A moment later he stepped back into view and moved to the armory door.
I should go down there.Get a weapon. Maybe ask him what the hell was happening. He was Coast Guard. That meant friendly.
Probably.
The cleaning staff had been friendly, too. Lockhart had smiled at her every morning for six months. Asked how her day was going in his quiet, accented English.
Then he’d pointed a gun at her face.
And this guy moved like the terrorists. Same efficiency. Same cold professionalism.
Different uniform didn’t guarantee different allegiance.
But what if the most dangerous man she’d ever seen was also her best chance of surviving the night?
5
The guards were secured.
Unconscious.
Wyatt counted a full five seconds anyway.
Adrenaline still thrummed warm in his muscles, the aftershock of violence buzzing through his veins. His knuckles stung where they’d hit bone.
And God help him, part of him felt clearer for it—the old battlefield quiet slipping back into his bones as if it had been waiting for him. It still felt too damn good.
He straightened.Two down here. Twelve more on the deck above. Fourteen hostiles so far.
He flexed his hand and turned to the armory door. Heavy steel. Biometric lock with a keypad backup. A red light glowed above the handle.
Military-grade security.
No way in hell he was opening it without tools or time.
He paused.
A faint sound above him—breathing that wasn’t his.
Wyatt stilled.
He didn’t look up, just let his gaze track upward.
Air vent. Maintenance access. Heavy gauge steel. The corners weren’t fully seated. Could be hostile. Could be crew.
Either way, he couldn’t ignore it.
He backed up three steps, reached up, hooked his fingers through the slats?—
—and ripped.
The vent cover screeched free. A woman’s face in the opening—eyes wide, shock frozen on her features.
Dark hair, fierce eyes, blood on her temple—and she was already swinging.
He caught her around the waist, trying to control the momentum, but she was moving too fast. They went down together, his back slamming into the deck with her weight driving the air from his lungs.
Rig worker. Coveralls. Tool belt. But air punched out of him as her elbow found his ribs—fast and vicious.
