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The closest neighbor was at least five miles down the road, so any activity they heard, other than wild animals, wouldn’t belong.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Donavan was still out. He’d been unconscious for most of the trip. Even when Brody had stopped to switch from the van to the car he’d arranged for, the man had barely woken. He’d groaned Serena’s name a half-dozen times, but that was it. Didn’t take a genius to know that Donavan was crazy worried about his wife. With good reason. Few people made it out of the organization’s clutches alive, Sean Donavan being the rare exception. He was looking forward to learning how all that had come about. For now, he had work to do.

Grabbing his gun and phone, he exited the car. Once more surveying his surroundings and seeing nothing concerning, he leaped onto the porch. He moved aside an authentic-looking wasp nest beside the door to reveal a keypad. Punching in a series of numbers, he heard a beep and a click. Gun at the ready, he pushed the door open. He wasn’t expecting a betrayal, but in his world, not being prepared for one was a good way to get dead.

His eyes swept the area. Looked like a typical safe house. Sparsely situated cheap furniture—sofa, coffee table, and two ratty chairs—was the sum total of the living room. The room to the right, probably meant to be a dining room, was empty. He went farther, noting the kitchen included a microwave and an expensive-looking coffeemaker. Whoever had stayed here last must’ve liked their coffee.

He quickly checked out the rest of the place. Two bedrooms with stripped-down beds and dressers. Between the two bedrooms was a full-sized, updated bath. With no garage or basement to check, he pulled down the rickety stairs to the attic and used his flashlight to search out anything suspicious up there. Other than some impressive spider webs, a couple of worn-out chairs, and a sofa that was even older than the one in the living room, the place was clear.

Jumping back down into the hallway, he pushed the stairs back into place and turned. A massive-looking man stood before him. The big-assed gun in his hand, along with the man’s wide-as-a-river smile, told him everything he needed to know.

Well, crap, looked like he had rat in his own henhouse.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sean opened his eyes and realized he was once again in an unknown location. He vaguely remembered awkwardly and painfully sliding into the back seat of McAlister’s car. That was about it. He had no idea how long he’d been out or where the man had gone. Growling with frustration at how weak and sore he was, he pulled himself up to a sitting position.

They were at a house. First impression was that it was an old, abandoned structure that could collapse at any moment. Most people would stay away in fear of a nest of snakes or worse—unless they looked closer and noticed the thick, reinforced windows, sturdy front door, or the bulky areas along the window seals. To a civilian, the rough areas would look like an unskilled laborer had tried to patch up holes in the exterior. Sean knew those areas likely hid weapons that would be easy to access.

This was the safe house McAlister had mentioned.

He opened the car door and, grinding his teeth against the pain, slid his legs out and pulled himself up to stand. Though his head swam like he was in a whirlpool, he focused on the steps a few feet in front of him. He still had one good leg and two semihealthy arms. He could climb three steps.

The instant he let go of the door, he considered letting himself drop to the ground and trying for a crawl instead. Refusing to give in to the pain, he halfway hopped and shuffled, dragging his bad leg behind him. By the time he made it onto the porch, he was torn between throwing up or just dropping dead where he stood. Either one sounded good to him.

Telling himself he had only a few steps to go before he made it somewhere he could lie down, he dragged himself to the door. Once he looked inside, his focus changed.

A stranger stood a few feet inside the house, and though Sean couldn’t see his face, the gun he pointed at Brody McAlister was enough information for him to know he was a threat. Their conversation told him why.

“What’s your name?” McAlister asked.

“What’s the point of knowing? You’re going to be dead in a few minutes.”

“Humor me.”

“Fine. You can call me Bob.”

“Okay, Bob. So what’s the bounty for me?”

“Five million to bring you back still breathing or two million for your head. While five million would be mighty nice, I’m okay with two.”

To Sean’s left was one of the bulky patches he’d noticed. Leaning against the doorframe, he gingerly touched the spot where he hoped a gun was stashed. Could just as easily be an explosive set to explode at brief contact. Easing the fake putty away, he noted it was neither. Instead of the gun he was hoping for, he found a sleek knife. In a one-on-one battle, the combat knife was his preferred weapon. But that was when all his limbs were healthy.

Mentally shrugging, he grabbed the knife and eased inside the room. A flicker in McAlister’s eyes acknowledged his approach.

“How’d you find me?” McAlister asked the man.

The guy gave a gruff chuckle. “You know I can’t tell you that. Honor among thieves and all that.”

“Hey, if I’m going to be dead, what’s the harm?”

“Yeah…okay. One of your tech guys—Swenson—gave up the intel.”

If he was surprised by the betrayal, McAlister didn’t show a trace of emotion. Instead, he said in a slightly cajoling tone, “How about we make a deal, Bob? You pretend you didn’t see me, and I won’t kill you.”

Bob gave another chuckle, though this one was tinged with a hint of nervousness. “I know you’ve got a gun in an ankle holster, probably a couple of knives in your pockets, and most likely a gun at the small of your back. But the way I see it, I’ve got one pointed at your face, so I’m going to go with my odds.”

A sad kind of acceptance crossed McAlister’s face. Sean knew the feeling well. Unless you were a psychopath, most people would do just about anything not to have to kill. Unfortunately, that wasn’t always an option, especially in this line of work.