Like this one. Ever so quietly, I use the little pick I keep attached to my belt and jimmy the lock open. Then I push the door open, my gun at the ready, and step inside.

Her father’s gaze swings toward me and his eyes go wide. “You!”

Jade’s tear-streaked face shifts from fear to relief and back again. “Niall. He has a gun.”

“Fine!” Voice raising, Bell swings his gun toward me. “I wasn’t going to kill you. But now I have no choice.”

“No.” I meet his gaze, and he flinches at the rage in my eyes. “You are not killing me. And you’re not taking Jade.” I point the gun at him. “You aren’t going to win.”

His face twists, contorting in anger. The hand he has clamped around Jade’s arm tightens and he yanks her in front of him. “Are you going to shoot her? Is that what you want?”

Jade pulls against his grip. “Please. Stop.” She’s crying now. “Don’t hurt Niall. I’ll go with you.”

“Ha.” He barks out a satisfied laugh. “It’s too late for that.”

Does Jade really think I can’t get her out of this? Or is she terrified beyond reason? She watched me in the shooting range, hitting my targets over and over. There’s no target I can’t hit.

But then.

Her eyes glint. There’s that little jut of her chin. And Jade slams her elbow into her father’s solar plexus, hard enough for him to let out a wheezing grunt.

He shouts, “You bitch!” and the hand holding his gun dips.

There.

Everything comes down to this. Hundreds of hours of training. Years out in the field.

I spot my target. Mid-forearm, right where the radial nerve is.

Then.

I take my shot.

He screams, a shrill cry of pain.

The gun drops to the floor.

Her father keeps screaming as he clutches his arm.

And Jade, my smart, brave Jade, leaps toward the fallen gun and snatches it up.

Even though I feel like tearing her father limb from limb, I force myself to say calmly, “Good, sweetheart. Just come over to the door. Away from him. And I’ll take the gun. Okay?”

She nods at me and whispers, “Okay.”

Although I’m desperate to hold her, my priority is making sure Jade’s piece of garbage father doesn’t try anything else. Not that I think he will—he’s sobbing and cursing about his arm—but I’m not taking any chances.

Once I get him zip-tied—I need to stock up after this—I glance at Jade’s mother still sitting on the bed. She’s not smiling; she just has this sort of flat expression on her face, and I have a terrible suspicion that she was one of the ones Bell used his drugs on.

On the other side of the house, a door slams, and a stampede of footsteps race in.

My phone vibrates for approximately the fiftieth time since Jade’s alert went off, but this time I actually look at it. This most recent message is from Xavier, asking about the sitrep, if I’m in trouble, and reassuring me they’re here.

I raise my voice and call out, “West side of the house. Fourth door on the left. I’ve got things under control. But I could use an assist to handle the police.”

“Niall?” Jade’s voice is so tiny. She’s over by the door, hugging herself and shaking.

“Oh, sweetheart.” I rush to her, gathering her into my arms. Then I pull back a little to inspect her face. “Are you hurt? Did he hit you?” I didn’t see any blood, but maybe I missed something. Maybe?—