Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
Get this done.
Stay focused. Finish the job.
The engine rumbles under my boots. It matches the rhythm pounding through my skull.
Ryker glances at me in the mirror. The tension in the truck matches the stakes.
I turn to Rosalie. “Sweetheart, we’re about to pull Westerly’s top guy out of his own bed. In a gated neighborhood. This kind of place has cameras we can’t control, neighbors, private security. All that means one wrong shadow and we don’t walk away.”
What I don’t say is that one wrong move and we won’t have the answers we need.
Who’s been hired to kill Rosalie.
What is Beast caught up in, and what the damned dirt in the canister in my pocket means to all of them.
“You good, Ryker?” I ask, knowing he likely won’t tell me if he isn’t.
“Set,” he replies.
See. That’s what I expected.
The man hasn’t blinked in miles.
Loose grip on the wheel, frown locked tight. He’s not thinking about breaching the house. He’s somewhere darker. Whatever’s chewing on him is personal.
I’ve been there. Hell, I’m there right now. Only the woman I’m thinking about is close enough to touch, and getting ready to be in danger again.
Fuck. We need a vacation.
“Ever been to Costa Rica?” I ask, brushing a kiss over her temple.
“No, but I hear it’s nice. The geology and ecology there sounds amazing.”
I chuckle. “So does a hammock for two and a couple of palm trees.”
Rosalie presses in closer. “I could be persuaded,” she says with a laugh even though she’s concerned.
She’s finding her balance in the chaos and it impresses the fuck out of me.
My heart thuds when she finds my hand without looking, fingers sliding between mine and locking down like she’s anchoring herself. Or anchoring me.
Either way, I hold on.
“Talk to me about the target,” she says, voice steadier than it should be.
I pull up the file on my phone, angling it so she can see. “Name’s Vincent Parson. VP of Operations at West Mountain Scientific. On paper, he manages logistics and supply chain.”
“And off paper?”
“He’s Westerly’s unknown. We suspect he makes problems disappear.
” I swipe to the next image—surveillance photos of Parson entering buildings that don’t exist in any corporate directory.
“We need three things from him. First, who put the hit out on you. Who they hired. And third, everything he knows about Westerly’s operation. ”
Her breath catches. As she looks at the photos, the tension in her face making me want to kiss all the worry away.
“You think he’ll talk?”
“He will.” My tone leaves no room for doubt.
Ryker glances in the rearview. “House is a two-story colonial. Attached garage. Security system’s decent but not military grade. Mako’s already mapped the vulnerabilities.”
“Does he have family?” Rosalie asks.
“Divorced. No kids. Lives alone.” Ryker’s voice is flat, professional as he changes lanes, using his blinker like he’s some good citizen and not about to extract intel out of someone using force. “Makes it cleaner.”
His phone buzzes in the cupholder. He glances at the screen, and something shifts in his expression—a crack in the armor, has him scrubbing his hand over his mouth.
“Take it,” I tell him.
He hesitates, then swipes to answer, tucking the phone against his ear. “Yeah.”
I can’t hear the other end, but I watch his face. The way his shoulders drop half an inch. The way his free hand rubs his brow.
“It won’t be long,” he says quietly. “Try to sleep some more. That bunker is stocked, but if you want something specific just tell me, I’ll grab it on the way back.”
Rosalie looks at me, her brows going up. When I find her ear with my mouth, I say, “He’s being awfully cozy.”
She sticks a finger under my armored vest. “No teasing.”
There’s a pause, then Ryker says, “I know. Me too.”
He ends the call and sets the phone down with deliberate care, like it might shatter.
“She okay?” I ask.
“No.” He flexes his hands on the wheel. “But she will be.”
“You sure you’re good for this op? If you stay with Rosalie, I can handle him.”
His eyes meet mine in the mirror, hard as granite. “I’m good.”
Rosalie is pissed. “You’re not going in there by yourself.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve run many solo missions.”
She gives me a death glare that should probably make me want to argue. Instead, it makes my chest hurt.
“Two minutes out,” he says, all business again.
I ignore the gnawing in my gut and check my sidearm.
Ryker pulls to the curb three houses down from the target. Lights are on inside Parson’s place—living room and what looks like a home office upstairs.
“Mako’s killing the exterior cameras in thirty seconds,” Ryker says, checking his watch. “We go in through the garage. Side door’s got a standard deadbolt. I can pick it in under ten seconds.”
“And if he runs?” Rosalie asks, leaning forward.
“He won’t make it past the kitchen.” Ryker’s smile is all teeth. “Mako’s got every exit covered on thermal. He moves, we know.”
I look at Rosalie. “You stay behind us. Always. If shooting starts—”
“I get down and stay down. I know.”
“And if I tell you to run—”
“We’ve been over this.” She won’t run. Dammit.
My chest tightens to the point of extreme pain. Stubborn, brave, impossible woman.
