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Where was Noah?
God, was he okay?
She loaded up a text message field and with fingers that were shaking typed him a quick message. There’s someone in the house. She sent it then blacked the screen, curling her knees up to her chest and pressing her cheek to them.
“Ma-ax,” the singsong voice sent shards of terror through her gut. “I’m he-ere, Ma-ax.”
Stay still, perfectly still. She dug her fingernails into her forearms, clenching her teeth together to stop them from chattering so long he’d be able to hear them. Footsteps. She could hear them and feel them. A whimper fibrillated in her chest. He was close.
* * *
Noah felt the phone buzz in his hand, but all of his mind was focused on the call with Drew Wingrave, on explaining what he’d found on the tape.
“I just don’t see how he can be the guy. Or he’s not acting alone.”
“We’ve got bigger problems. His alibi for the slashing of the car upholstery works out. He was in Vienna for the opera.”
“I thought you said the alibi couldn’t be verified?”
“It took us time to track down the leads. His dates work out.”
“Have you released him?”
“Yes. Half an hour ago, with our apologies.”
“What about the photo in his car?”
“Swears it wasn’t his. Look, Noah, you know as well as I do that having a crush on someone is one thing, stalking them quite another. My hunch is, this isn’t our guy.”
“So we’re nowhere?”
“We’ve got some things to chase down. Leave it with me; we’ll talk in the morning.”
Noah ran his fingers through his hair, frustration pounding his insides. He felt like he was getting nowhere, and every day’s delay put Max more and more at risk. He needed – something sounded upstairs. A door. Max?
His phone buzzed again, a second reminder of a text message.
“Hang on.” He pulled the phone from his ear, and saw the text from Max. He swore. “Drew? Send a car around here. Someone’s in the house.”
He disconnected the call, pushing his phone into his pocket at the same time he reached for his weapon, ensuring it was at his hip, them moving, sideways, back to the wall, up the stairs, eyes scanning, ears trained to sound.
There’s someone in the house.
In her room? Where?
He paused at the top of the landing, listening. It was silent. Not even a hint of breathing. He could taste adrenaline in his mouth and forced his breathing to slow, so he could concentrate. The next few minutes were vital, he knew that. He needed to act fast but keep his wits about him as well.
He looked right and left, scanning for movements, shapes, shadows, anything out of the ordinary, then began to walk, stealthily, towards Max’s bedroom. At the end of the corridor, the moonlight blasted through the open window. Not open, broken.
He swallowed a curse, a burst of fear pounding through him so he could barely breathe. He’d been in dangerous situations too many times to count, both in war zones but also in private security, but it had never impeded his ability to think calmly. He was like ice, usually. But not now. Not when Max’s safety was at stake. The idea of harm befalling her wrapped around his neck like a noose. He ground his teeth, forcing himself to focus, to push aside fear and panic and concern and concentrate purely on keeping her safe.
She’d texted him, it was the middle of the night. It made sense she was in her bedroom. But where the hell was the intruder?
He pulled his phone out and tapped out a text to Wingrave: Intruder on site. Broken window.
A flash of movement burst across his peripheral field of vision. He lifted a hand on autopilot and saw stars as something hard crashed down on him. A hammer? A mallet? A goddamned fire hydrant?
He staggered backwards, the pain blinding, but it was only his arm —it hurt like a mother but probably wasn’t broken— he’d live, so long as he didn’t stumble, so long as he didn’t forget his training. But how could he forget? It was ingrained in Noah, years of combat had made that a part of him, so he reacted without thinking, lurching forward, towards the movement, uncaring that the hand was raised again. This time, he was prepared.
