Page 4

“Seven. Six,puta.Five.”

Beside her, Iyara began to murmur what sounded like a prayer. Or a very long curse.

Bethan shrank, there on her knees, trying to make herself as small as possible. And in so doing, angled herself even closer to the long muzzle of the gun.

“Four,” the man snarled.

“No, no, no,” she cried, the way a victim might. “Please don’t hurt me—”

“Three,” he said.

And then a lot of things happened at once.

Jonas burst in through the front door like a reckoning.

She heard shouts and loud thuds at the same time, which told her that at least two other members of her team had come in through the windows.

But there was still that gun at her head, so she handled it.

Bethan grabbed the muzzle of the rifle and wrenched it to the side Iyara wasn’t on, removing them both from the line of fire. He fired in the same instant, a deafening blast that she’d expected, but it still slammed into her like a wall of noise. The barrel was hot in her hand, but that was a lot better than a bullet in the face, so she kept going.

She controlled the weapon, yanking it so hard the man lost his balance and came down to the ground. Then she was rolling with him, over him, battering him in the face with his own weapon until he let go. She surged to her feet in a tidy little flip, taking the rifle with her. Then held it on him.

The way he was moaning and grabbing at one hand, she was pretty sure she’d broken at least one of his fingers.

“Stay down,” she told him, calmly, her ears still ringing. “I want you on your belly with your hands laced behind your head and your ankles crossed. Do it now.”

She flicked a glance at Iyara and found she’d scrambled back to press herself against the nearest wall. She was panting, her eyes wide, but she looked fine. Bethan kept her weapon trained on the man she’d taken down as she listened to Jonas and the others clear the house.

Had she really been thinking abouthis voice in her ear?

Get a hold of yourself, Wilcox, she snapped at herself.

There was a brief electric sort of silence. And then outside, the sound of a body hitting the earth. Hard.

“Bomber down,” Griffin said without inflection.

Then Jonas was beside her, tall and forbidding, his own weapon aimed at the man on the floor. His dark gaze moved to Bethan, then away. “Get her brother’s location. I’m going to see if I can find out why we didn’t know there was going to be a welcoming party.”

“Yes, sir,” Bethan replied.

Then froze, because she hadn’t meant to say that. They weren’t in the military anymore. And Jonas was in command of this op, but he certainly wasn’t her commanding officer. The way he took his time sliding that dark, reproachful gaze of his back her way told her exactly what he thought of it.

She was a soldier. She did not flush. “Force of habit.”

“Break that habit,” he suggested.

Then without another word—or another searing glare—he headed back out into the blinding light of the desert.

Bethan ruthlessly shoved the entire interaction out of her head, because what was the point of treading that worn ground some more? Jonas was Jonas. Always and ever. She could sit here, seething and fuming over things that would never change, but they were still in the middle of this creepy, dangerous desert town. And just because they’d handled this particular group, it didn’t mean there weren’t more lurking around or heading for the same quarry.

Besides, she knew from experience that the little cabin she lived in now, stuck in the woods on the rocky, green,fog-shrouded hillside of a remote Alaskan island, was solitary enough that she could spend night and day brooding over the things Jonas did or didn’t say to her. And had or hadn’t said to her for years.

No need to do it now, when it could get them all killed.

But it was far easier to tell herself that she wouldn’t brood about it than it was to stop doing it.

“Are you going to tell me where your brother is?” she asked Iyara, squatting down next to her and digging into the pack she carried so she could start addressing the woman’s cuts and bruises.