Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
We’re halfway to Naomi’s house before I realize my hands are bleeding from where my nails dug in. The taste of metal is in my mouth. The only thing keeping me from losing it entirely is the knowledge my friends have my back.
When I close my eyes, I see her face. Not the terrified version, but the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. The little smile that says she trusts me, completely.
I will not let that trust get her killed.
I breathe once, twice, trying to force myself back into pro mode.
But as we round the last turn and see the lights, the squad cars, the news vans, and the yellow tape snaking up the Bardot driveway, my professional mask slips. I see Naomi’s house behind the barricade, and for the first time in my life, I am truly fucking terrified.
The neighborhood looks like a bad TV crime scene. Sheriff’s cruisers, unmarked black SUVs, a couple of tactical vans. There’s red and blue lights bouncing off every window and a knot of civilians behind yellow tape, half of them filming with their phones. Naomi’s house sits dead center, blinds drawn, the porch light flickering like a warning.
Cowboy barely slows the car before I throw the door open and hit the ground running. The air smells like lawn clippings and hot engine oil. I’m sprinting up the sidewalk before I register that Armstrong is already on the radio, directing SWAT and trying to keep the growing crowd of locals from pushing past the tape.
I scan the perimeter as I move. There’s two units flanking the driveway, a couple of guys with rifles posted on the neighbor’s roof, and a third unit watching the back gate. Textbook setup, but the house is a fortress if you want it to be. Heavy brick. One front entry, one side door, sliding glass in the back, all locked down tight.
I slide up to the command post, a makeshift folding table just out of sight from the front door. Deputy Gannon is hunched behind it, radio pressed to his ear, scribbling notes on a legal pad. He sees me coming and nods, face grim.
“Status?” I bark.
He looks up. “Subject’s in the living room. Weapon confirmed—AR platform, looks like a nine millimeter from what we saw when he flashed it at the window. All three women are alive. Every now and then, he’ll let them walk past the window so we can see them. They all seem to be okay.”
“Are you sure?” My voice cracks and I hate myself for it. “You’ve seen Naomi?”
Gannon nods. “Unharmed for now. She’s trying to keep Stellan talking, keep him focused on her. Smart girl.” He hesitates. “He’s losing it, Wyatt. Swinging between tears and rage. Says if Casey doesn’t ‘come out and see him’ he’ll start shooting.”
I clench my hands so tight I hear something pop.
Cowboy jogs up, out of breath, but ready. Armstrong’s right behind him, voice low and steady. “SWAT is ready to breach if necessary.”
I scan the street, looking for a tactical advantage, anything that could get me inside before he hurts them. The front entry is a no go; he’d see me coming a mile away.
I turn to Gannon. “Who’s got eyes on the back?”
“Two SWAT and one drone overhead,” he replies. “He blocked the curtains but the thermal shows movement. No clear line of sight yet.” I think about the layout. Living room is front, kitchen is back, two bedrooms and a bath upstairs.
I grit my teeth, running through everything I know about Stellan. He’s weak to authority, hates being shamed in public. The one thing he wants, always, is control. The fucker weak at best.
Gannon’s phone rings and I hold my breath, “Stellan! I’m glad you called. This is getting serious, young man. I need you to step away from the hostages and come to the door with your hands up before this escalates any further!”
While the deputy calmly talks to Stellan, I notice SWAT officers circling around the house. Fuck no. They aren’t doing this without me.
I turn to follow but Dillon grabs me by the shoulder. “Let them do their job. Naomi will never forgive me if you get your stubborn ass shot in the crossfire.”
I open my mouth to argue but everything suddenly goes down. There’s the sound of breaking glass then loud shouting and grunting.
I shrug off Dillon’s hold and rush for the house. By the time I throw the front door open, a SWAT member has Stellan down on the ground with a knee planted firmly in his back.
My mind shuts down as relief flows through me. I don’t waste a second rushing over to pull Naomi in my arms.
“It’s okay,” I whisper placing frantic kisses all over her face. “You’re safe. I got you, fever. I got you.”