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Chapter Sixty-Three

D iana turned off the TV and stretched her neck. The fireworks had been interesting, but the reports of blasts on base had her on edge. Her phone was downstairs charging, so she pulled out her laptop to look for a message from Chris—even a thumbs-up would do—but she knew better than to expect anything. If there was any truth to the speculation, he was busy.

She frowned when she saw the Wi-Fi network was down. Even if Chris had messaged, she wouldn’t see it. Was something up with the cable modem? The TV had worked just fine.

She debated getting out of bed and finally decided to go downstairs and grab her phone. Cellular never let her down.

She was at the top of the stairs when she heard a noise. She paused, and almost said, “Chris? Is that you?” before she caught herself, remembering that would not be a good idea if it wasn’t, in fact, Chris.

She did have enemies. Lots of them. They multiplied by the day as the men she’d exposed as the worst kind of traitors used their wildly expensive PR teams to try to discredit her. It helped, somewhat, that there had been video posted that proved their guilt without a shadow of a doubt, but there would always be those who claimed it was a deep fake.

It wasn’t. Diana had watched in horror with her own eyes.

She slowly inched backward, away from the stairs, afraid to make a noise if she wasn’t alone in the house. Chris would have called out to her, so as not to scare her.

Another sound. From the kitchen. The floor creaked in front of the pantry.

Someone was here.

Another step backward. She kept a gun in the bedroom.

She slowly backed down the hall. Why was the upper floor hall so long? Had it somehow telescoped in the last few minutes?

The unmistakable squeak of someone ascending the stairs sent her to full fight-or-flight mode. The steps were bare wood, but three of them squeaked. Whenever she wanted to be quiet so Chris could sleep in, she skipped those steps.

Chris did the same.

The person on the stairs was definitely not Chris.

Fight or flight?

She knew how to fight, but the person was probably armed, while she wasn’t. Flight was the only option. Maybe she could escape out the balcony door.

But she didn’t even make it to the bedroom before hands grabbed her.

So it was to be a fight.

A shrill scream broke the night air, and Chris launched himself up, over the railing, landing on the balcony with a thud. Collins was right behind him.

He yanked the doorknob. It was locked. He kicked at the glass pane inset in the door, and it shattered. He reached in and flipped the lock, then he and Collins entered, Chris on point. The bedroom was empty, door to the hall closed.

Silence in the wake of Diana’s scream was unsettling. She’d been close. In the hall?

He and Teague crossed to the door, which would be harder to clear as it was a pinch point in a door-width alcove.

He nodded to Collins, who yanked the door open so Chris could pass through.

The upper landing with its long hall was empty. Down below, Burns and Kramer would be clearing the floor.

A muffled sound behind the guest room door was followed by a curse.

Diana yelled, “Chris!”

He kicked the door open and there she was, fighting with Maxim in front of the window. The man wanted to use her as a shield, but she wasn’t cooperating.

Diana, more than anyone, knew when it was time to be a meek hostage, and when it was time to fight, but even when she chose meek, she was the one in control.

Chris stalked forward. His gun lowered; he’d never aim a gun in her direction. Fortunately, she’d managed to disarm Maxim, who groped for his weapon as he tried to hold her off.

Chris kicked Maxim’s gun to the side and reached down, grasping him by the throat. He lifted the man by his neck, freeing Diana from grappling limbs.

Behind him, he heard Burns and Kramer enter the room.

Collins stepped forward and faced one of the men who’d helped plan the attack that had killed the rest of his Fire Team and left him for dead in the forest.

Collins punched the man in the gut while Chris held him by the neck. Chris squeezed harder, stopping the man from making a sound of pain.

Then he met Diana’s face and saw the shock—even horror in her eyes.

He dropped Maxim to the floor. Collins stepped forward to kick him in the ribs, but Burns and Kramer caught him.

Collins breathed deeply as he fought the same demon that haunted Chris.

He knew Collins wanted to argue. To justify. All the others were dead. What was one more?

Chris sympathized. But once that threshold was crossed, there was no going back.

He pulled out his cell phone and called their commander. “Sir, we got him. Alive.”