room. What makes you think you’re putting on a vest?”
“It’s moving,” Patrick yelled.
“Because they took my wife, that is my home, and that bitch has been fucking with my world.”
The three of us wearing our vests rushed back to the command center.
Patrick looked up from the monitors and keyboards. “I think I can delay them another minute, but not much after that. I’ll let you know where they are.”
The steel door opened with the scan of my hand. Our forward movement stopped as we approached the elevator doors. “If they have any control, they could lock us in there. Come here,” I said, leading the three of them to the emergency fire stairs we’d never used.
“Fucking forgot these existed,” Mason said as we pried the door open.
“We won’t be able to enter the penthouse,” Sparrow said. “I had a fake panel installed.”
“I remember,” I said looking at Mason. “I’m a bit bruised, but I would say you and me together could knock the shit out of the panel.” I called Patrick. “Turn off the alarms in the stairwell.”
Emergency lighting activated as we stepped onto the metal stairs, but no alarms sounded. Cobwebs crisscrossed from stairs to ceiling as we kicked up dust with each step. We stilled at the first-floor penthouse landing. The stairs continued up to the second floor of the penthouse.
“Where does this come out?” Mason asked, looking up.
“Upstairs, it’s in an extra bedroom,” Sparrow answered. “Ruby’s bedroom. Shit, I just remembered on the first floor it’s in the library. There’s not only a panel but a fucking bookcase too.”
Mason and I looked at one another and both began running to the second floor. Pulling the fireproof door toward us brought us face-to-face with the backside of decorative paneling. Mason grinned. “It’ll fucking be easier than a bookcase.”
With Sparrow a step behind, we both rammed the paneling with our shoulder.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered as pain shot down my injured arm and torso.
“I have a better idea,” Mason said. Pushing me back, my brother-in-law held to the door as he brought the heel of his cowboy boot to the center of the paneling. As if it were nothing but pressed wood, the barrier splintered. I joined him, kicking away our obstacle. Soon we had an opening large enough for each of us to get through.
Once we were standing in what was sometimes Ruby’s room, I reached for my phone. Instead of using the cell service from before, I switched to our direct line, calling Patrick. “Where are they?” I asked, knowing he was doing his job, putting out literal and figurative fires while watching everything unfold.
Patrick responded immediately. “They’re in the penthouse. First floor. Jettison is headed up the staircase toward you. The other two men have split up. Fuck, Morehead is going to the elevator.”
“She’s figured out that is where Laurel should be,” Mason said.
“Let her enter the elevator. Try to keep her trapped for a while,” Sparrow said. “We’ll take care of these men first.”
“Jettison is mine,” I said with my heart pounding against my bruised breastbone.
Mason turned. “Sparrow, will you please let us handle this?” He tilted his head toward the hidden stairs. “Command center is safest.”
“No. I’m not letting you handle this alone. You three have fucking backed me up. It’s my turn.”
Mason’s green stare met my dark one. We didn’t have time to argue. All we could do was what had been our job ever since basic training—clear the way and protect the king. Of course, Sparrow wasn’t a king back then. If you’d have asked Mason back then, he’d have said Sparrow was a spoiled rich kid from Lincoln Park.
That was a long time ago.
The three of us moved in unison as Jettison crested the grand staircase. His gun was poised as were ours. Shooting him would alert the people below and minimize our opportunity. Hell, we had no way of knowing if Morehead had found the elevator.
Instead of heading our direction, Jettison went down the hallway toward the master bedroom suite and nursery. Rage radiated from the man behind me. I didn’t blame him. His castle was under attack.
Sparrow looked down and pointed to our shoes. Mason and I were both wearing boots. He had his prissy Italian loafers. Without words he was saying he could sneak up on Jettison better. Mason shook his head, but that didn’t stop Sparrow. With the two of us now in the rear, we followed, ready to shoot.
As we turned into the second hallway, we saw the