The Evanoffs.
They’re here.
To kill us.
I’m breathing hard and my pulse is roaring so loud between my ears, it’s downing out everything else. Conor repeats my name three times before he manages to break through the thick fog of panic.
“Hunt! Hunt, look at me.”
My eyes, wide with fear, slide to his.
“Listen. The other agents are pinned down behind the van. I have to lay down covering fire so they can get out of there. You understand?”
Don’t leave me!I want to scream as terror spikes in a deadly fever pitch.Don’t you dare leave me alone!
I bite my lip to contain the selfish words and nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“I need you to do something for me,” he says, adjusting his grip on his gun as he sidles along the side of the house, peering around the corner with shrewd eyes.
“Okay,” I whisper, steeling myself for whatever task he’s about to give me.
I’ll run to the back door.
Get inside.
Find the phone.
Call the police.
“You see that bench? On your left?” Conor’s chin jerks toward the oak seating nook built out from the side of the house. There’s a narrow gap underneath it — barely big enough for a child to squeeze into. “I need you to crawl under there and stay put until I come back.”
I don’t budge. “You want me tohide?”
“Hunt, this is not up for discussion,” Conor snaps without looking at me. “For once in your fucking life, just do as you’re told without comment.”
I’m frozen in place, watching as he steps out from the shelter of the house and takes up a new position behind a column. The hail of gunfire never seems to cease — the Evanoffs must have some serious artillery at their disposal.
And Conor only has one gun.
I find myself unable to move, unable to tear my eyes away from him as he braces his Glock against the railing and begins to return fire with a calm proficiency that tells me it’s not the first time he’s used his service weapon.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
I jolt with each discharge, the rapport ringing in my ears as the acidic smell of gunpowder hits me in a cloud. When Conor pauses to reload, he spares a brief glance in my direction. He scowls darkly when he sees I’ve yet to worm my way into hiding.
“Hunt! Get under the damn bench!”
I hesitate.
“Shelby,” he says pleadingly, snapping the clip into place. His eyes pin me to the spot. “Please.”