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“You arenothelping like that,” I snarl. “Not with the fighting. I refuse to put you at risk. If that’s a problem, I’ll drive you home now.”
“And leave Loki?” she asks.
“I’d hate to do it,” I snap, “but I can’t risk you.”
I can’t risk our future. I can’t risk our marriage. Our children. Our family.
She nods, squeezing my hand. “Okay, Fletcher. I get it. I’ll stay here.”
Leaning forward, I press my lips against hers. I’m not sure what’s waiting for me in that farmhouse, but there’s a chance this is the last time I’ll see my woman. I kiss her deeply, my hand resting on her leg. I purposefully keep it close to her knee so my fierce hunger doesn’t get out of control. Even now, when my thoughts should be elsewhere, there’s a chance of that happening.
“Good luck,” she whispers when I end the kiss.
Leaving the car is an effort. Before I met her, I only thought about getting Loki back. Now, instinct tries to keep me here, near my woman. Protecting her is my number one priority, always—protecting thisstranger. Yet, I don’t think of her as a stranger. Maybe it’s sad, but I’m more intimate with her than I was with the mother of my child. I’ve shared more. I’ve been more open.
Charles is wearing his scuffed-up leather jacket. He’s lighting another cigarette as I approach. “Farmhouse is half a mile that way.” He nods down the path.
“You got a tool for me?” I ask.
He frowns. “I’ve got a couple, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Are they both registered in your name?” When he makes a face, I say, “If anything happens, it’ll disappear. Nobody will ever trace it to you. You have my word and add it to the bill.”
He sighs, then nods. “Fair enough, but I think we should call the cops.”
“You’ve worked with the cops enough times to know there’s no way in hell they’re sending a unit out here who’ll get the job done. Maybe a detective,maybe, to see if it’s legit, and then there will be days, maybe weeks, while they try to get a warrant. No. Fuck that. Loki could be in there, and even if he isn’t, you said you heard barking.”
Charles swallows. “Lots of it.”
“That’s reason enough to get moving. Get me the tool and then wait here. There’s more cash in it if you keep her safe.” I nod toward my car. “Whatever happens, you can’t let anybody hurt her.” Dammit. Emotion is entering my voice again, a dangerous ingredient when bloodshed is on the table. “Are we clear?”
I only realize I’m being threatening when he takes a step back, looking at me like he thinks I’m going to take out my anger on him. He swallows. “Yeah, w-we’re clear.”
“Good.” I can’t afford to be sorry or care. Just focus. “Get me a weapon.”
* * *
I hear the barking before I see the farmhouse. With each step, I try to push Samantha from my mind. I try to tell myself she doesn’t matter. It’s cruel, but it’s what I had to do when I was overseas. On an operation, I couldn’t ever think about my son. Not thinking of Margot was easy. Maybe that makes me a bad man. It definitely made me a bad boyfriend, but not thinking of James was more difficult.
If anything, keeping Samantha out of my head is the hardest. Despite knowing that Loki and those other dogs need me, I still want to turn back and get Samantha as far away from here as possible. Bringing her was a mistake. I’m sure of that now, but I’ve heard the barking. I can’t turn back.
I crouch behind a large tree, peering around the trunk. The sun is just beginning to set, and everything is turning dusky. There’s a man in front of the farmhouse, a surprisingly large structure, the big double doors closed. I can’t risk firing from here, maybe if I had a rifle, but I don’t, just this pistol. I need to know if there are more men on the outside. I can’t see any cameras. I hate doing jobs without proper intel.
Moving from tree to tree, I skirt around to the rear of the farmhouse. There are two more men out here, one sitting on a hay bale, smoking a cigarette. The other has a rifle in his hand. Their torsos seem unnaturally bulky. I think they’re wearing body armor. I’ll be in a good spot if I can get a rifle and some of that body armor.
I wait, taking a moment to diffuse the flame that started burning in me the first time I saw Samantha. She was like a painting herself, every part of her so damn vivid—even her personality. Life wasn’t real before her. Maybe that had its downsides, like being too comfortable in hell, but it let me disconnect to do what needed to be done. It was easier when I was a cold bastard.
Now, I’m a professional. There’s a job to be done. After a few minutes, one man wanders to a nearby bush to take a piss. He’s about fifteen feet from the first man holding the rifle. He slings the rifle back to reach into a front pouch and takes out a pack of cigarettes.
I wait until one hand is on the zipper, and he looks away. Then I sprint faster than a man my size should be able to.
“What the—”
The lack of hesitation allows me to slam him against the wall. I punch him hard in the face once and then raise my pistol to the other man a second before he can raise his. I shake my head and gesture to the ground.
“Now,” I growl quietly. People might’ve heard the bang against the farmhouse wall, but there’s so much barking. The man drops his gun. “Lie down.” I don’t even sound likemeto myself. I sound like the old Fletcher, the robotic operator. It’s good. “Now.”
The man beneath me starts stuttering and spitting blood. I slide my hand to his neck and squeeze it tightly, pressing my knee against his stomach. He whines, his rifle probably digging into his back.
