Headhunter (With Me in Seattle Mafia 2)

“You can’t call out on your phone,” he says and props his hands on his hips. “Anyone who’s looking for you, who knows your number, can trace it here.”

“You never told me that.”

“You’re a smart woman,” he replies. “I would think you’d just know it.”

I laugh and pace the room. “I’m not into espionage or finding people, Shane. How would I know that? It’s something from movies.”

“No, it’s very real. This isn’t a funny situation.”

“You’re right.” I sober and face him. “There’s nothing funny about it. Your behavior over the past hour has been disrespectful and just shitty all around.”

“My behavior?” he demands. “Mine?”

“Yes, yours.”

“Ivie, you were careless.”

“How do you know?” I prop my hands on my hips. “You just made a split-second decision that I was being careless, but you didn’t ask me anything. You assumed that I was stupid, and you punished me for it.”

“Okay. Tell me what you were doing.”

I just stare at him, still fuming.

“Please.”

“The young boy who was walking those puppies fell. He was being pulled, and he wasn’t strong enough to hold onto them. He fell right next to your car. I surveyed the area, knew that I had my weapon on me, and decided to get out and help him right himself. It took ten seconds. Then you walked outside and threw a fit.”

“I did not—”

“Oh, yes, you did. I’m not a child. I chose to help the boy after I weighed the situation. I didn’t feel like I was in danger. Especially knowing that you’d return any second.”

“I told you to stay in the car.”

“And I’m sure you’re used to people following your orders.”

“To the letter,” he agrees.

“I’m not your subordinate.” I raise my chin. “You’re teaching me to defend myself. I’m not an idiot, and I won’t be treated like one.”

“That’s not—”

Before he can finish the sentence, a loud beeping starts, and he holds up his hand to shush me, then cocks his ear, listening.

“Fuck,” he mutters and runs out of the room. I’m right on his heels as he opens the door of the 007 room downstairs as I’ve come to think of it, and we hurry down the stairs. He flicks a switch, and all of the monitors on one wall come to life.

“These are cameras showing the whole property,” I mutter.

“Someone breached the perimeter,” he says grimly and presses his phone to his ear. “Yeah, I hear it. I’m looking at the monitors, but I don’t see anything. The alarm was tripped in quadrant forty-two. Okay. Yeah, I’ll go check, too. You take the south and east sides, I’ll take north and west, and we’ll cover quadrants forty through forty-five. They can’t have gotten far. Report back. Out.”

He turns to me, his eyes flat and cold, and his voice is hard. “I need you to stay here. Do not go upstairs. Do not leave this room. I’ll lock it on my way out. It’s bomb-proof, fireproof, and impossible to get into if you don’t know the code.”

“Shane—”

“I don’t know who’s on my property, but they’re about to get a rude awakening. Stay, Ivie. Keep your weapon on you, in case.”

“I won’t leave.”

He nods once and starts to leave, but then he turns back to me and kisses me hard. He releases me as quickly as he grabbed me, takes the stairs two at a time, and then he’s gone. The locks snick into place, and I’m left alone. To worry.

I turn back to the monitors. I see Shane exiting the back door, his weapon drawn as he takes off at a run.

Movement catches my eye on another monitor. It’s Curt, also hurrying from his cabin, weapon drawn.

Jesus, it feels like something out of a mystery novel.

I wish I had sound.

I narrow my eyes as Curt and Shane come in and out of range of the different cameras. Each monitor is labeled with a number.

“Shane said quadrant forty-two,” I mutter, looking at the corresponding screen. I walk to it, looking for switches. “Nothing.”

Curt and Shane continue coming and going, making their way through the thirties until they’re in the quadrants in question.

I tap a couple of keys on a keyboard and pray with all my might that I don’t fuck something up.

Suddenly, I can hear what’s happening.

“Jackpot,” I murmur, pleased that I haven’t lost my touch when it comes to electronics.

“Nothing,” I hear Curt say as he meets Shane in quadrant forty-four.

But then I see something in quadrant thirty-eight. I pick up the phone I grabbed on our way down here and text Shane.

Me: Q38. Man with rifle.

Shane looks at the smartwatch on his wrist, then crouches and gestures to Curt. I can’t hear what he whispers to the other man, but they move fast and sleek from the monitor, through the others, making their way to the intruder.

“Oh, God,” I whisper as I clasp my hands and press them to my chest. “Be careful. Who the hell is that?”