Page 5 of Tango (Hunt Brothers Search & Rescue #4)

Tucker

I t’s nearly eleven at night, but I can’t shake this feeling that I need to at least drive by the Sterlings’ home.

Why I should be doing anything at this hour but sleeping, I’ve no clue.

But I learned a long time ago not to ignore feelings like this.

So, here I am, turning onto their suburban street.

I come to a stop and glance over at the passenger seat.

Tango is sitting up, staring at me, his head cocked to the side.

“Yeah, I know. I’m tired too, bud, but it doesn’t hurt just to lo—” A shrill scream catches my attention through my rolled-down window.

Quickly, I fire off a text to Dylan, asking him to contact Alaric Simmons, a detective with the LAPD.

He’s on my short list of people to trust because he’s the former partner of a man who works with my cousin, Silas, at their private security firm in Maine.

Given the sensitive nature of the case I’m dealing with, my goal is to keep people out of it—not invite more. But with lives on the line, I really don’t have much choice.

As soon as the message sends, I withdraw my weapon, shove the door open, and climb out. “ Hier, Tango.” Here. He leaps out at the command, already in work mode.

Moving slowly, I creep toward the house, sticking to the shadows as much as I can.

Another scream.

I round the back of the house. It’s just faint enough that, unless someone is out on the street, no one is going to hear it. Step by step, I head around back to find a way in.

A window shatters to my right. I spin and aim my weapon. Tango lets loose a warning growl. And then, I see a pair of eyes so pale they might as well be crystal, staring up at me through a sliver of window no larger than six inches.

My breath catches, and the world stills.

Alice Sterling.

“Who are you?” she demands, ripping me back into the moment.

“Tucker Hunt. A friend of?—”

“You’re a Hunt brother.”

I’m not often speechless, but—another scream. “Please stop!” a woman yells, her voice muted by the walls separating us.

“You have to get in there. Please. They’re going to kill them.” Tears in her eyes, Alice tries to climb out through the broken glass.

“You’re not going to fit through there. Not without seriously hurting yourself. Can I go in through the back door? Do you know where they are in the house? How many there are?”

“I think I heard two voices aside from my parents. But my mom blocked the basement door, so I can’t get out. There’s a hide-a-key under a turtle in the flower bed near the back door.”

“On it.” I leave her, Tango on my heels, and rush up to the porch.

The turtle is right where she said it would be, so I retrieve the key and slide it into the lock.

Slowly, I inch the door open. I need to know where they are in the house before I go in, gun blazing.

Otherwise, the Sterlings could get caught in the crossfire.

The back door leads into the kitchen. There’s another door directly to the right, but it’s been blocked by a drink cart wedged beneath the handle.

The basement. Because I sense she’ll climb out of that tiny window and tear herself up if I don’t, I cross over to the door first and slowly slide the cart away, then flip the lock on the top of the door to let her out.

Alice stares at me, her eyes wide, when I pull it open.

I press my finger to my lips, and she nods in understanding.

Her face is scraped, her lip bloody, and there are bruises around her slender throat, but I ignore those for the moment to focus on what’s more pressing.

“We don’t know where she is,” a man says. He’s breathless, and I can hear the pain in his voice. That would be Fred Sterling.

The kitchen leads to a hallway near a set of stairs. “What’s over there?” I whisper, keeping my voice barely audible.

“Living room,” she mouths back.

I nod then gesture for her to stay behind me. Tango moves into place between my legs as we head toward the danger. Ears perked, he’s ready for my command.

A hand cracks against flesh, and a woman whimpers.

“Don’t touch her!” Fred bellows.

The adrenaline in my veins kicks up a notch.

“Then tell us where to find?—”

Glass shatters, and I turn to look behind me. Alice is wide-eyed, her face pale, and beneath her boots is what used to be a picture frame that must’ve been on the wall. Well, element of surprise is over.

“Go see what that is,” a man orders.

I press back against the wall, getting as close as I can, and move Tango out from between my legs so he can stand directly at my side. As soon as I hear the boot steps grow closer, I order, “ Fass, Tango!” My dog launches himself at the man right as the man raises his weapon.

Fear ices through my veins, but Tango is faster. His powerful jaws lock on the man’s arm, and the weapon clatters to the ground. I rush forward, using my bodyweight and the advantage of surprise, to hit the man and slam him to the ground.

