov’s people had been watching the house—and a man like Akilov always watched—they could breach in five.
“I’m securing the house.”
“Wyatt.” Her voice sharpened. “Do not engage alone. You wait.”
He didn’t argue. “If he’s coming, he’s close. Closer than you.”
“I’m sending everyone I have. Just—” Her voice softened, stripped of badge and protocol. “Don’t die before I get there.”
Wyatt closed his eyes for a second. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
He ended the call.
One second of stillness. One second to look at Jen and take her in.
“Wyatt?”
He shook his head, his mind already somewhere else.
Jen slid out of bed, pulling his sheet around her. “I’ll get dressed.”
No panic. Just focused action as if they were in this together. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d been a whisper against his chest. Now, she was dressing for a fight.
