A flicker of questions and grief raced across Dana’s face, but she buried it almost as quickly as it surfaced. Clearly, her training had taught her how to hide emotions well.
Yeah, well, he’d had training, too. Rich schooled his face to remain impassive. Letting her drag him into a personal conversation had been his second mistake. He never talked about Amber. Not to anybody, let alone to a woman he barely knew.
Looking directly at her had been his first mistake. After Amber died, her parents had taken most of her personal effects with them, and he’d kept a couple of mementos that were special to him. They’d asked him to drop two bags of clothes off at the women’s shelter in Asheville, but he’d kept a few pairs of blue jeans and sweatpants in case any women ever came to the retreat and needed a change of clothes after a day on the river. It had seemed like a smart move. Loaning them to Dana so she would be comfortable was the decent thing to do.
But it wasn’t someone else wearing Amber’s clothes that bothered him. That part he could handle. What he hadn’t been prepared for was seeing his sweatshirt on Dana. It was weirdly intimate. The only woman who’d ever worn his jacket or sweatshirt before was Amber, and then only a handful times.
That had been natural. She’d been cold, and he was all protective instincts and gentlemanly gestures thanks to his mother...
He’d always thought it made Amber look small and cute and vulnerable, considering how much bigger he was than her.
His sweatshirt had the same effect on Dana Santiago, making her appear in need of protection, like Amber had been.
He’d failed Amber.
And he couldn’t fail another woman the way he nearly had tonight.
A woman who was currently speaking to him.
Rich shook his head, hoping to kick out some of the dusty cobwebs of memory. “I’m sorry. What?”
“How did she die because of you?” Dana was studying him as if she was trying to read his thoughts.
The coffee maker beeped, and he snagged her mug from the counter then turned away. After pouring her a cup, he set it before her. Then he grabbed his mug. With his back to her, he poured his coffee slowly, watching the rich liquid fill the mug that Wyatt’s wife, Jenna, had made for him last year.
How was Amber’s death because of him?
“Because I was arrogant.” When the threats came to the wives and girlfriends of the men in his unit, Amber hadn’t wanted to move on base, where she’d be more protected. At the time, he couldn’t blame her. Some of the wives took shelter in a hotel on post, staying confined to their rooms out of fear of the killer. Amber had been adamant she wouldn’t live in a prison.
“I thought I could protect her better than anyone else. When...when she was threatened, instead of moving her to safety on base, I let her stay in the spare room at my apartment.” A deadly mistake. When Amber insisted she keep her regular routine, he’d followed along, convinced someone as well trained as he was wouldn’t miss the fatal blow if it came her way.
But he had. And Amber had died in his arms.
Worse, the killer had been someone they both knew and trusted. Someone he’d never suspected, not even for one moment.
He’d missed everything. While he’d grieved Amber and forced himself to carry on with his life, he lay awake far too often wrestling with the little things he could have done differently.
“Good coffee. What kind is it?” From the bar, Dana’s voice shifted to a lighter tone.
Guess she’d picked up he wasn’t going to divulge anything else. He actually managed to round up a half chuckle. “Don’t go thinking you’re going to find coffee like that in Atlanta. The coffee shop owner in Mountain Springs roasts her own in small batches. Her name’s Shannon. She’s good people.” Good people he’d gone out with a time or two last year. In the end, he’d driven himself insane watching the crowd around her for threats. When she of the dyed purple hair had deemed him too serious for her tastes, they’d agreed to remain friends.
Dana cleared her throat. “Coffee mug is nice, too. Good and heavy. Holds a lot.”
The small talk was killing him, but if he didn’t follow along, she might go back to her original line of questioning. Either way, it was going to be a long night. Steeling himself against the sight of her, he turned so she at least wouldn’t be talking to his back. “Jenna made them. She made all of the dishes here, a set of twenty-eight.”
“Nice. That will be a real draw for—”
Rich’s phone buzzed on the polished butcher block counter. He slid it closer and glanced at the screen.
Wyatt. Adams saw movement heading toward your location from road. Two men. Hunker down. Could be more. On my way.
He pocketed the device. His jaw clenched until his head ached.
Dana must have noticed. Setting her coffee mug on the counter, she slid off the bar stool, her back ramrod straight. She was more alert than she’d been for the past two hours. Clearly the woman was a fighter. “What?”
“Someone’s headed this way. It’s about a mile to the road through thick woods, so it will take time for them to get here, but that doesn’t mean we’re not in danger.” He rounded the counter and laid a hand on her back, ushering her toward the room where he kept the gun safe. “You have a preference in sidearms?”
She didn’t flinch. “I usually carry a Glock 23.”
“I’ve got close enough to that. We can take cover in—”
A soft pop. The lights flickered once, then the house fell into darkness.
Dana’s breath caught in midinhale. One socked foot slipped forward, and she teetered back against Rich’s chest.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her regain her balance. “You good?”
“Yeah.” She twisted free, trying to get her bearings, but it was too dark and she had no idea of the house’s layout. She was helpless to save herself.
