“Do you think they were expecting us?” Seamus whispers next to me. I shake my head.
“I doubt it,” I assure him. “Otherwise, this place would be abandoned, or we’d be looking at an ambush.”
“Still could be,” Liam admits. “If the basement blocks RFID and GPS, it might block infrared.”
I shrug. “I’ll risk it.”
And that is when hellfire rains down.
Maksim and Leon have planted C4 along the outer banks of the house. Nothing structural. It is just enough to shake the mansion and maybe knock a few bricks loose. The walls shake, glass shattering, and shouts from inside the house grow louder.
I surge forward, taking out the first guard who comes toward the shattered sliding glass door with ease.
Then another explosion. This one is closer to the front of the house. We don’t slow our pace as we clear a path throughthe back of the house toward the basement door that is just off the servants’ quarters. We don’t have a lot of time before the enemy’s reinforcements arrive or the building collapses beneath the strain of the explosions.
I take out my Beretta. Subtlety isn’t necessary any longer. They know we are here to take back what is ours. A bullet whizzes past my head, missing me by mere centimeters, burying itself in the pillar behind me. A flash of ginger hair catches my eye.
He has come out of the basement.
“What a way to meet,” the man yells. His Irish accent is rough, more pronounced than any of the Kavanaughs. He grew up on the island. “I’m a huge fan of your wife, Mr. Dashkov.”
I growl, my chest rumbling with the depth of the vibration. “You’re about to be a dead fan, stranger.”
The man has the gall to laugh.
“That isn’t how my story ends, I’m afraid.” Another bullet leaves his chamber. I don’t bother to fire back. He is too well hidden, and it is a waste of ammo. “But I was so glad to get a taste of that sweet Irish homeland while I was here. I can see why you married her.”
“Come out here and face us, yousap,” Liam roars from my side. “I’ll give you a taste of the homeland myself.”
“Is that the famous Liam Kavanaugh?” the man crows. “Oh, wait until I tell the boys back home all about this. They’ll be singing my name down at the pub.”
“Can’t sing if you’re dead, mate,” he hollers.
The man laughs again. “One day, Kavanaugh,” he hollers back. “Until then, though, I’ll tell you this: Noah Kelly sends his regards.”
Liam tenses next to me. Whoever this Kelly man is, he isn’t a friend of his. Another explosion rocks the mansion. This one isn’t ours.
I can hear the man’s retreating footsteps on the wooden floor.
He is gone.
But that doesn’t matter.
The only thing that matters is getting to my wife.
“Let’s go.” I incline my head at the open door the man entered from.
Slowly, we descend the steps into the basement and into the dimly lit corridor. We follow the dark hallway deeper into the house, our eyes alert. Most of the doors are open. Some hang off their hinges. Damage that hasn’t been caused by the explosions. The air is damp and smells of mildew. The rough, concrete walls close in the space surrounding us, swallowing the dim lights that swing from above.
The sound of shuffling feet stops me cold.
I hold up my fist to stop the others. Pointing at my ear to convey I’ve heard a sound, I peek around the corner where the hallway diverges into a sharp turn that leads into a larger room. Another sound. This time, it is the sound of a rifle bolt.
More shuffling of feet, but it is just one pair.
Turning back to the others, I signal my findings.
One man.