CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Brent slipped out the window into the inky darkness at the side of the house, weapon out and quartering the area for the location of their attackers while Remy joined him. Once he and Remy took out the two men in the back, they would have to hurry to the front to deal with the other three. He had a feeling time was not on their side. These clowns weren’t going to wait long.
Brent’s jaw clenched. He wanted to have a discussion with the man who had targeted him and Rowan before Brent turned him over to the Williamson County law enforcement officials. They could ship him along to the Rutherford County cops who had the open case file on Carstairs. Brent looked forward to at least one of their problems being resolved. And with this latest escapade, Carstairs was looking at time behind bars for either attempted kidnapping or attempted murder. Either set of charges suited Brent fine because it meant he and Rowan no longer had to worry about the failed operative mucking up their attempts to rescue Alexa.
He studied the area surrounding the back of the house until he spotted the men. Both the former Fortress employees were hiding in two stands of trees on opposite sides of the yard, their attention focused on the back of the house. They weren’t paying attention to the rest of the area. If they had, they might have seen him and Remy standing in the shadows of the house.
Brent nudged Remy and indicated their location with an inclination of his head, then via hand signals indicated for Remy to take the operative on the left while Brent circled around to the guy on the right. With a nod, the Cajun disappeared into the trees to work his way to his target. Wouldn’t take long, though Remy would hold until Brent was in place. Neither man watching the house paid attention to anything but the back door, which indicated they still hadn’t furthered their training or at least the training was substandard.
Seconds later, Brent was in the cover of the trees and moving from shadow to shadow as he closed in on his target. Since rainfall had been scarce for months, he moved carefully to keep from alerting Carstairs’ cronies they were being hunted. The leaves and branches on the ground were brittle and made maneuvering with stealth difficult.
A mission clock ticked in his head, counting down the minutes he’d been away from Rowan’s side. Brent had never worked so hard to focus on his job. Gunfire still peppered the safe house, though the assailants weren’t making an effort to do more than irritate. Made him wonder if Carstairs had told these guys not to kill anybody.
What Brent couldn’t figure out was why the men were exercising such restraint. Maybe Carstairs wanted to pull the trigger himself on Brent or he recognized the lack of control on the part of his cohorts and worried he’d lose the chance to use Rowan for leverage.
Any minute, Brent feared the restraint might stop if the other men managed to breach the premises. Carstairs and his buddies had been kicked out of PSI and Fortress after only a few weeks’ training. Their control and tactical skills weren’t good. Of course, they might have gone to work for another, less reputable outfit. Brent had made sure they couldn’t work for the top-tier security firms. He knew none of his main competitors were willing to hire Carstairs and his band of buddies. Carstairs wanted revenge.
Brent scowled. Too bad if Carstairs didn’t like what he’d done. Brent had friends in those businesses and didn’t want them injured or killed because these five men couldn’t be trusted and had zero discipline. A bad combination in this business, one guaranteed to get someone killed.
Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he stalked closer to his target. Something inside Brent warned him to get back to Rowan, that she needed his protection. As he skirted a large fallen limb, he reminded himself that Lily was one of the best he’d ever worked with. Beyond that, the woman was as fierce as they came. She would fight like a tiger to protect the woman Brent loved.
Ah, man. His breath stalled in his lungs. Fine time to realize the truth, that he was all the way, head-over-heels in love with Rowan Scott. And the possibility that Carstairs might capture her made a cold sweat dot Brent’s skin. No telling what the former operative might do to Rowan. Brent didn’t doubt that Carstairs would go through whoever or whatever stood in his way to obtain his objective.
He longed to race to the house and defend Rowan against an all-out assault. Couldn’t without leaving Remy vulnerable.
A grim smile curled his lip. He and Remy would have to take down the targets fast. He wanted to know Rowan’s plans for him. Sounded intriguing.
A rustling sound to his right tipped him off to his target’s exact location. Another frown. How could this guy not realize he was making enough racket to alert anyone in the vicinity to his location and making himself a target even a child would spot?
From the shadows, Brent watched as his target fidgeted and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, occasionally spitting on the ground or firing off a round. His brows knitted. He wasn’t aiming at anything except the back of the house. What was this guy’s problem? Was he using drugs again? From the way he acted, he’d never stopped. That meant all of them were still using steroids. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d added some other illegal substance to their habits.
Brent’s gaze shifted to the house. Crap. He and Remy needed to take these guys out before the clowns in the front converged on Lily and Rowan. Lily was skilled, but she couldn’t hold her own long against three men hopped up on steroids. His gut churned as he realized his mistake might cost Lily and Rowan big.
He shifted closer to the jittery man. A quick movement to his right indicated Remy was moving on his target. A short, silent scuffle and his target was down. Brent tackled his own thug from behind. The man gave a muffled shout which was lost in a hail of gunfire from inside the house.
Brent’s blood ran cold in his veins. He had to get to Rowan. He couldn’t lose her.
He blocked a series of ineffective roundhouse punches. The man got in a lucky shot to Brent’s temple which had him seeing stars. He shook it off, slammed the heel of his palm into the other guy’s nose.
Blood gushed as the man roared in pain and fury. Another strike to his opponent’s throat and the guy started gagging. Brent choked him out and scrambled to his feet, flipped the guy over, and cinched his hands together with zip ties. That done, Brent raced after Remy who was sprinting toward the back of the house.
