Page 183 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

For one second, he looked like he wanted to argue badly enough to scorch the gate off its hinges.

Then Max barked again, loud and urgent.

Rafe looked toward the house.

When he looked back at me, there was fear beneath his anger. Not for himself.

For me.

That almost undid me.

Instead, I tightened my grip on his wrist. “Together.”

His jaw flexed.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

“Sure.”

His eyes narrowed.

Then the first window on the east side of the house burst outward in a flash of light.

Rafe pulled me against him before the sound reached us, one arm hard around my back, his body between mine and the spray of glass glittering far across the lawn.

25

RAFE

THE BUST DIDN'T SURVIVE THE KISS

The east window burst outward before I reached the gate.

Glass flashed across the lawn in a bright spray, followed a second later by the dull concussion of something detonating inside the house. Not large enough to bring down a wall but precise enough to open one.

Max lunged toward the sound, barking hard.

Quinn’s grip on my wrist tightened.

She was pale from the shock of the blast, but her grip held. Her eyes were wide and furious.

“Stay behind me,” I said.

“I already gave you my counteroffer.”

“And I already said this isn’t a negotiation.”

“Then stop making proposals.”

There were moments in life when a person either argued or acted. Quinn, unfortunately, had a gift for making me want to do both.

The service van sat outside the bars at an angle that made no practical sense unless it had been parked quickly. Max barked again, nose pointed toward the rear doors.

“Explosives in the van?” I asked.

“Or residue,” Quinn said. “Or equipment. Or something close enough that Max hates it.”

The distinction didn’t reassure me.