With their assault rifles in hand, semiautomatics strapped to their thighs, Austin led them up the stairs. They moved in complete sync, their choreography honed over years of training. The rightness of the moment quelled Austin’s nerves. Their familiar swift and silent progress through the quiet streets melted into Austin’s bones. This would go well. He could feel it. But there was always the minute possibility of the unexpected. Participating in this unsanctioned mission meant these men were risking their professional reputations and very likely their careers. Nothing could go wrong.

As they approached the south side of the house, Austin murmured, “Masks,” and pulled down his own ski mask. The house sat on a corner of the exclusive neighborhood. Every home on the block had a security system. Some of the homes in the area belonged to high-ranking politicians with their own live patrols.

Austin brought the men into the shadow of the brick half wall ringing the property and paused. He glanced at his watch. Three fifteen a.m. The guard wouldn’t be back to this side of the house for another thirty minutes. Austin had spent far too

many nights here watching to pin down the guy’s patterns.

“Coop, Jo,” Austin whispered. “Go.”

The two men soundlessly rolled over the brick wall and disappeared into the estate. As the team waited for Cooper and Jovan to take out the first layer of security, Austin kept his focus honed. His mind went over every detail of the mission going forward. He’d designed and redesigned every possible plan B and C, D, and E.

Four minutes passed in silence.

The longest fucking four minutes of Austin’s life.

“Fluff and Puff are down.” Coop’s voice sounded directly in Austin’s ear over the com. “I repeat, Fluff and Puff are down.”

“Copy,” Austin replied, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. The dogs’ names were Judge and Jury, but he appreciated Cooper’s levity.

Two minutes later, Jovan’s voice came over the line. “Guard neutralized.”

“Copy.” Go time.

“We’ve got lights on the northwest corner,” Tevez said.

Austin glanced that direction. Warm light spilled from a kitchen across the street, illuminating a man in his seventies, wearing a wife beater and boxers and rummaging in the fridge. Not exactly an imminent threat, but a man in his seventies, wearing a wife beater and boxers and rummaging in the fridge could pick up the phone and dial 9-1-1 as quickly and easily as Austin could take a life. Every threat was a credible threat tonight.

“We’re going in,” Austin said.

He was over the wall in seconds. Lorenzo and Gray shadowed him. At the corner of the house, Lorenzo slipped right. Gray followed Austin to the rear southwest corner. To the most isolated room in the house—farthest from the front door, from the senator’s bedroom, from the living area. And closest to the guest room. The room where Senator Seaver’s father stayed when he visited.

His gut hitched. His temper spiked. The futile arguments he’d had with Paige Seaver flared to life in his mind.

Don’t think about it. Not here. Not now.

He and Gray crouched just around the corner from the cement balcony on the upper floor and waited.

“Stunning but austere,” Gray murmured.

Very true. In addition to the wall, the entire home was brick. A beautiful medium-colored, whitewashed brick. Big windows trimmed in white. The mansion was a showstopper, no doubt. The front and back yards were paved with stone. The only landscaping came in the form of potted plants or trees bending over the property from the neighbors’ yards.

“She leaves at six in the morning and gets home at eleven at night. If she’s not at the Capitol on her days off, she’s traveling,” Austin told Gray. “No time for the softer things in life.”

A beat of silence hung before Gray met Austin’s gaze deliberately. “You’re doing the right thing. It takes guts, but you’re doing what I’d do if I were in your position.”

“This from the man who crashes a Taliban party and stays to shoot the shit for an entire hour before taking them down. I’m humbled.”

“Good times, man,” Gray whispered. “Good times.”

“Security cams are toast,” Lorenzo’s voice touched Austin’s ear. “Interior system fragged.”

“Sweet.” He glanced at Gray. “Go time.”

They moved to the wall beneath the balcony, and Gray swung the anchor in a circle to gain momentum, then expertly used the rope to arc the metal grip over the railing with little more than a tink-tink echoing in the silence.

When everything inside the house remained still—lights off, window coverings closed—Austin took hold of the rope with gloved hands. “Dude, you are a master with that thing.”

“I know.”

Tags: Skye Jordan Manhunters Romance
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