73. Hendricks
HENDRICKS
Jake and I are crouched behind the stone wall that borders the service wing, the house looming dark above us.
“What’s happening?” Lily’s worried voice comes through the comms.
“We’re good, pretty girl. We’ll get your sister.” Mason's voice crackles through the comm from the ridge. "I've got overwatch on the north approach."
I nod even though he can't see it.
“Go,” Jake says.
Luke’s voice crackles through the comm half a second later. “Diversion’s live. Give me ten seconds.”
I count them.
At second four, a horn blares somewhere near the gate.
At second six, I hear the distinct crunch of metal on metal—Luke's version of subtle.
At second eight, shouting starts, distant and disorganized.
Fuck ten—I move.
Jake falls in behind me without a word. That's the thing about Jake—he doesn't waste breath on questions he already knows the answer to. He knows I'm going in first. He knows better than to argue.
“Harper, status,” he says quietly into the comms as we approach.
“Gate team’s moving.” Her voice is steady, clipped, all business. “Two men left at the perimeter. Three more converging on Luke’s position. That leaves four unaccounted for inside the house.”
“Cameras?” Jake asks.
“Looped. You’ve got ninety seconds before someone notices the timestamp’s not moving.”
Ninety seconds. I've used less time to end a man's life. It should be enough.
Mason’s already in position in a tree outside the compound, rifle steady, voice flat and clear when it comes through. “I’ve got the north face. Two guards, patio level. No sightline on the room.”
No sightline on Mandy.
We hit the service entrance. Locked, but Ashford's security spent all his money on cameras and none on the door hardware. Thirty seconds, and we're inside.
The house is too quiet—the wrong kind of quiet.
“Mandy,” I say into the comm. Low. Controlled. “Talk to me.”
Nothing.