Gunner was the man in his sights.
Gunner’s gaze swept around the room and he gave a low whistle. “Three down...all in the heart.”
Kill or be killed.
Logan didn’t open the door. “Clear?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re clear, Alpha One.”
He finally glanced back at Juliana, but instead of the fear he’d expected to see burning in her eyes, the woman just looked mad.
Her fingers tightly clutched her gun, and he wondered...would she have used it, if she’d had to do the job?
As far as he knew, Juliana had never hurt another soul in her life. And shooting at another human, being ready to take a life, that was a line many couldn’t cross.
Logan opened the door. I never saw that damn line. The kills had come too easily for him.
Monster.
He knew what he was, even if Juliana didn’t.
A weapon. A killer. An assassin. Senator James had been right about him after all.
Now Juliana had just seen up close and personal how dangerous he could be. Her left hand reached up and curled around his arm. “Are we safe?”
He glanced back to the outer room. Gunner was checking the men. No point in that. They sure weren’t moving.
His nod was grim.
Then Logan opened the door, making sure to keep his body in front of Juliana’s, just in case. “What the hell,” he began, voice lethal, “just happened?”
No way should those guards have gotten this close. Guerrero’s men weren’t even supposed to know about the location, not until they’d set up a more secure perimeter, but...
“We got slammed,” Gunner said, staring at him with narrowed eyes. “Explosives, artillery...they came prepared, but we still managed to take them all out.”
So they had. His feet crunched over the broken glass. The cabin was shredded, windows busted. The front door was ripped from its hinges and bullet holes lined the walls.
He’d loved this place once. It had been a sanctuary, courtesy of his stepfather. A place to lick his wounds.
A place to share with Juliana.
Not any longer.
Logan bent next to one of the fallen men. With Juliana so close, he hadn’t
been able to take any chances. Kill shots. If the men had survived, they would have just kept shooting at him.
“Tell me you have someone alive outside,” Logan said, not glancing up. If they had one of Guerrero’s men in custody, they could try to make him talk. The problem in Mexico was that too many there were too afraid to talk to authorities—really, to those who hadn’t already been paid off by Guerrero. The guy wasn’t called El Diablo for nothing. People feared him because he could bring hell to their lives.
“The ones still breathing turned tail and ran.”
Figured.
Logan’s hold tightened on his gun. This was just—
He heard the whisper of cloth almost too late. A rustle of sound that shouldn’t have been there. He glanced up at the broken window and saw the barrel of the gun pointing toward him.
Logan started to lunge to the side even as he brought up his own weapon, but then something—someone—slammed into him, knocking Logan to the floor.