And she hated it. She wasn’t a weak woman, but nobody would know based on her circumstances.
Rich slipped past her. “Grab the back of my shirt. The gun safe is in a room behind the laundry area. Center of the house. No windows. Only one door. Best defendable position we’ve got.”
Dana obeyed, wrapping her fingers into his dress shirt, his back warm and oddly comforting through the thin material. As her eyes adjusted, the shape of him grew clearer in the dim moonlight filtering through the windows onto the floor in cold pools. The way he held his arm, it was obvious he’d drawn his sidearm and held it at the ready. “Hope you can get the safe combination in the dark.” She felt exposed without a weapon, even though her companion was more than capable.
“I’ve got it covered. Just trust me.”
What other choice did she have? Rich might be a virtual stranger, but Sam had trusted him to protect Amy, so he’d earned Dana’s respect. Still, it went against everything inside her to relinquish control. She was the one who protected others, who put herself between them and harm’s way.
This was all backward.
With a breath she hoped would calm her aching lungs and infuse some oxygen to her muddled brain, Dana nodded then glanced through the open door to her right as they passed. Moonlight poured into what appeared to be a small office.
A shadow drifted past the window.
Her pulse throbbed in her throat. “Rich...”
“I saw it.” Ducking around a corner, he stepped through a door and closed it.
Immediately, the room plunged into thick darkness. The familiar scent of laundry detergent and bleach tickled Dana’s nose. In a crazy way, the smell was almost comforting. Normalcy in the middle of chaos. “You use the same detergent as me.”
“Weird observation, but okay. Whatever gets you through this.” In the darkness, they passed through a second door, and Rich shut it behind them. “You can let go now.”
Dana released his shirt and her breath at the same time, then flexed her fingers. She’d been holding on to him tighter than she’d realized. “This your safe room?”
Dim light illuminated the space with a faint blue glow as Rich unlocked his cell phone and sent a text, probably alerting Wyatt to their location so officers would be able to find them. “There’s a safe, but that’s coincidence. I don’t have a panic room, although lately...” The pale glow sank his face into shadows, making him look more serious, almost menacing.
At least the menace was aimed at whoever stalked her.
He passed the phone to her. “Hold it where I can see the safe.”
She obeyed, and he twirled the combination then pulled the door open. He slid the clip into place and passed her the semiautomatic, grip first. “Thirteen rounds in the magazine.” He hesitated, then handed her a second clip.
Twenty-six rounds. This was war. If she had to pull the trigger twenty-six times...
It would be the shootout to end all shootouts.
The odds of dying grew with each passing moment.
“Take a knee by the safe, facing the door. I’ll position myself to the left of the door. If someone comes through, I’ll stay left and out of your line of fire. I’ll shoot first. You’re on deck if I miss.”
“Got it.” Slipping the spare clip into her hip pocket, Dana went to one knee. If anyone came through the door...
Well, if anyone entered, she’d put into practice training she never wanted to use. Pulling the trigger on another human being was the one thing she’d managed to avoid her entire career. The thought conjured up the image of a recurring nightmare she’d had since she was a child. A man, pistol in hand, standing over a second man...
Dana shuddered away the bloodied vision as Rich locked his phone. Total darkness filled their small space. With her sight eliminated, her hearing amped.
Rich’s breathing shifted, and he moved to the left. He was in position.
Dana managed her own breaths. In, two, three... Out, two, three.
A crash. Glass shattered.
Dana’s breath hitched.
“Not good,” Rich muttered.
No, it wasn’t. Whoever was coming in didn’t care if they were detected. Either they were incredibly stupid, which made them dangerous, or they were confident in their superior firepower, which made them an even bigger threat.
Two thuds came from the direction of the living area. Two people dropping to the floor through the window. Two on two. They could—
A third thud. Then a fourth.
Dana’s grip on the gun tightened, and she could practically feel Rich tense. Four assassins in the house. Who knew how many outside. They were outnumbered and likely outgunned.
“Come on, Wyatt.” Rich’s mutter of frustration was probably one he’d meant to keep inside, but Dana could understand. They had no idea what they faced on the other side of the door. In the darkness, fighting back would be tough. Cross fire could be a bigger threat than hired guns.
Footsteps creaked on hardwood, moving in so many directions throughout the house that they layered over each other. Dana couldn’t keep track. Pulse pounding, she shifted and anchored her position to steady herself.
Someone called out in Spanish, directing the crew, sending two of them upstairs.
One set of footsteps plodded closer, the creaking hardwood floor alerting them to the man’s position. He hesitated outside the laundry room door. A slight swish. He’d entered and was only feet away.
Light swept under the doorway of Dana and Rich’s hideaway.
A flashlight.
She pulled in a deep breath, held it, then released it. Aim at the beam.
Silence reigned in the room for a moment, then there was a rustle. A click. The light grew brighter.
Dana raised her weapon and slipped her finger to the trigger.