Page 94 of Tapped

“Hang on, baby.”

Micah moves to my home office. It overlooks the guesthouse and pool and is at the back of the house.

My feet hit the ground and Micah pushes me against the wall behind my desk. “Sit. Get as low as you can.”

His gun is drawn, and his cell is to his ear as he moves to the windows and peeks through the closed curtains of the French doors.

“This is Special Agent Micah Emmett with the DEA. I’m at the house of Dr. Evita Litchfield.” He turns to me. “Baby, what’s your address?”

I tell him, and he rattles it off.

“We’re under fire. Shots are coming through the front of the house. There’s a private security guard out front. I have no clue where he is or what happened to him.” He pauses. “We’re in the back of the house.” He looks back at me, and his eyes roam over my body in the darkness. “Dr. Litchfield was hit. We need EMS. Yeah. And I’m armed. I’ll stay on the line. Let me know when they get here. If anyone walks into this room unannounced, I’m shooting.”

He peeks between my shades to the backyard when I realize he has a second cell phone. “Hey. We’re under fire. Yeah. Through her front room. I have no fucking clue. The blinds are shut. Yeah, she was hit. Hang on, I’ve got 9-1-1 on the other phone. Get the fuck over here.”

I slump down the wall. “Who are you talking to?”

“Brax,” he clips as we hear more gun shots through glass from the other room.

I cry out.

Micah puts the first cell to his ear. “They’re still fucking shooting and I can’t leave her.”

When he moves to the door, I beg, “Please, don’t go. Please!”

He slams the office door and comes to me. “I’m not leaving you. Lie down, Evie. Flat. Not one fucking window is open for anyone to see through. They’re finding their target another way.”

I wince as I shift to the side and fall to the carpet. Lying down is an easy request. My head is woozy. I grip my hip and put pressure on it.

“Micah,” I moan, and not the way I planned on tonight.

Micah puts the cell on speaker and drops it on the carpet next to my head as he pulls my hand away. He peels my shorts back when he clips, “What’s their ETA?”

I hear the dispatcher radio the units before coming back. “Approximately three minutes.”

“Fuck,” he growls.

“It stopped,” I whisper. “The shooting stopped.”

Micah’s eyes snap back to mine and presses my hand back on my hip. “Shh.”

With his gun in his hand, he swiftly moves back to the windows. He doesn’t have a chance to peek through the closed curtains when it happens.

Closer and louder than before.

I scream for the man who hasn’t left my side in the last twenty-four hours.

And all hell breaks loose.

22

DESPERATION

Micah

Bullets whiz past my head and ricochet off the wall above Evie.

Fuck this. I take a step back and raise my gun.

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