“Time,” Ryker announces.
We move, silently closing the doors as we leave the truck.
The neighborhood is quiet. Motion lights flick on as we approach, but Mako’s already looping the feed. To anyone watching, the yard is empty.
There’s a clock counting down in my head. We have to be fast.
Ryker drops to his haunches at the side door, lock picks out. I count in my head. Six seconds. Seven. Eight.
Click.
He turns the knob slowly and the door swings inward.
The scent of oil and laundry detergent make a nauseating mix. A black Audi sits in the bay, pristine. Parson’s a man who likes control, order. That’ll work in our favor.
The door to the house is unlocked. Who knows if it’s arrogance or carelessness—doesn’t matter. It works in our favor.
Less time.
It eases open, on well-oiled hinges. Another win for Team Falcon, luck continues to be on our side.
Weapon up, I step in, clearing the entry, and move on. Every step raising the hair on the back of my neck more.
I want this done. Rosalie’s close enough. I can feel her heat at my back, reminding me of the danger to her.
Ryker motions to the left and I pivot into the kitchen.
Coffee maker still warm, hazelnut in the air. He must have made a cup the minute he got home.
Voices drift from upstairs. Parson’s on a call, tone clipped and irritated.
“I don’t care what the timeline was. I need it done by Friday or—” A pause. “Then make it happen. That’s what I pay you for.”
Ryker and I exchange a look. We move toward the stairs, Rosalie a shadow at my six o’clock.
Every step is calculated, silent. I’m hyper-aware of her presence—the soft rustle of her clothes, the faint scent of the shampoo I used on her hair still clinging despite everything we’ve been through tonight.
Focus.
The office door is cracked open, light spilling into the hallway.
Parson is visible through the gap—late fifties, expensive suit even at home, phone pressed to his ear as he paces in front of a massive desk.
“No, I don’t want excuses,” he snaps. “Westerly doesn’t accept excuses, and neither do I.”
Ryker moves into position on the opposite side of the door. I give him a three-count with my fingers.
Three.
Two.
One.
We breach.
Parson spins, mouth open, phone clattering to the desk. “What the—”
I’m on him before he can finish, driving him back against the wall, forearm across his throat. “Hands where I can see them. Now.”
He complies, beady blue eyes wide, face going red. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”
“Vincent Parson. VP of Operations. Westerly’s pet thug.” I lean in close as venom rises in my throat. “Yeah, we know exactly who you are.”
Ryker’s already sweeping the room, checking for weapons, securing the space. Rosalie stays in the doorway, bear spray in hand, eyes locked on Parson like he’s a lab specimen she’s analyzing.
“What do you want?” Parson chokes out.
“Information.” I ease the pressure just enough to let him breathe. “And you’re going to give it to us. One way or another.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wrong answer.
I slam him harder against the wall, and he grunts.
“Let’s try again. Who put the hit out on Dr. Rosalie Baxter?”
His gaze flicks to her, something ugly flashing in his eyes. “I don’t—”
“Lie to me again, and I stop being nice.”
“This is nice?” He laughs, bitter, nostrils flared as he pants. “You’re breaking into my home, assaulting me—”
“You mean like your people assaulted her? Kidnapped her? Tried to kill her?” My voice drops to a growl. “Don’t talk to me about assault.”
Rosalie steps forward, and Parson’s focus narrows on her.
“You should’ve stayed away from that mineral sample,” he says, almost conversational. “None of this had to happen.”
“Mineral, huh? What’s in the soil?” she asks, calm as if we’re in a boardroom.
He smiles and my skin shrinks, cold crackling beneath the surface.
“Nothing you’ll live long enough to prove.”
Bastard. I tighten my grip. “That’s the wrong thing to say.”
Ryker moves to the desk, pulling out zip ties. “Secure him with his own ties for shits and giggles. We’re taking him with us.”
Parson’s eyes widen. “You can’t—”
“Watch us,” Ryker says, a dark laugh matching the dangerous glint in his eyes.
But before Ryker can reach him, Parson’s hand darts toward his pocket.
I react on instinct, wrenching his arm back. Something hits the floor—a second phone. The screen lights up with an active call.
“Dammit,” Ryker curses.
On the other end of the line, a voice I don’t recognize: “Parson? Can you hear me?”
I crush the phone under my boot, but the damage is done.
“Someone knows we’re here,” Ryker says grimly.
Rosalie’s face pales as she backs toward the door. “How long do we have?”
“Not long.” I haul Parson up from the chair. “We move. Now.”
But as we hit the stairs, headlights sweep across the front windows.
Two vehicles. Blacked out. Moving fast. Loaded with God knows how many operators.
“Rear door off the kitchen. Leads to the backyard,” Ryker says, taking the lead.
“Go,” I tell them, and the minute they’re out the door, I knock him out cold, dragging him over my shoulder.
They’re halfway down the stairs. I’m at the top when the front door explodes inward.