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Sneer’s laugh was as dark and horrid as the black iron in his hand. “This gun?”
Dale swore and Heather agreed with him.
“Go ahead and take your shot, girl.” Sneer tossed it at Heather and her hope of being underestimated evaporated when she saw he’d emptied the clip and cleared the chamber.
She aimed it at Sneer anyway, pretending she didn’t know any better.
The thug ignored Dale, laughing at her. “Oh, yeah. You’re gonna be all kinds of fun.”
She refused to panic. Dale didn’t have a weapon of his own and Sneer’s crow bar would break bone with every strike. But he was former Special Forces, she reminded herself. He’d been trained by the Army and the FBI.
And he had her for back up.
Too stubborn to give in, she tried to distract the intruder. “Who sent you?” Dale might not understand her, but she wasn’t some weak civilian he had to protect.
Sneer looked her way, his gaze darting between Dale and Heather. “Me and you will talk later.”
The room that had seemed so expansive last night felt tiny and cramped now. Sneer was obviously enjoying his advantage. Heather refused to show the fright his words caused, refused to let his intimidation take root. As the baby of the family, she’d been fighting dirty and taunting older siblings all her life.
“You and me,” she corrected his grammar just as he raised the crowbar and cut off the angle, advancing on Dale again. It was a lame distraction, but it proved to be enough. Sneer hesitated and Dale rushed forward, putting his shoulder into the man’s ribcage and driving him into the tall oak dresser. The oak didn’t give. Sneer’s arms and midsection curled around Dale, but he couldn’t get an angle to make the crowbar effective.
Dale slammed Sneer between his body and the dresser twice more until the crowbar fell to the floor.
Heather dropped the useless gun and snatched up the crowbar. When Sneer managed to toss Dale away, she took a home-run swing at Sneer’s knees.
The man howled in pain. She hit him again and was ready to strike Sneer’s ribs when Dale stopped her.
“Ease up, Heather. I’ve got him covered.”
She turned, awed by the view. Dale stood tall, weight balanced equally on his feet, gun at the ready. “Call the FBI office.”
“H-he was waiting f-for us,” she stammered.
“Looks like it.”
On the floor, Sneer groaned and cried, managing to call her foul names in between. “Can I kick him?”
“Lightly.”
She kicked him in the gut, forcing the air out of Sneer’s lungs. They could debate the accurate definition of “lightly” when they were out of here. Sneer clearly had plans to kill or maim Dale and take her as a bonus. The momentary quiet was helpful as she reported the intruder in Special Agent Nichols’s home.
“They’re on their way,” she said as she ended the call.
“Good. Are you hurt?”
“Nothing permanent.” She’d be sore, but that wasn’t relevant and she didn’t want to give Sneer an ounce of satisfaction.
Dale nodded, as if understanding her unspoken meaning. “Check my nightstand for handcuffs.”
She arched her eyebrows, feigning shock. “Mr. FBI has a kinky side,” she teased.
“You know that better than anyone,” he replied, his gaze locked on Sneer.
Oh, right. They were supposed to be engaged. In fact, they were supposed to be out of town. “Shouldn’t you question him?”
“He won’t answer me anyway.” Dale’s shoulder hitched in a careless shrug. “He’s likely more afraid of what his boss would do if he talked. Besides, I’m off the clock.”
It didn’t look that way to her. He embodied everything strong, capable, and absolutely on duty. She wondered if he realized he wasn’t favoring his leg as he moved around, keeping Sneer in his sight while Heather approached their attacker.
