He saw Fox ask him for the details but the sound was drowned out by yet more incoming fire, and instead he dragged Fox further away from the door.

Taylor yelled. “They’re outside! The back door!”

“That’s less than fucking optimal,” Fox whispered.

“Eh, they were gonna figure it out sooner or later.” Axel tilted his head and listened to the crunch of footsteps, but without any way to know how many people there were in total, all he could do was guess that only half of them were moving toward him. It made sense, though, if he added up all the suspects who were now on the loose thanks to Taylor’s explosives, and it was never a bad thing to work under the assumption that there were more assailants than he could pinpoint.

It sounded like four coming around the corner, so he held up four fingers and pointed, then waited for Fox to brace himself against the side of the house.

Two pistols against four semi-autos was bad no matter what way he cut it, but he was damned if he was going to let anything hurt Fox.

Especially Kennedy.

Damnit, he could kick himself for letting Kennedy’s words hook into his heart like that. Of course the guy would lie, and if Axel hadn’t been feeling so damn confused over sleeping with a guy the night before the lies wouldn’t have found the crack in his armor. This was his mess, and he was damn well going to clean it up.

The tip of a muzzle appeared around the corner and Axel smirked.

Amateurs.

Only an idiot held a gun so far ahead of themselves in a situation like this.

Axel sprang like a tiger, using the house as cover until the very last second.

The owner of that gun became his new cover.

He smashed the barrel aside with one forearm and jammed his pistol into the man’s gut as triggers were pulled.

Hot shells erupted between them, ejected from the rifle. One bounced off Axel’s cheek and it felt hot enough to burn. The rattle of rapid fire so close to his ear was deafening, but it cut out just as fast as it had started.

The expression on the guy’s face was one Axel had seen before. The how did that happen stare. Eyes wide, lips parted, and a dawning horror that it had all gone horribly wrong.

Axel brought his arm back and grabbed his shooter by the throat to stop him from falling as more bullets tore him apart.

Bullets from his friends.

The body jerked in his hands, and Axel leaned into it to prop it up so that he could snake an arm around the waist and snap off more shots.

One went down. Another yelped and clutched his arm.

Axel noted with a grim satisfaction that his estimate was correct. There were four in total. One dead in his grip, one on the ground but not out for the count yet, and two still standing.

He began to step back, careful with his footing. His shield wouldn’t be effective for long.

“You’re better off letting me arrest you,” he called. He kept his head down. Though he doubted they’d manage to hit him if he peeked, it was better not to take the risk at all. “That way you get to stay alive.”

“You think we’re going down like this?” Davis was the kid’s name. One of the idiots they’d arrested at the house where Kennedy was storing his chemicals.

“Kid, I don’t think you’ve been down in weeks,” Axel retorted. It was the kind of thing Fox would have come out with, and he felt a twinge of pride at Fox’s ability to make people lose their focus.

It sure worked now. Davis rushed toward him face twisted in anger.

He broke free of the side of the house.

Fox shot him.

Davis gasped as he fell, and Axel popped up from his increasingly heavy body-shield to snap off more shots now that Davis was out of the way.

It was done in seconds.

Four bodies down. Two groaning in pain, but their hands were off their weapons.

Axel dropped his corpse and reached for Fox, whose eyes were wild and his skin pallid.

Oh, Jesus, no.

No. This was not the time to lose Fox to a goddamn flashback.

“Fox,” Axel hissed. He snapped an arm around his waist and tried to make eye contact. “Are you with me?”

Fox’s throat bobbed. He nodded weakly.

Damn.

He’d felt like this once. Eight years ago. Where all he wanted to do was put his body between this smart young man and all the pain of the world around him.

It flooded back with a vengeance now.

Fox was vulnerable. He was fragile. And he was terrified. He shouldn’t be in this situation, but his courage had pushed him forward like it had in Syria, and now it was Axel’s turn to do his job.

To shield Fox from harm.

All they had to do was make it to the car. It was far better protection than a house, and they could call for backup once they were safely behind it. If it came down to it they could haul ass out of here, and while they might lose Kennedy, Axel could make sure Fox got out of here in one piece.

Plus Jones kept a shotgun in the trunk, and by Axel’s reckoning he was down to his last pistol round.

“Keep it together,” he said softly, as much for his own benefit as for Fox’s. “We’re gonna run for it, understand?”

Fox gulped down a breath. “Are you crazy?”

“Did I tell you I had a plan?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then.” He didn’t tell Fox that he’d only this second formulated the plan. “Either you run or I carry you. What’s it gonna be?”

Fox’s gaze darted to the bodies he could see. “I…” But that was the only sound he made.

Axel nodded. Fox was too seized up to move effectively, and that meant Axel couldn’t cover him efficiently. “Got it,” he said. “Hold onto your gun.”

“Wha—”

Axel scooped him up and tossed him over his right shoulder, then broke free of the house and sprinted for the vehicles.

Fox yelped and grabbed his ass, which under other circumstances Axel might have appreciated. “Axel!”

“You’re fine.”

Axel ran like his life depended on it, but the fact was that Fox’s life depended on it and that was a thousand times more important. He veered around the suspects who were still on the ground so they couldn’t reach out and pull him off-balance, and as he closed in on the vehicles he got a better idea of what lay in wait out front.

There were two trucks either side of Jones’ car. One was a pickup, and the other a utility truck. He didn’t see anyone else, so either they’d gone the other—longer—way around the house, or they were inside with Kennedy now. Either way, the bulk of his own body was between Fox and them, so he pushed on as hard and as fast as he could.

Fox managed to grip Axel’s shirt at last, and it helped stop him bouncing around so much.

One more yard to go.

Axel grit his teeth.

He heard a faint cry from somewhere, but he didn’t dare look back. He rounded the side of the first truck and ducked so that he could drop Fox onto his feet, then spun the poor guy around and pulled him to Jones’ cruiser, still covering his back until they were both crouched behind the wheel of the car.

Fox heaved for breath and looked at Axel wildly. “You’ve got blood on you,” he gasped.

Axel nodded. “Not mine.”

“Okay.” Fox fumbled his safety on and holstered his gun, then grabbed the tire to keep himself from falling over.

Fox looked half dead even though he didn’t have a scratch on him. There was dust and dirt in his hair and on his clothes, and Axel resisted the temptation to try and brush some of it off him. The guy wasn’t a toddler going off to his first day of school; he was a trained CIA agent who’d just killed a man.

Axel clicked his tongue and popped the magazine out of his pistol, then snapped it back into place.

The mag was empty.

He glanced to the slide.

One round in the chamber.

He had to admit—if only to himself—that the odds were pretty damn bad. He glanced at Fox, hoping to give the Company man some false assurance, but his words stuck in his throat.

Fox’s fear was transforming into something else.

Something hard.

For a split second, Axel couldn’t figure out what it was, but then his brain latched onto a word and his heart sank.

Anger.

It was anger.

Axel’s heart skipped a beat.