I stared at him in disbelief. “Why would you call them off?! Someone’s breaking into the house! Isn’t that the whole point of the alarm?”
“No,” Hawk said. “The point of the alarm is to let us know when someone is there so we can take care of them ourselves.”
“We don’t need the cops digging around in our shit,” Jagger said from the front seat.
And then I remembered: the Hawks were thieves.
They’d been sidelined by my arrival and our hunt for Imperium Fratrum, but I got Jagger’s point.
It was obvious something was wrong as soon as we pulled up the long driveway.
The door was flung wide open and it looked like every light in the house was on.
Hawk swore, flung open the door of the car, and reached under the back seat.
I widened my eyes when I saw the gun in his hand, not a small handgun but a giant, vicious-looking weapon.
“You’ve had a gun in the car this whole time?”
“Guns.” Jagger dug under the passenger seat and emerged with a second gun. “Plural.”
Vigo turned around to reach into the back seat and grabbed his bat off the floor.
“You’re not bringing a gun?” Hawk asked with a scowl.
“We already have guns,” Vigo said, jumping out of the car with his bat. “I’m diversifying.”
I started to get out of the car but Hawk barked an order.
“Stay here with the doors locked until we come and get you.”
I didn’t dare argue, both because it was obvious someone had broken into the house — someone who might still be inside — and because of the wrathful expression on Hawk’s face.
I watched Jagger peel off toward the fenced patio on one side of the house while Vigo took the other.
Hawk headed straight for the front door, looking like a vengeful angel as he stalked up the steps to the porch, not even bothering to slow down or make sure someone wasn’t waiting for him.
My heart raced when he disappeared into the house. I’d just gotten the Hawks back after what had happened at the paper mill. The possibility of losing them again made me sick with dread.
I leaned forward in the back seat, watching the house, listening for gun fire.
But it was quiet, and I realized the only cars parked at the front of the house were Jagger’s bottle-green Aston Martin, Hawk’s Hellcat, and the bland rental I’d been driving since my accident on the mountain (I’d finally gotten the insurance money but hadn’t had time to replace my Subaru).
Whoever had broken into the house had approached on foot.
Either that or they were already gone.
I held my breath, then exhaled when Vigo exited the house, his bat in hand.
He opened the back door and I realized he was furious, realized I’d never actually seen him mad.
Vigo was an agent of chaos, but his chaos wasn’t usually driven by emotion.
He just liked chaos.
“All clear, mouse.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
