Page 45 of Cautious

That doesn’t mean I won’t do everything in my power to rescue her. These assholes who think they are running the show are in for a rude awakening. They are about to find out I have connections of my own.

I look out the window at the SWAT team, ready to swarm the castle, so to speak, and smile for the first time in hours. Tempest doesn’t have its own SWAT team. The town is far too small to warrant one. However, a multi-jurisdictional SWAT team that covers an area far larger than any regular regional team is available to me. Mostly because I happen to know the guy who put the team together.

Tossing the tablet on the seat beside me, I climb out of the SUV with my guys right behind me. All of them but Aiden, who is dealing with his own shit, and Banner, who I left with the fake Brenda at the hospital.

Ignoring everyone around me, I walk over to Tate Foster, the guy who heads this SWAT team. The guy is tall and built like a fucking tank, and I say that knowing none of my guys are slouches in that department. He also happens to be a good friend of mine. We met at boot camp, back before we were deployed, and kept in touch when we both came home with fucked-up heads and heavy hearts. When I called him and gave him a rundown of what had happened, he was more than happy to step in.

Hearing me approach, he looks up and waves me closer. “Blake.” He shakes my hand. “Good to see you again. I wish it was under better circumstances, though.”

He hands me a tablet. An image on the screen burns into my eyes and makes me want to throw the thing in the dirt.

It’s a photo from a surveillance camera of Christian and a couple of goons entering the house behind me. What makesthe picture hard to witness is Callie’s unconscious body hanging limply in Christian’s arms.

“Infrared shows five people inside. I have guys in position to move on my signal. As soon as we confirm her location, I’ll let you know.” He lifts his head, his stormy blue eyes connecting with mine and holding firm. “I know you want her out of there, but don’t get in our way,” he orders, making the men at my back bristle unhappily. As much as it pisses me off, I get it, so I nod in agreement.

I have no authority, and I don’t want to waste time arguing out here when Callie is trapped in there somewhere, facing Christ knows what.

He turns from me and yells into his mic. “A team, go. B team, cover them.”

The next fifteen minutes are the longest of my life while we wait. I run through my memories, praying to God they aren’t all I’ll have left.

I fucked up. Over and over, time and time again. I held off telling her I loved her, convincing myself it was all just lust so I wouldn’t have to go through the gut-wrenching agony of losing someone I loved again. And look how that worked out for me.Standing in the mud with my thumb up my ass.

I hope against hope that my girl read between the lines of every touch and kiss and figured it out for herself. I can’t bear thinking about the alternative of Callie possibly dying without ever knowing how I truly feel about her.

“Anything?” Tate asks into the mic, sounding frustrated.

“Negative. We have five unidentified males who aren’t talking, but no signs of Baylor or the girl,” the voice reports back over the static-filled radio.

Tate turns to me, but I look away before I see the pity in his eyes.

“We’re going in,” I tell him, ignoring his protests. He has to play by a certain set of rules, but I don’t. I’ll get my answers even if I have to dig them out with a knife. Fuck the consequences.

I hear a car pull up and the doors open before I recognize the voice of one of the dickhead FBI agents. I ignore him too, making my way up the long gravel driveway to the house. I hear the footfalls behind me of my guys following me in. They always have my back, just like I always have theirs, but this time it’s more than that. Callie might be my girl, but these guys all love her like a sister, and none of us will rest until we have her safely home with us.

We walk through the front door, coming to a halt, when I see four men on their knees with their hands behind their heads, staring at the circle of guns surrounding them. All eyes come to us, but none of the guns move from their targets, leading me to assume these guys know exactly who we are.

“Oh, a party,” Arlo says as the radio on the shoulder of one of the SWAT members squawks to life.

“Sir,” the guy speaks into it, but he doesn’t move his gun or take his eyes from mine.

“Give them ten minutes. Secure the perimeter. Nobody in, nobody out, FBI included, until the place is deemed safe,” Tate answers, making me smile.

Like I said, connections.

“Sir,” the big guy answers without argument, trusting his boss.

My guys all pull their guns and point them at the guys on the floor as the SWAT members pull back and head outside. As the biggest guy of the bunch passes me, he stops and looks at me without emotion.

“If you have to kill them, at least make it look like they fired first. I fucking hate paperwork,” he grumbles, making Marcus chuckle.

He leaves while I size up the men on the floor, zeroing in on who is the weakest link and who will be the one to hold out. It’s not hard. Being able to read people is a must with the kind of work we do.

I pull my gun and aim it at the guy I know won’t talk. He stares forward, his breathing even, his face almost peaceful-looking. Yeah, this asshole won’t break quickly, and I don’t have time to play.

“Eeny.” I fire a bullet into his shoulder, making him fall backward, before swinging the gun to the next guy in the line.

“Meeny.” I fire into the meaty part of his thigh, then turn the gun on the next guy. When nobody rushes in, I think it dawns on them that nobody is coming to their rescue.

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