The words are hushed as they leave Nate’s mouth. We’re walking across the tarmac toward the WestTech jet at a private airfield just north of the city. There’s a hangar to either side, a small control tower in the distance, and a short runway strip about the length of two football fields stretching in front of us.
Someone’s pulled the jet from its hangar onto the tarmac but as we get closer, there’s no mechanical hum in the air — the engines are off. The runway lights haven’t been illuminated. The hangar doors yawn open in the early morning light. It’s completely deserted. Not a single soul in sight.
Our steps slow as the men switch into high-alert mode.
Parker and Theo — a muscular giant with floppy black hair, gorgeous caramel skin, and some seriously beautiful green eyes — met us in the parking lot behind the hangar. Theo is one of Nate’s “men” and between him and Alden, the buzz-cut cutie I met two days ago, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s some kind of stipulation in the Knox Investigations contract that says you have to be ridiculously good looking as well as badass to work there.
Macho men less than a 9.5 on the hotness Richter scale need not apply.
Theo shot me a dimpled grin when he caught me staring at him, but otherwise hasn’t said much of anything since they arrived.
I walk between the three of them like I’m Taylor Swift surrounded by hulking bodyguards, clutching Boo to my chest like a stuffed teddy bear. For once, he doesn’t fight my hold. We’re almost at the jet when things get tense.
“Where’s the crew? The pilot?” Parker’s eyes narrow as they sweep the abandoned airstrip. “They should be here, by now.”
Theo grunts in agreement.
Great. Another monosyllabic caveman. Just what I need in my life.
Nate stops, listening intently. Something dark flashes in his eyes and then he launches into motion, shoving me to the ground and yelling, “Down!” a second before the first shots ring out.
Shots.
From a gun.
Because someone is shooting at us.
What the hell is going on in my life?!
My duffle goes flying as his body lands on mine, covering me like a human shield. Boo lets out a yap of displeasure as I squish him against my chest, fear pounding through my veins like a drug. We half-run, half-crawl behind the jet for cover, flattening our bodies against the tarmac to stay out of range.
I hear a groan of pain, followed by the thud of a body landing beside me.
“Christ,” a familiar voice grits out. “The fuckersshotme!”
Parker.
“Parker!” I scream, but the sound is swallowed up by the sharp rapport of a gun firing less than a foot from my ear. Nate’s pulled his gun from the back of his jeans and is returning fire beneath the wheels of the jet. I try to turn my head to see if Parker’s hurt, but I’m pinned too tight against the earth by the weight of Nate’s body. I feel him shift on top of me as he repositions his gun.
“On your left!” His voice is gruff as he fires off another shot. “They’re in the hangar!”
I hear the sound of bullets pinging off the jet’s metal panels overhead.
“How many?” Theo yells back.
“Four, maybe five.”
Theo grunts. “Too many.”
There’s a brief pause as whoever’s shooting at us stops to reload. I don’t have time to be relieved, because Nate’s mouth is on my ear and he’s speaking rapidly.
“You remember what I taught you? How to use that gun?”
“Yes,” I squeak, recalling my abysmal target practice.
His hand finds mine and he presses something cold and metallic into my grip. “Take it. It’s already loaded. Use it if you need it.”
“But what if you need—”