Page 135
Every light in the house cuts out at once.
The bathroom goes black. The hallway. The bedroom door at the end of the hall is a rectangle of deeper darkness.
My phone screen throws a pale blue glow across the tiles, and in that thin light, the silence is too complete. No hum from the refrigerator. No whine from the heating vent.
Just my own breathing, too loud in my ears.
I stand frozen, one hand on the sink, and my skin prickles from my nape to my fingertips.
Quick footsteps sound in the hallway, and Kain appears in the bathroom doorway. He’s shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, and in the blue light from my phone, the bruising along his ribs is a dark shadow.
He crosses to the window and pulls the curtain aside.
Our neighbor’s porch light is on, and their kitchen window glows yellow.
“We’re the only ones without power,” Kain says, flat and controlled.
He moves to the hall window, peering through the blinds toward the curb where Luca’s car should be parked. Luca wouldn’t leave his post before the next shift of protective detail showed up. Which means something is very wrong. The realization wipes away any lingering heat like a bucket of ice water.
“We’re under attack.” Kain turns back to me, and his hand finds my upper arm, shoving me toward the hallway. “Safe room. Now.”
“I can help—”
“Reef.” His fingers dig into my bicep. “Lock yourself in the safe room and call for backup. That is helping.”
He pushes me down the hall, his body between me and the stairwell, and we reach the door to my streaming office. Kain shoves it open and guides me inside before crossing to the bookshelf and pulling.
The entire unit swings outward on silent hinges.
The safe room is six feet by eight, lined with soundproofing foam, and the back wall holds a rack of weapons and a bank of monitors. Kain flips a switch, and emergency lighting bathes the space in dull red.
“Boot the cameras,” he says, reaching for the handgun rack.
As he selects a compact 9mm, checks the magazine, and racks the slide, a sound carries from somewhere in the house. A footstep. A door. Too close.
Kain’s head turns toward the safe room entrance, and his jaw sets.
“Call Rowan.” He backs out of the safe room, gun held at his thigh. “Don’t open the door for anyone but crew.”
“Kain—”
He pushes the bookcase shut. The lock engages with a heavy thunk, and I’m alone.
My hands shake as I power on the monitor bank. The screens flicker to life one by one, grainy black-and-white feeds from cameras hidden throughout the house. Hallway. Stairwell. Front entry. Kitchen. Living room.
I pull up Rowan’s contact and hit call.
He answers on the second ring. “Reef.”
“The house is dark, and the guard is gone. Kain’s out there with a gun.” The words tumble out fast. “I’m in the safe room. Cameras are up.”
“We’re on our way.” The sound of a loud clap comes through the line as Rowan calls for attention from whoever is with him. “ETA twelve minutes. Keep the line open.”
I set the phone on the desk and turn to the monitors.
The hallway feed shows Kain creeping along the wall with the gun held close to his body, each step silent. He pauses at the great room, listening before moving left, out of frame.
I switch to the kitchen feed.
