Headhunter (With Me in Seattle Mafia #2) - Kristen Proby Page 0,32

the monitors, but I don’t see anything. The alarm was tripped in quadrant forty-two. Okay. Yeah, I’ll go check, too. You take the south and east sides, I’ll take north and west, and we’ll cover quadrants forty through forty-five. They can’t have gotten far. Report back. Out.”

He turns to me, his eyes flat and cold, and his voice is hard. “I need you to stay here. Do not go upstairs. Do not leave this room. I’ll lock it on my way out. It’s bomb-proof, fireproof, and impossible to get into if you don’t know the code.”

“Shane—”

“I don’t know who’s on my property, but they’re about to get a rude awakening. Stay, Ivie. Keep your weapon on you, in case.”

“I won’t leave.”

He nods once and starts to leave, but then he turns back to me and kisses me hard. He releases me as quickly as he grabbed me, takes the stairs two at a time, and then he’s gone. The locks snick into place, and I’m left alone. To worry.

I turn back to the monitors. I see Shane exiting the back door, his weapon drawn as he takes off at a run.

Movement catches my eye on another monitor. It’s Curt, also hurrying from his cabin, weapon drawn.

Jesus, it feels like something out of a mystery novel.

I wish I had sound.

I narrow my eyes as Curt and Shane come in and out of range of the different cameras. Each monitor is labeled with a number.

“Shane said quadrant forty-two,” I mutter, looking at the corresponding screen. I walk to it, looking for switches. “Nothing.”

Curt and Shane continue coming and going, making their way through the thirties until they’re in the quadrants in question.

I tap a couple of keys on a keyboard and pray with all my might that I don’t fuck something up.

Suddenly, I can hear what’s happening.

“Jackpot,” I murmur, pleased that I haven’t lost my touch when it comes to electronics.

“Nothing,” I hear Curt say as he meets Shane in quadrant forty-four.

But then I see something in quadrant thirty-eight. I pick up the phone I grabbed on our way down here and text Shane.

Me: Q38. Man with rifle.

Shane looks at the smartwatch on his wrist, then crouches and gestures to Curt. I can’t hear what he whispers to the other man, but they move fast and sleek from the monitor, through the others, making their way to the intruder.

“Oh, God,” I whisper as I clasp my hands and press them to my chest. “Be careful. Who the hell is that?”

For two men crouched so low to the ground, they move fast. Suddenly, they’re coming at the stranger from opposite sides.

“Stop right there,” Shane commands, pointing his weapon at the man. “Drop the rifle.”

“Hey,” the guy says and raises his hands, slowly lowering his gun to the ground. “I’m not looking for any trouble.”

“What are you looking for?” Shane asks as Curt retrieves the weapon and walks with it out of range of the stranger.

“Elk,” the man says. “I’m just hunting elk.”

“You’re doing it on private property,” Shane informs him. “My private property.”

“I didn’t realize I left state land.”

“Bullshit,” Curt mutters. “There are signs everywhere, asshole.”

“Not to mention, I don’t know of anyone around here who would shoot an elk with an assault weapon.” Shane steps closer and pushes his pistol into the other man’s face. “Who do you work for?”

“I’m just hunting elk.” But the other man doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even look scared.

I’m terrified, and I’m safe in this room.

“Who sent you?” Curt asks and relieves the man of his wallet. “And is your last name really Sugarbaker?”

“Sugarbaker?” Shane smirks, but the man moves quickly, takes Shane’s pistol, and rounds on Curt when he advances. There’s a fight, a gunshot, and the camera goes dark.

“Oh, God.” I tap keys frantically, but I can’t get the feed or the sound back. They’re just gone.

“No. Don’t do this to me, Shane. Move into the range of another camera.”

But they don’t. In fact, systematically, every monitor goes dark.

Minutes that feel like hours tick by, but there’s nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Until the sound of another gunshot comes through another monitor. I don’t see anything, but I hear the shot.

Jesus, is Shane hurt? Is Curt injured?

How can I be expected to just sit here and wait?

I try to call Shane’s phone, but there’s no reply.

“He told me to stay,” I remind myself. “He’ll be pissed if I don’t.”

I chew my lip.

“But he could be hurt. Oh, God, did more men show up? How long am I supposed to wait