Chapter Forty-Six
Feralyn
A hand landed over my mouth.
Jolted awake into full-blown panic, my arm flew out with a knifehand strike.
Before I made contact, my wrist was gripped, and a deep voice whispered in my ear. “We need to move. Removing my hand. Remain silent.”
My heart ricocheting, the room pitch-black, the curtains I didn’t touch having been pulled closed at some point, I recognized Saint’s voice, but I couldn’t see him.
“Ready?”
Wanting to kick him as much as I wanted to reach for him out of fear, I nodded.
The hand left my mouth only to land on my shoulder, then his barely there whisper tickled my ear. “Leave everything. Follow me.”
Blinking rapidly to try to adjust to seeing in the dark, all I could make out was the tall shadow of his silhouette as he stood to his full height and turned toward the bedroom door.
Ignoring his edict, I blindly patted the nightstand until my hand touched my cell. Then I grabbed it and followed Saint.
At the bedroom door, he paused.
Then I saw the outline of a gun in his hand.
Except he wasn’t clearing the corner, and he wasn’t aiming. With his arm hanging loose next to his side, his stance non-tactical, he scanned the main living area. Glancing back at me, he nodded once before walking out of the bedroom.
Between my eyes having marginally adjusted and the uncovered windows in the living area allowing in the scant moonlight, I saw enough to follow Saint as he aimed for the far side of the room.
I was barefoot and in leggings and a tank top.
He was now in tactical pants, a slim-fitted polo, and the same boots.
Neither of us made a sound as we hugged the wall and headed to the stairs we’d taken up from the garage.
Saint didn’t turn on any lights, but he moved as if he knew every inch of this house like the back of his hand. We turned corners, went down stairs, stepped through doors he’d carefully opened, then we entered a completely blacked-out hallway.
“Hold.” His quiet command was barely a whisper, but it carried like a clock-tower bell, rattling my nerves as a series of clicks sounded.
Then I heard gears engage, and I smelled the air shift. Cold, metallic, it brushed past my face like a gentle puff of wind.
“Five steps forward,” Saint ordered.
I took two, and a hand unerringly caught my elbow.
My gasp was involuntary, the sound almost deafening, but in the next second, I was guided forward, something whooshed past me, a click, then gears sounded, and a light came on.
Blinded by sudden brightness, I covered my eyes with both hands.
“Secure,” Saint clipped in his normal volume. “I need to make a call. Have a seat.” Standing over a long desk with half a dozen monitors, he flipped them all on, then typed on a single keyboard.
I looked around the room.
It was cavernous and had cement floors like the garage, but it only had one point of entry. A larger-than-normal door with a giant locking mechanism that reminded me of a bank vault door.
Other than that, it was almost like the panic room at home, except this one was larger.
The far end of the open-plan space had a cage that was full of wall-mounted weapons and ammo stacked on shelves.
Next to that was a bathroom with a small shower.
Then there was a galley-type kitchen with metal shelves next to it that were loaded with food, supplies, clothes, and cases of bottled water.
A couch, two chairs, two beds, weightlifting equipment, a treadmill, and a large-screen TV were all neatly placed adjacent to the kitchen.
The rest of the rectangular room was taken up by the long, narrow desk of monitors that were now all showing various angles of the house, the airstrip, the dock, the boat ramp, the whole island.
Each image artificially illuminated, it looked as if you were staring at them through night-vision goggles.
Saint swiped a few times across his cell. Then, as he held the phone to his ear, I saw it on the furthest monitor.
Men. Two, three… four… SIX!
Oh my God.
Weapons aimed, wearing tactical scuba gear, they came out of the ocean and fanned out in every direction. “Saint!”
“We’re secure.” A hand landed on my arm. “Have a seat, Feralyn.”