The hail of bullets stopped and the silence scared Brent more than the sound of rapid gunfire. Were Rowan and Lily alive? He leapt over the fallen limb. By the time Remy kicked in the back door, Brent was four steps behind him.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, Brent heard something break in the living room. Remy disappeared around a corner. Seconds later, a weapon discharged.
By the time Brent ran into the living room, Brentwood police skidded around the corner and headed toward the front of the house. His attention zeroed in on Rowan who stood over an unconscious Carstairs with a broken lamp in her hands. Lily was on the floor, flat on her back, not moving. One of Carstairs buddies was slumped on top of her.
Remy shoved his weapon into his holster, jerked the unconscious or dead man off his wife, and threw him aside. He dropped to his knees beside Lily. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
Brent holstered his own weapon and relieved Rowan of the lamp remnants, tossed them aside, and wrapped his arms around her. “Baby?”
She tightened her arms around him. “They didn’t touch me. Lily fought them off. That man hurt her, Brent.”
“Remy’s taking care of her. I need you to listen, Rowan.”
She stiffened and lifted her head. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Her frantic gaze scanned as much of him as she could without releasing him.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. The cops will be inside in less than a minute. They don’t know who the bad guys are.”
“I don’t understand. We’ll tell them the whole story.”
“Until they figure out what’s going on for themselves, they’ll handcuff me and Remy as well as the rest of these clowns.” Yeah, and weren’t they going to raise some eyebrows when the cops realized he and Remy had killed at least two of the men attacking the house, and it looked as though Lily had killed a third.
As long as Rowan was safe, he’d deal with whatever fallout came his way. He squeezed Rowan a little tighter. His lawyer was earning his exorbitant retainer fees this month.
Before she could respond, the police swarmed the room, weapons drawn, ordering Brent and Remy down on the floor, hands away from their bodies.
Brent released Rowan and complied, his movements slow and relaxed. Remy did the same, though the operative stayed where he could defend Lily if her safety was compromised.
“You don’t understand,” Rowan protested to the nearest policeman. “Brent and Remy are the good guys. They were protecting me.”
“Baby, it’s all right,” he murmured.
“It’s not all right. You and Remy aren’t the ones trying to kill me.” She scowled at the law enforcement officers. “What are you going to do with my friends?”
“For now, place them in the back of the squad cars until a detective arrives to sort this out,” said the nearest one. He motioned to two of the other policemen. They searched Brent and Remy for weapons and confiscated two guns from each man as well as several knives. One of the policemen whistled at the pile of weapons they collected from Brent and Remy alone.
“Brent, what do you want me to do?” Rowan asked.
“Call Zane. I programmed his number in your phone. Tell him what’s happened and request a bodyguard until I’m released. Zane will know what to do.” One of the officers yanked Brent’s arms behind his back and cuffed him, then hauled him to his feet. “Don’t leave this house without protection, either one of these policemen or someone from Fortress. No one else.”
Man, he hated this. He hated being led away from Rowan’s side in cuffs as though he were a criminal. Even worse, the knowledge she was vulnerable until one of his operatives showed up for guard duty made his stomach twist into a knot. The Brentwood police were well trained, but they weren’t Fortress trained. Brent wanted only the best for Rowan.
The next few hours passed with agonizing slowness. Zane sent Adam Walker to watch over Rowan and dispatched Jake Davenport to the hospital to stay with Lily. Once the details were known and verified, Brent and Remy were released without their guns.
“Did they have to keep my favorite Sig?” Remy muttered as they walked out of the station.
Brent snorted. “Mine, too. We need to stop by Fortress before moving to another safe house.” He scanned the street, spotting the all-night coffee shop. He nudged Remy. “I need coffee before we head to the hospital.” Adam had texted Brent, telling him Rowan had insisted on going to the hospital to check on Lily.
“Don’t think you’ll need it,” Remy said. “Look.”
Jon Smith and Eli Wolfe walked their direction. Eli carried a cardboard tray with two to-go cups.
“We leave you to your own devices and look what happens, boss.” Eli grinned as he handed Brent one of the cups. “Black, as strong as the shop across the street makes it.”
“Appreciate it.” He sipped the steaming brew, praying the caffeine worked a miracle. He needed a few hours of sleep. Fat chance of that happening any time soon. The visitation for the Maxwells was in a few hours. “Why are you two here?”
“Zane sent us.” Jon’s lips twitched, his equivalent of a smile. “We’re your ride to the hospital and we’re taking over the watch from Remy so he can stay with Lily.”
With a nod, Brent climbed into the waiting SUV with Remy. Should have figured Zane wouldn’t miss small details like that. Now Remy was free to help his wife mend.
Within half an hour, they walked into Vanderbilt Hospital. Remy hurried to the information desk to inquire about his wife. A minute later, he returned. “She’s in 1334. Cracked ribs and a concussion.”
As they approached her room, Brent noticed Adam standing guard at the door, a phone pressed to his ear.
“Keep me in the loop, Z,” Adam said. “Brent and the others just arrived. I’ll pass on the word.” He ended the call and slid his phone into his pocket, a scowl on his face. “Glad you and the Cajun are in one piece, boss.”
“So am I. What’s going on?”
“Carstairs is in the wind. The Brentwood cops brought him to Vandy for treatment and he slipped out of the emergency area and disappeared.”