Page 121 of Stealth Mission

She blows out a breath, “But how is?—”

The words halt as she stiffens, quickly clutching at my shoulders. Her voice drops to a low whisper in the darkness. “Did you hear that?”

I’m already moving. I plant a hard, fast kiss on her lips. “I heard it. Step out of the shower carefully. Leave the water on.Lock the door. Sit on the floor in that back corner. Don’t come out until I come back for you.”

Marianna’s a deer in headlights.

“Understand?”

Nodding wildly, she licks her parted lips.

I hate to leave her. But my job is to keep her safe.

Snagging a towel off of the hook, I wrap it around my waist, cursing the fact that my gun is all the way across the bedroom on the dresser.

Chapter Forty-Three

The house is still. Every room is empty. The kitchen as we left it. Our glasses on the counter. The tequila cork is still lying next to the bottle. Discarded limes on the cutting board. The knife is even there.

I snag it as I glance around, everything seems normal. But as I move toward the laundry room, a sliver of light catches my attention.

A small puff of wind moves across my arm, confirming the side door is open. The beam of moonlight spilling inside is coating the terracotta with a silvery rectangle of light.

The hair raises on my nape.

For a beat, I wonder what Vik has in all the gun cases stacked on Marianna’s tables. Some other weaponry could be handy right now.

A hinge creaks eerily as the wind pushes against the door, moving it another inch.

Jesus.A sick feeling rolls through me. Someone was in the house. Possibly with us while we were having sex. While she was sleeping next to me.

As I pass through the open doorway, I glance down. The lock-plates and door jamb are intact. Someone picked the locks or had a key.

That sick feeling morphs into disgust. I should have changed her locks for her.

I’m not fit for Marianna. I can’t even do the basic things to keep her safe.

Pushing down my disgust, I move out into the night. I’m not letting this asshole get away. I won’t fuck this up.

Tucking low, I sprint forward to a cluster of trees. There are lots of shadowy places on the property. Plenty of places for someone to hide. Taking my time, I consider each spot.

And there he is.

My anger builds as I watch him. What the hell is he doing?

Pointing a gun. Not at me.

This makes zero sense.

I shift and move forward, taking cover at the next tree. Then I see his target. He’s taking aim at a man who’s moving between the trees.

What the hell is going on?

Reflexes take over. When they run, I run after them. The three of us are sprinting through an agave field.

Two things roll through my head. I have to catch the bastard. And second, this scenario is fucked. Marianna’s agave plants arehuge. Far too large to hurdle. Not only that—their spines are stiff, preventing me from being able to cut between the rows.

We’re running, but we’re like three swimmers stuck in three lanes.

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