Not that it would make a fucking bit of difference to the stubborn bastard beside him.
“Fine.” He forced the acceptance through his teeth.
It could have been worse. At least he wouldn’t be scuttling Tram’s career, as he didn’t currently have one.
They’d already identified the overgrown rutted path that led to the abandoned house. The crushed grass and brush from the Impala’s tires were a dead giveaway that the road had seen recent activity.
“Call if we get company,” Tag told Danny. Since they didn’t have headsets, their cells would have to do.
He took the lane at a careful lope with Tram beside him. The house was somewhere between three quarters and a mile inland, which meant they’d arrive at the house within the next six minutes. Just as the day died.
How was that for an omen?
They’d been on the move for almost six minutes, with the encroaching darkness blurring the landscape around them, when they jogged around a corner and almost ran into the ass end of the Impala. They swerved around it and slowed to a walk, easing into the prickly thicket of brush surrounding them.
The house was a huge, dusky blur. Dead and dark. No lights. No sound. No movement.
He locked down the explosion of dread and fear for Sarah’s safety and crept forward, weaving his way through the thicket of dry brush that wrapped around the house. The prickly shrubs scratched his arms and pulled at his clothes like merciless, insistent fingernails.
As he moved in closer, part of the reason for the lack of light became clear. The windows were boarded. Tram shot him the fisted—hold tight sign—and melted into the darkness. His buddy would find a back entrance so they could assault in from the front and the rear and pinch the bastard between them.
Tag fished his cell out of his back pocket and settled into a crouch, counting the minutes off in his head.
By two minutes, urgency spiked through him, demanding that he act now, forget his training and common sense and kick down that door—find Sarah. The need roared through him like a flashover. He battened it down and held fast, but it had never taken so much effort to maintain self-control.
When the vibration of a text hit his cell, he lifted his phone and highlighted the message.
Back door. Go in 20.
Thank Christ.
With a deep breath, he rose to his feet. After tucking the cell into his back pocket, he eased up to the front entrance, counting off the seconds in his head. The porch above him sagged, half sunken on the right. Each step up felt squishy and unstable beneath his boots. He’d just reached the front door and twenty seconds in his mental countdown when a gunshot pierced the night.
The report came from inside the house and echoed through his bones. The dread warped into horror.
Fuck…Fuck…Fuck
The door splintered with a shriek beneath his boot. A similar splintering erupted from the back of the house.
He eased into the room slowly—despite the urgent pump of his blood and wicked beat of his heart. With his gun up and sweeping, he let his eyes adjust to the lack of light and his ears tune in to his surroundings.
A scuttling, scraping sound came from ahead, to the right.
Sarah? Langley? The kidnapper?
He reached for the flashlight tucked into his rear pocket but didn’t turn it on. He couldn’t afford to light up his position.
“I know you’re there. I have a gun and I know how to use it.” Sarah’s voice wavered in the darkness.
Tag’s breath caught in his throat.
“Sarah?” Her name emerged hoarse, gritty.
A pause echoed in the darkness.
“Brett?” Her voice wobbled.
He clicked on the flashlight, aiming the beam in the direction of her voice. He needed to see her ASAP. See if she’d been harmed. Hell, calling out to her had already given his position away anyway.
The bright pool of white light haloed a red-haired woman in a dirty wedding gown. She was sitting on the floor in front of an armchair. Her face was bleach white, her eyes huge and blind—like a deer in the headlights. But she held the gun in a steady, two-handed grip, exactly as he’d taught her two years ago.
Something hot and fierce struck his chest and vaulted up his throat. Fuck…she looked magnificent.
He shifted the beam up, focusing on the armchair above her. A man slumped there, unmoving, one arm draped across the armrest, the other across his knee. A pool of darkness was slowly spreading