I wondered if that was Park’s voice.
Didn’t matter.
I tuned out the chatter as much as I could. Down in the parking lot, the Doyles were spread out, watching and waiting. The tension was thick like a forest fire blanketing the area with heavy, black smoke.
God, Fiona. She had to be okay.
* * *
Fiona
“Mack said this’ll be easy, and he knows his stuff, right?” Juan grinned at me. His nervous energy infected me and I couldn’t keep my knee from bouncing.
The gun shoved in the holster at my hip felt like a foreign invader.
“Yeah, totally.”
He ran a hand through his hair and nodded across the street. “Plan’s easy. We go in through that house. Mack said it’ll be empty. Then we go into the backyard, over the fence. The safe house is directly behind it. We’ll get in through the back door or we’ll climb to a second-story window if we can. From there, we head to the basement, free your brother, and get the fuck out. Meet back here at the car.”
I nodded once. Mack had gone over that with me a hundred times, step by step, like he had every single move choreographed. But I knew a thousand things could go wrong.
Like if the Lionettis didn’t take muscle from this safe house and it was completely guarded, or if the house we had to cross through wasn’t empty after all.
Or if Juan betrayed me to his family.
Too many variables. As much as Mack wanted to be in complete control, he couldn’t run everything.
The man was gorgeous but he wasn’t a god.
Close, though.
Juan checked his watch. “We have to move in a minute. Are you okay? You ready for this?”
“I’m ready.”
“Stay behind me. Don’t do anything without me, okay? Mack wasn’t kidding when he said he’d torture me if you got hurt and I really don’t want that to happen.”
“I appreciate your concern for my safety.”
He grinned and fluffed his hair. “Yeah, well, whatever. Just stay close and don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“You got it. Nothing stupid.”
Juan looked out at the house again, then down at his watch, and let out a long sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”
He pushed open the car door and stepped out.
I followed him, glad to be out of that messy sedan. It smelled like leather and old fast food. Juan strode across the street, up to the stoop, and knocked on the door.
Nothing happened. That was good.
He pulled a lock pick set from his pocket and got to work. A nice older lady with a little white dog came ambling past and frowned at him.
“He’s a locksmith. Got myself locked out like an idiot.” I laughed nervously at her.
She only frowned and walked faster.
“There we go.” The door opened and Juan shoved the pick away.
In their place, he drew out his gun.
I didn’t draw mine. I’d probably shoot him by mistake.
We walked into the house. It was nice, a little upscale. Mirror on the wall, some paintings, painted muted colors. Clean, but not neat. We passed through a living room and a kitchen then out the back door. The yard was overgrown and an ashtray on a side table overflowed with cigarettes.
“Come on, this way.” He jogged to the fence and jumped, barely catching the top. His arms were lean and strong as he pulled himself up to the top and offered me a hand.
I let him help haul me over.
We dropped into the adjacent backyard.
For a second, I wasn’t sure if it was the right spot. Maybe it was the wrong house, or maybe—
But no, security cameras on the back, two of them. Definitely the right place.
Juan crept forward and hesitated at the back door. Beer bottles and cans were scattered all over, stacked in a corner, piled on a table. It looked like a damn frat house.
I stood next to Juan, straining to hear anything inside, but it was all quiet.
He pressed a finger to his lips then took out the lock picks again.
This time, it took him longer. He struggled on the top bolt, and each scratch of his pick sent a jolt through my legs and core. I reached to my hip to finger the butt of the gun Mack all but forced me to carry, and I tried not to bend over and retch onto the ground.
My nerves tingled like tiny thunderbolts.
Juan sucked in a sharp breath as the lock slid open. He turned it, put the picks away, then got his gun ready.
He nodded at me, then pulled open the door.
The kitchen was empty. Dishes were piled in the sink and trash was heaped on the can to the left. The vinyl flooring was scuffed, though in decent shape. Juan crept forward, moving toward the doorway that led out into the living room, being as quiet as he could.