Page 13 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
“I will hummingbird. I’ll be there before you know it. You hang tight.”
My call-waiting notification beeped. “Nine-one-one is calling me back,” I told Wilder.
“Okay, answer it. They might be telling you that officers are at your door, but don’t leave the closet, you hear me? Just tell them you’re all right and you’re hiding—they’ll find a way inside.”
He paused before adding, “And mention to them I’m on my way, so they don’t shoot me. I’m less than a minute away now.”
Chapter Five
The Dangerous Kind of Danger
Wilder
I threw my car into park at the curb outside the gatehouse at Jessica’s estate.
There were no police cars on the scene yet. The guard there recognized me from the previous day when I’d stopped by to check out the grounds and the home’s exterior security measures.
“Hey Mr. Lowe. Whatcha doing back here?”
In his mid-to-late twenties with a soft, kind-looking face, he was about as intimidating as a fuzzy bathrobe. He certainly seemed relaxed and unconcerned. He was literally eating a donut.
Had the security staff already checked out the alarm and cleared the scene then?
“The security alarm went off, I said. “Didn’t you hear it?”
“Oh yeah, I heard it, but it stopped after a minute. I thought it was another false alarm like yesterday. Anyway, I figured the other two guys were handling it.”
I could barely contain my contempt as I rushed past him—I had no time to waste on this incompetent man.
Amateur hour.“Thanks a lot.”
“No problem.” He gave me a wave and took another large bite of his pastry.
Once inside the gate, I ran down the drive and to the front of the house, checking the door for forced entry. It was closed and locked.
I turned and ran toward the rear of the home—that was the most likely point of entry. As I went, I took stock of the seaside mansion’s generous windows, noting that each one I passed seemed to be closed tight.
When I reached the back terrace, there was no more mystery about what had triggered the security alarm. The back door had clearly been tampered with.
My flashlight picked up on the shiny metal edges of fresh nicks around the keyhole, an indication of lock bumping.
Before going inside, I opened my gear bag and withdrew a helmet outfitted with special four-tube night-vision goggles. We’d used similar gear during my SEAL days, and I made sure my entire team at Viridian had access to the pricey but highly modified equipment.
The helmet-mounted goggles gave me the ability to see in complete darkness and would allow me the element of surprise should the intruder still be inside Jessica’s house.
The idea of a strange man in the house with her caused my heart to thump a couple of extra beats.
When she’d called and I’d heard the terror in her voice, it had stopped altogether. Then I’d sprung into action, driving like a Formula One racer through the deserted streets of Eastport Bay to get here, my mind working overtime as the precious seconds ticked by.
I was no stranger to high pressure situations—I was built for them. While many people became paralyzed by fear, the threat of danger caused all of my senses to shift into a heightened state, my adrenaline pumping until I felt capable of superhuman feats.
But this wasn’t war. I didn’t even know if therewasan enemy on the premises. All I knew was that Jessica was afraid, and I had to get to her.
Putting on the helmet and drawing the gun from my shoulder holster, I slipped inside the open door and moved cautiously through the house toward the staircase.
At first I saw no one—then the shape of a prone body came into view. Off to one side of the curved staircase landing, a uniformed man lay unconscious.
Or dead.
