“If you think the assailant is in possession of an explosive, we need to fall back and—”
“Your only orders are to protect us?” Selene demanded.
“Yes, ma’am, which is why—”
Selene dashed down the hall. Unlike Oscar, she didn’t bother to crouch when running across the parlor. Bill lunged for her but missed.
“Fuck,” Oscar and Wayne snarled almost in unison as they leapt up to follow her.
Selene was already at the front door. Hand on the knob, she glanced back. “Please make sure I don’t die.”
Then she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.
Selene stood in the doorway, silhouetted by moonlight, her feet bare and her lovely, long, naked legs making her seem fragile. Vulnerable. His heart thumped its way to his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe, to swallow. Fear kicked in as he played out all the ways this could go very, very wrong. He envisioned the way her body would jerk with the force of the shot and then drop, crumpling into a heap, her blood pooling under her, long black hair forming a halo around her beautiful, angelic face.
Jesus, now was not the time to have a morbid poetry moment. That kind of stuff was Sylvia’s territory. He was the one who kept everyone safe and in check.
Selene was neither at the moment, yet he was out of his element here.
He preferred digital battles. The closest he’d ever come to combat was when he’d seen Franco get shot. The image of watching the man go down, the blood, Juliette’s cries, it had all come back to him too many times since. Bullets struck fast, and if they hit their target, there was fuck-all anyone could do to stop the destruction.
Oscar was hampered by the fact that he still held the computer with one arm, so it was Wayne who grabbed the back of the T-shirt Oscar had loaned her and yanked Selene back inside.
“Wait, he was getting out of the car!”
“Call it in,” Wayne snapped at Bill while hauling Selene toward the basement door. “The situation is FUBAR.”
Oscar could run to Selene’s defense, demand Wayne release her, stop him from forcibly keeping her safe…
Or he could finish what she’d started.
Snapping the lid of the laptop closed, he tossed it onto a chair, and walked out the door.
It was Luca Campisi—now that he was half out of the car, Oscar could confirm his identity based on the photos they’d been shown in the aftermath of Langston’s drama. When Oscar walked out, he hesitated for only a moment, then finished exiting and closed the door.
“Langston,” Luca said in an elegant Italian accent. “I’m here to teach you how to defuse the bomb and to beg you to destroy your copy of the plans.”
Langston.
Oh fuck.
More than once, he and his brothers had played identical triplets’ tricks, switching places in an attempt to fool teachers or friends. He’d portrayed Langston more than a few times in his life, but never when the stakes were so high.
“I’m listening.” Oscar held his hands up to show that he meant no harm, on the off chance Luca did have a weapon and got nervous. He lowered them quickly, not wanting Luca to mistake his trembling as fear. In truth, it was fucking freezing outside, and Oscar was only in his boxers.
Luca hesitated, remaining by the car a full minute before taking a couple tentative steps toward Oscar. He stopped for just a moment when Selene stepped back on the porch, then continued to the house.
Oscar did his best to look nonthreatening while placing himself slightly in front of Selene and ignoring the sounds coming from inside the house. Bill and Wayne had better keep quiet or Luca would hear them.
Luca looked like he’d seen better days. His medium-brown hair was shaggy and in bad need of a trim, and his clothing looked as if he’d slept in them more than a few nights. He was still too far away for Oscar to make out the shape or color of his eyes, but he could see the black-framed glasses he wore. If Oscar had passed this man on the street, he never would have noticed him. At first glance, he was the very definition of nondescript. No wonder he’d managed to evade capture. There wasn’t anything in the man’s face that screamed “mad bomber.” Instead, Luca just looked like any other Joe Schmoe.
“Did you—or you, Dr. Tanaka—give the plans to anyone?” Luca asked, sounding both