He falls, and Tango adjusts his hold. I raise my weapon again. “I’d stay like that, or he’s going to tear your arm off.”

The man glares up at me. “I’m not scared of no do— Ow!” he yells as Tango bites down harder when he tries to move.

“Hurt my dog, and that bite wound will be the least of your problems.” I glance back at Alice. “Watch him. If he moves, yell.”

She nods, so I move fully into the living room. Fred is seated in a floral chair while his wife, Jemma, is on the couch. A second man in a black suit stands next to her, one hand on her throat, the other holding a gun to her head.

“Put it down, or I’ll kill her.”

“There doesn’t need to be any more bloodshed tonight,” I tell him. “The police are going to be here any second, and if you kill her, there’s no walking away from this. As it stands now, you’re looking at breaking and entering and assault, but no murder charge—yet.”

“You don’t hold the cards here,” the man says. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I assure you, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

And because I’m not one to take chances on this ending badly, I take a breath and adjust my aim. “You okay, Mrs. Sterling?”

She nods.

“Question. What do ducks yell when someone throws something at them?”

Jemma’s expression momentarily shifts from fear to confusion, and the bruiser holding her narrows his gaze at me.

“Duck!” I fire. Jemma lunges forward as the bullet hits the shoulder of the man, opposite to where she’d been sitting. His furious yell is only momentary before I’m rushing forward and slamming him onto the ground, then withdrawing another zip tie and securing both arms behind his back.

As soon as he’s no longer an issue and the Sterlings are embracing each other, I move back into the hallway where Tango is being the good boy he is and keeping his hold on the first attacker.

“ Aus, ” I order. Let go. Tango releases him, so I flip him over onto his back and yank both arms—including his injured one—behind his back so I can secure them as well. He mutters under his breath, but I pay it no mind.

They always mutter. As soon as he’s secure, I grip his shoulder and drag him into the living room, flipping him over so he’s lying next to the other one.

Behind me, Alice joins her parents, all of them shaken and bruised.

I kneel. “Who are you?” They don’t answer. “Got it. No worries.” I withdraw my cell phone and snap two pictures before sending them off to a friend I trust out in Maine. He’s on call tonight, so an ID shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. “Now, who sent you here?”

“Do you really think we answer to you?”

“I think you’ll answer to the LAPD when they get here.”

“You called the cops?”

I glance over at Alice. “Home invasion typically calls for the police.” She pales, so I get up and cross the living room.

“Who did this to you?” I ask, tone low as I take a closer look at her injuries.

With the current risk subdued, I look her over, noting the cuts and scrapes on her face, the bruises around her throat, and her bandaged arm.

“Was it them?” I gesture toward the two unwanted guests.

“No. It wasn’t them.”

“Then who?” When she doesn’t answer, I turn back toward the two men. “Who sent you?”

“Someone who will own you before this is all over,” one of the men sneers.

My phone dings, so I withdraw it and check the message.

Thank you, Elijah. “Nice. So, we have a Harry Olean and a Kris Marsh.” Both men glare back at me.

“I told you I was going to find out. Wow, nice records. Lot of time between both of you. Armed robbery. Assault. I don’t see any murder charges here though.

Given how many times you’ve been caught, I’d say you’re nothing but the muscle they send in when they want someone to be scared.

Muscle they’d likely be all too happy about throwing under the bus, given the circumstances.

” I look from one man to the other, taking special notice of the way they side-eye each other.

“Tell me, does it feel good to pick on people half your size? Make you feel like big men?” Neither of them answers.

“Now, the question is, who’s going to crack first? ”

“Listen, if you called the cops, I have to go.” Once again, Alice distracts me.

One of the men grins. “She’s the real killer.”

“I’m not a killer.”

“Then what happened to our boy Josh?” he asks. “Because I’m fairly certain you left him with an extra hole than he had when you found him.”

Alice pales and takes a step back.

It infuriates me that they’re intimidating her even now that they’re zip-tied on the ground. “Tell me what’s going on, Miss Sterling. I can’t help you unless you do.”

“He would have killed me. It was self-defense.”

“Sure it was,” one of the men says. “Just like that Ramiro kid was self-defense.”

Ramiro. “ Ramiro Caine is dead?” I ask.

Alice’s face turns beet red, and she clenches her hands into fists. “I didn’t kill him!” She sprints toward them, and I have to wrap both arms around her waist to keep her from leaping onto the men.