Chapter 40
His stomach lurched—like a misstep in the dark—as he crossed the bedroom, Sarah’s words in his ear. He pulled black cargo pants and a t-shirt from the closet.
“They used a semi, Wyatt.” Sarah blew out a breath. “Rammed the convoy and rolled it.”
A picture formed whether he wanted it or not—steel screaming, glass exploding, bodies thrown hard against restraints. He yanked his clothes on.
Fuck.
“They cut Akilov out with power tools. It was a clean job. Both guards are alive, but critical.”
“Professionals.”
“Uh huh. Through and through.”
“They were moving him from the hospital,” Sarah said. “He was still being treated for burns.”
Burns.
The flare.
Jen’s hands shaking.
The stench of scorched flesh.
His gaze flicked to Jen.
In his bed.
“The FBI’s mobilizing,” Sarah went on. She hesitated—just a fraction, but it was there. “Wyatt, you cost him and he’s had at least an hour’s head start.”
He’s coming here. An hour’s head start.
Shit. He dragged a hand through his hair.
A team like that didn’t improvise. They could already be here. He’d dealt with this kind of fuckery before. But not with Jen barefoot in his bed, sleep still clinging to her skin. “He’s coming here.”
Silence hummed on the line. “You don’t know—”
“We’re the ones who fucked with his plans.” He sighed. “And Jen’s the one who burned him.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
Sarah exhaled. “Okay. Okay.” The phone went muffled as she shouted commands, and then she was back on the line. “I’m mobilizing every deputy I’ve got. And I’m calling Ryder and Caleb. They’ll already be moving by the time I hang up.”
“How long?”
“We can be there in half an hour.”
Too long.
If Akilov’s people had been watching the house—and a man like Akilov always watched—they could breach in five.
“I’m securing the house.”
“Wyatt.” Her voice sharpened. “Do not engage alone. You wait.”
He didn’t argue. “If he’s coming, he’s close. Closer than you.”
“I’m sending everyone I have. Just—” Her voice softened, stripped of badge and protocol. “Don’t die before I get there.”
Wyatt closed his eyes for a second. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
He ended the call.
One second of stillness. One second to look at Jen and take her in.
“Wyatt?”
He shook his head, his mind already somewhere else.
Jen slid out of bed, pulling his sheet around her. “I’ll get dressed.”
No panic. Just focused action as if they were in this together. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d been a whisper against his chest. Now, she was dressing for a fight.
Cold certainty settled into his bones. The familiar narrowing. The click as everything extraneous fell away.
Akilov’s coming for her.
He’ll have to come through me first.
Jen lifted clean clothes from the pile Sarah had brought her. Fuck, was that really only yesterday? He rubbed his eyes, forcing his thoughts into order. “Akilov’s transport was ambushed. They got him out about an hour ago.”
Jen pulled on a tee, dark pants, and bent to lace her boots. “How long do we have?”
“If he found out where I live?” He shook his head. “He could already be outside.”
Jen paused. Her jaw firmed, and she laced faster.
Akilov would come with a team. Four, maybe six—enough to breach a residential structure, not enough to attract attention on mountain roads. They’d cut power first. Communications next. Standard isolation protocol before a hard entry.
He headed to his closet and pulled the racks of shirts away from the back wall, exposing the dull gray steel of his gun safe.
He palmed the scanner. The lock released with a muted click, and the door swung open.
Weapons gleamed in the dim light—rifles, pistols, stacked ammunition.
Everything he’d sworn he’d never need again.
He strapped on his Glock 19, tucked the backup at his waist, and slid a knife into his boot. Two spare magazines in his cargo pockets. If Akilov brought a team, he’d need every one.
Jen came up behind him, fully dressed now. Her gaze swept the weapons, took it all in, then came back to him. “Old SEAL habits?”
“Hard to break.” He hesitated. Then reached for a second handgun. Glock 43. Compact. Light. Good for someone not used to carrying.
He turned and held it out to her, grip-first. “Remember from Seven?”
Her left hand closed around it. “Point and shoot. Don’t aim at myself.”
“Safety’s here.” He tapped it with his thumb. “Brace for the kick.”
She checked the chamber as if she was trying to remember the sequence. Awkward. But determined. “I’m still not great at this.”
Wyatt met her eyes, read the fear but also the steel beneath it. “You don’t have to be great. Just trust me. And yourself.”
She held his gaze. “Just tell me where you need me.”
The urge to hide her somewhere the world couldn’t reach was so strong it stole his breath.
Thirty seconds. That’s all it costs. Thirty seconds to make sure she knows.
He stepped closer, sliding his hand along her jaw until his palm cradled her face. Her hair was soft against his skin, still warm from sleep and everything they’d barely had time to name.
He kissed her as if it might be the last thing he was allowed to take from this moment—too hard, too deep, all heat and restraint breaking at once. Not gentle or careful. A kiss packed with every promise he refused to say out loud.
When he pulled back, it was only enough for their foreheads to rest together. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just that—her breath hitching, his hand steady at her jaw, the vow he locked behind his teeth because saying it felt like tempting fate.
I’ve got you.
Then he exhaled, once, and the moment locked into him, the armor he would carry into the fight.
They moved through the house together. Wyatt engaged the deadbolts then activated the smart lock’s fortress mode. Heavy shutters rumbled over all the windows.
“Steel core doors,” he said. “Reinforced frames. They can breach, but it’ll take time.”
He’d designed this house with sightlines and fallback positions built in. The architect had thought he was paranoid. The architect hadn’t been wrong.
In the hall closet, he punched in the code.
The panel lit up. Six camera feeds, motion sensors, perimeter alerts.
He activated each setting in sequence, then pulled the tablet from the shelf and showed Jen the screen.
Six feeds showing different angles of his property. Trees. Driveway. Side yard. Back deck.
All clear.
For now.
His phone pinged, and he checked it.
Ryder.
We’re rolling.
Not fast enough. Wyatt pocketed his phone.
The house was secure—
The alarm screamed.
Already too late.