Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
The house is still. Every room is empty. The kitchen as we left it. Our glasses on the counter. The tequila cork is still lying next to the bottle. Discarded limes on the cutting board. The knife is even there.
I snag it as I glance around, everything seems normal. But as I move toward the laundry room, a sliver of light catches my attention.
A small puff of wind moves across my arm, confirming the side door is open. The beam of moonlight spilling inside is coating the terracotta with a silvery rectangle of light.
The hair raises on my nape.
For a beat, I wonder what Vik has in all the gun cases stacked on Marianna’s tables. Some other weaponry could be handy right now.
A hinge creaks eerily as the wind pushes against the door, moving it another inch.
Jesus. A sick feeling rolls through me. Someone was in the house. Possibly with us while we were having sex. While she was sleeping next to me.
As I pass through the open doorway, I glance down. The lock-plates and door jamb are intact. Someone picked the locks or had a key.
That sick feeling morphs into disgust. I should have changed her locks for her.
I’m not fit for Marianna. I can’t even do the basic things to keep her safe.
Pushing down my disgust, I move out into the night. I’m not letting this asshole get away. I won’t fuck this up.
Tucking low, I sprint forward to a cluster of trees. There are lots of shadowy places on the property. Plenty of places for someone to hide. Taking my time, I consider each spot.
And there he is.
My anger builds as I watch him. What the hell is he doing?
Pointing a gun. Not at me.
This makes zero sense.
I shift and move forward, taking cover at the next tree. Then I see his target. He’s taking aim at a man who’s moving between the trees.
What the hell is going on?
Reflexes take over. When they run, I run after them. The three of us are sprinting through an agave field.
Two things roll through my head. I have to catch the bastard. And second, this scenario is fucked. Marianna’s agave plants are huge. Far too large to hurdle. Not only that—their spines are stiff, preventing me from being able to cut between the rows.
We’re running, but we’re like three swimmers stuck in three lanes.
Our ragged breathing and stamping feet sound like racing horses in the night. “Freeze, or I’ll shoot!” I yell, with my arms pumping, my bare feet kicking up dust in my wake.
To my right, the other gunman sounds like a clydesdale. But he’s moving fast too. Like a freight train powering along the row of plants.
Ahead, the intruder stutter-steps and turns at the end of the row, taking off toward a cluster of buildings.
Dammit. He’s going to have cover.
I lower my stance and race toward the building on the left in the row of three buildings, heading toward the last place I saw him. When I reach the safety of the corner, I press my back to the wall, dragging in ragged huffs of air.
A shrill whistle startles me. It’s a quick signal that someone on my own team might make.
But I’m not with my team.
There’s a movement by the next building. It’s the shadow man with his hand up. Signaling me to go to the left.
What the fuck is going on?
I’m not following the order of someone I don’t know. It could be a trap.
I flip him off and disappear around the corner to the right.
Quieting my breathing, I listen for the intruder. He can’t be far. I will catch him. Keeping my feet light, I move along the edge of the structure, pausing before I move past an open window.
The building is a shed of some sort. The window has no glass or other coverings, making the shed an easy place for someone to climb inside and hide.
Surely they wouldn’t be that dumb. But I’ve seen criminals do some pretty idiotic shit. Adrenaline shuts some people’s brains off.
Unless it’s an ambush set up for me.
I glance around, but hold myself deep in the shadow of the building, staying out of the ambient light from the moon.
Where are you, you son-of-a-bitch?
I slip past the window and move along the further, approaching the door with caution.
The dilapidated wood is crooked on the hinges. The place where a handle used to be is empty. Old paint is peeling off in curls.
I take a small step, preparing to kick the door the rest of the way open.
But a burst of movement makes me throw up an arm.
My hand collides with a solid forearm. I whirl around and come face-to-face with the other man. Not the intruder. The shadow with the gun.
Vik.
Fucking hell.
Between heavy breaths, he says, “He’s on his way back to the house.”
I slam a palm into his chest and shove him back. “You could have told me it was you, Vik.”
We take off sprinting toward the house. He knows, too. Marianna is there alone.