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“I’m out of the way.”
“Okay, but—” Kenna reached for his arm, all her instincts flaring to life.
The door exploded in a shower of splintered wood and the sound of a shotgun blast.
Chapter Seventeen
The door had exploded outward, creating a giant hole in the reinforced door. Bent metal from the inner frame. Dust everywhere. Kenna had crouched to the right of the door, getting low out of instinct. Protecting her vital organs, one knee bent in front of her and the other tucked under so she could launch up at the first sign of someone making a run for it.
She smiled. It would feel good to release some tension with a physical altercation. All the frustration she’d been feeling lately. She could channel it into her limbs and take down a bad guy. Except, given what the doctor had done to her, that would likely result in her doing more damage to the person than she expected—maybe even killing them.
Probably not a good idea.
Jax asked, “Why do you look like you’re having fun?”
Another shot hammered the door, this one going through the hole to hit the neighboring door on the far side. She glanced back at her husband. “Tell me you don’t relish a good old-fashioned shoot-out.”
He shifted his gun to his nondominant hand and drew his phone from his pocket to call 911 and ask for police backup.
But the cops might not be a help here. “Isn’t this guy a cop? They’ll probably show up and defend him.”
“You don’t know”—another shot hit the door but didn’t bust another hole in it—“that.” Jax flinched. “Officer Albertson! This is the FBI. Put down your weapon and come out with your hands up!”
From inside the house, Earnest screamed obscenities at them.
“Lovely.” Kenna frowned, pulling out her phone so she could see what all the vibrating was about.
Another shot exploded through the hole, this time hitting the siding beside the door facing this one.
She thumbed to the notification and hit play on the voice message.
It was Bruce. “…shooting. He’s climbing out the window on the east side.”
She hit the button. “Who’s climbing out?”
He replied a second later. “The cop. He’s got the window open, and he’s pushing the screen out, making a run for it.”
Another shot rang out, cracking like a firework. She flinched every time the noise was so loud. But if the suspect was climbing out the window, then who was firing through the door. “There are two of them?”
“I’ll wait here for backup,” Jax said. “You go help Bruce.”
Bruce probably didn’t need help, but she didn’t plan to argue with her husband. “Got it.” She stood up out of her crouch, then hesitated. She couldn’t get to him to say something or squeeze his hand without crossing in front of the door.
“Go.” The look on his face was enough.
She returned that look, hoping he saw what she wanted to say—what she felt for him—in her expression. “Be careful.” She turned and ran for the back corner of the building.
“You, too,” drifted after her.
She squared up on the corner, then peered around. Bruce was out of sight. A man climbed out of the window, one leg over the sill. Then an arm.
She waited until he was halfway before she moved. Steady pace, gun at a forty-five—which with the bandage didn’t feel great. “Hands on your head.” Kenna employed all that “command presence” the FBI had taught her, not giving this guy any room to disagree or fight back. “Easy.”
He wasn’t Earnest Albertson. This guy had stringy hair, jeans, and a dirty T-shirt. He wore Birkenstocks with no socks. One fell off his leading foot.
“Climb out.” She held her gun ready. “Any weapons on you?”
Bruce came over, covering her just in case. From inside the residence, another shot went off. Bruce said, “Earnest is in there, firing at us?”