Page 4 of Protected from Malice (Blade and Arrow Shadow Team #1)

Maybe now isn’t the best time to bring up old memories.

Because I remember that day in vivid detail.

It was my first Thanksgiving after my mom passed away, so Indy invited me to celebrate with his family.

We all met up at Indy and Eden’s mother’s place in Connecticut, and once dinner was over, their mom decided to break out their old school report cards and photos.

We were all in hysterics listening to Indy’s report card comments, talking about all the pranks he played in the classroom and how he could be a straight-A student if he’d just focus .

How he put food coloring in the goldfish bowl to see if he could turn the fish blue—it didn’t, obviously, but thankfully, the fish survived—and snuck into the classroom at recess to reset the clock an hour faster in hopes the teacher would let them go home early.

In comparison, there was Eden with all her A-pluses and dozens of awards.

She tried to brush the accolades aside, claiming she just studied a lot and Indy was as smart as she was.

That’s when Indy grabbed Eden’s IQ scores and said, “You scored a two-hundred, Eeny. That’s genius level.

Don’t diminish how smart you are. I’m proud of you. You should be too.”

I know Eden’s not an insecure person. But she’s quiet about it. She never wants recognition. Like she told me once, “If my work can save someone’s life, that’s the important thing. I don’t care about getting credit for it.”

“So,” Eden finally says, “you’re almost here? I thought it might be later, with all the traffic.”

“It was kind of shitty leaving the airport,” I reply while accelerating through the intersection. “But once I got out of the city, the traffic cleared up.”

“Good.” She pauses. “I’m sure you’re hungry after traveling all day. I was thinking I could make something once you get here. Um.” Another pause. “I could make spaghetti. Or grilled cheese.”

I can’t smother my laugh. Eden is great at a lot of things, but cooking isn’t one of them. “How about if we order something instead? Less work for you.”

Eden snorts softly. “You mean you don’t want to eat my cooking. I’ll have you know, my grilled cheeses have gotten much better over the last?—”

She stops.

Sucks in a sharp breath.

Worry shoots through me. “Eden? What is it?”

There’s no response.

Just the sound of rapid breathing.

Then scuffling.

Footsteps rush across the floor.

“Eden?” My voice is rough. Urgent. “What’s going on?”

A door slams shut.

My pulse skyrockets. “ Eden . Talk to me.”

In a whisper, she says, “Someone… someone’s trying to get inside the house.”

“WHAT?”

The car jerks as I slam my foot to the floor.

“The alarm at the back door.” Her breathing gets louder. Quicker. More uneven. “It went off. And now… the camera’s not working. I can’t see anything. But I think…”

A scared whimper nearly tears my heart in two.

“Rafe.” Her voice is so small. So frightened. “I think I hear someone in the house.”

FUCK.

I urge the car even faster, my fear growing bigger with each horrible scenario I imagine.

Someone breaking in to rob the place, finding Eden there, hurting her.

Assaulting her.

Killing—

Fuck.

No.

Not Eden.

Not when I’m so damn close.

Drawing on all my training from the Army, I shove down my fear and force myself to focus.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“The laundry room. There’s a lock on the door. I… Oh.” More frantic breathing. Then so quietly I can barely hear her, “I think I hear someone inside. Rafe… ”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I’m still minutes away.

In the same commanding tone I used while training foreign allies overseas, I say, “Here’s what I want you to do.

Grab a weapon. Something sharp. Scissors, if you have them.

Something you can spray in a person’s face if not.

Don’t hang up, but I want you to put me on hold for a second.

Call 911. I’ll probably be there before the police, so once you tell them what’s going on, get back on the call with me. ”

For a few seconds, there’s no response.

My heart slams hard in my chest.

“Eden.”

“Okay. I got some scissors.” As I hoped, given a task, Eden sounds more in control. More focused. “I’m hiding between the washer—ouch—and the wall.”

Shit. I don’t want to think about how she might have hurt herself.

“Call 911. Then get right back to me.” I make a sharp right turn onto the next road, my tires squealing. “I’m almost there.”

The next minute is one of the worst of my life.

Listening to the silence on Eden’s end of the line as she calls 911.

Racing to her house, not knowing what I’ll find inside.

Not knowing if she’s hurt.

Not knowing if I’ll get there too late.

Fuck.

Why didn’t I find a flight last night?

Why didn’t I insist she stay with someone? Go to a fucking hotel? Something ?

I finally reach Eden’s street—fucking finally—and reluctantly slow the car as I approach her house. Not because I want to, but it’s a residential street. And even at night, there’s no guarantee someone might not be out walking their dog or jogging in the dark like a crazy person.

Just as I’m about to turn into her driveway, Eden whispers, “Okay. I called. They said they would send?—”

Another one of those awful, heartbreaking scared whimpers escapes. “I can hear him. Inside .”

Slamming the car into park, I reach into the glove box and grab my Sig. My Ka-Bar. A set of handcuffs. “Stay where you are. I’m coming in.”

“Rafe.” Her voice fucking wobbles. “Don’t get hurt. Please .”

“I won’t.” I leap from the car and survey the front of the house. It looks normal. Just a few lights on inside, but no telltale shadow crossing in front of the window. No sign of the intruder. Yet.

In the seconds it takes to sprint to the house, I plan my attack.

If this were a regular op and I were tracking a tango, I’d go for stealth. My priority would be to get inside undetected and capture the enemy.

But Eden’s inside, too. And I need to get to her before anything else.

As soon as I get to the front door, I whisper harshly into the phone, “I have to hang up. I’m coming in now. Just hang tight. I’ll be right there.”

Eden’s muffled tears carve out my chest. “Okay. Just… be careful.”

It’s torture to end the call.

Then I lift my leg and kick the door as hard as I can.

The wood splinters.

I kick it again.

The hinges snap.

As the door flies open, I raise my weapon.

Eden first.

But if I find the asshole who broke in…

They’ll find out they fucked with the wrong person.