Page 8 of Tango
I shake my head again. “I can’t tell you everything. The more I tell you, the more at risk you are.” And then, it hits me that I really shouldn’t have come here. I try to get up. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t. There are all kinds of glass shards in this injury. I need my tweezers from the bathroom,” she tells my dad. “The good ones.”
“On it. You stay put, Ali. We’ll keep you safe, okay?”
But they can’t. Not when killers are looking for me. “I’m sorry I came here. I didn’t know where else to—” A knock sounds on the door, and I stiffen.
It’s nearly ten at night. No reason anyone should be knocking.
My eyes go wide. Did I just sign my parents’ death warrant? “I have to go. Now.” I shove the towel off of me and start to get up, grabbing my sweater as I do, but my mom shakes her head.
“Come with me.”
My dad goes down the stairs and pauses by the front door. He and my mom exchange a look before she drags me through the kitchen and toward the basement door at the back.
“Mom, you don’t understand, if I’m here—you’re in danger.”
“I do understand, and I don’t care. You are my daughter. Do you hear me?” She pauses at the bottom of the basement steps. “I’ve loved you as my own since we first saw you, and I will love you as my own until the day I die.” She quickly lifts a door in the floor. “Now get inside so I can cover the entrance with a rug, okay? You stay down there until your father or I come get you.” She gently squeezes my good arm. “We will iron this out, okay? Everything is going to be fine, darling. You’ll see.”
I nod because, even if I leave now, I know it’s unlikely they’ll leave my parents alone. At least, if I’m here, I stand a chance at helping. Maybe.
Without argument, I descend into what we’ve always called the cellar. It’s a crawl space beneath the basement where an old repair was made to some piping a while back. Instead of fully filling it in, they just cemented it up and turned it into a weird little bonus room.
I barely fit.
Keeping my breathing as steady as I can while stuck in what’s basically a concrete coffin, I listen for any sound that something bad is happening upstairs.
God, please protect them. Please keep them safe.
Chapter 4
Tucker
It’s nearly eleven at night, but I can’t shake this feeling that I need to at least drive by the Sterlings’ home. Why I should be doing anything at this hour but sleeping, I’ve no clue. But I learned a long time ago not to ignore feelings like this. So, here I am, turning onto their suburban street.
I come to a stop and glance over at the passenger seat. Tango is sitting up, staring at me, his head cocked to the side. “Yeah, I know. I’m tired too, bud, but it doesn’t hurt just to lo—” A shrill scream catches my attention through my rolled-down window. Quickly, I fire off a text to Dylan, asking him to contact Alaric Simmons, a detective with the LAPD. He’s on my short list of people to trust because he’s the former partner of a man who works with my cousin, Silas, at their private security firm in Maine.
Given the sensitive nature of the case I’m dealing with, my goal is to keep people out of it—not invite more. But with lives on the line, I really don’t have much choice.
As soon as the message sends, I withdraw my weapon, shove the door open, and climb out. “Hier, Tango.” Here. He leaps out at the command, already in work mode.
Moving slowly, I creep toward the house, sticking to the shadows as much as I can.
Another scream.
I round the back of the house. It’s just faint enough that, unless someone is out on the street, no one is going to hear it. Step by step, I head around back to find a way in.
A window shatters to my right. I spin and aim my weapon. Tango lets loose a warning growl. And then, I see a pair of eyes so pale they might as well be crystal, staring up at me through a sliver of window no larger than six inches.
My breath catches, and the world stills.
Alice Sterling.
“Who are you?” she demands, ripping me back into the moment.
“Tucker Hunt. A friend of?—”
“You’re a Hunt brother.”
