“Inside?”
“Whoever else is left. Don’t expect competence.”
We slip in through the side door.
The mansion is exactly what I expected. Old money, given to somebody with no taste. We move down the first hallway shoulder to shoulder, low, the way we’ve done a hundred drills’ worth of hallways together.
A guard at the end of the corridor turns. He sees Lorenzo. He starts to draw. Lorenzo takes him with one round through a suppressor that sounds like a cough in a library.
He goes down.
We step over him.
The next room is empty. The room after that has a man asleep in a chair, his rifle across his knees, the strap not even fastened. I take him without waking him.
Another two in the back gallery near the kitchen—one’s on his phone, the other’s eating out of a bowl. He sees me and drops the bowl. It shatters at his feet. He doesn’t get the chance to draw.
I lose count somewhere after the second hallway.
I only care about one thing.
Find her.
Find her.
Find her.
We hit the foot of the main staircase.
We stop.
There are voices around the corner.
Lorenzo holds up a hand.
We listen.
Two men. Standing maybe ten feet from us, on the other side of the wall, near the base of the back staircase.
“—says bring her up. Top floor.”
“Now?”
“That’s what the text says. Top floor bathroom. Says drag her up if she gives us trouble.”
A laugh.
“Drag her. Yeah. He likes them feisty, doesn’t he?”
“He likes them however they end up after he’s broken them in.”
“You think he wants us to stay?”
“Stay?”
“Yeah. Hold her, or—you know.”
The other one is quiet for a second. Then a low whistle.
