Guns and the Girl Next Door. HelenKay Dimon
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She pushed branches out of her way as she walked. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Other than the fact you don’t look like the lounge-around-doing-nothing type, I have no idea.”
Holden was about to shoot back an inappropriate comment about what he liked to do in his spare time when a flash of light to the far right caught his attention. The beam cut through the black distance and moved closer. Scanning the wide arc in front of him, he saw two more. Three people closing in fast.
He grabbed her arm and stopped her from taking another step. “Wait.”
A twig snapped under her shoe. “What?”
“Quiet.” When she started to protest, he whispered the necessary information in a rush. “We have company.”
She bent her knees and hunkered down as if trying to hide from anyone who could be watching. “Walters?”
“I don’t think so. No.”
Not police either. Holden didn’t see any of the telltale signs. No sirens. No flashing lights from a cop car. Not even any noise.
This wasn’t an emergency crew checking out a call about a crash. These were the small, green, focused lights of a search party. A deadly quiet group looking for something. Holden guessed the “something” was Mia.
She shook her head. “I don’t see—”
“We’re going back to the house.”
“It’s not exactly a great hideout.”
“Yeah, it is.” It was the perfect place. He’d built it that way. Every member of the Recovery Project had an escape plan. He never thought he’d need one, not way out here, but it paid to be prepared. “Come on.”
He took her hand. The last thing he needed was to lose her in the trees. The growth was too thick and the night too dark to take the risk.
Having one arm under his control also meant it would be harder for her to come at him if it turned out she wasn’t the innocent victim she claimed to be. He hadn’t performed a true search of her body for weapons, but from his visual tour he didn’t see any bumps in her clothing or pockets of concern. But now that they had company, he planned on being a bit more careful.
Crouched down and kicking at a near run, they headed back to the house. As they rounded the back of the battered car, he looked over his shoulder. Mia’s cheeks puffed in and out and her focus stayed on the ground. He guessed she was trying not to fall. Not a bad plan, in his view. It was the scene behind her that had him twitching.
Those lights kept moving, steady and calm, forming a perimeter and pushing in. They, whoever “they” were, descended on the house like pros. The military precision had him thinking Special Forces, but the “why” still eluded him.
Holden knew this might be about him and not Mia. He’d been digging around in private places and that sort of thing tended to make powerful people angry.
They passed through the ripped drywall, stepping over the debris with as little crunch as possible. Without the ability to bar the door, he had limited time to get everything in order. Before she could check behind them, he guided her through the family room and down the short hall.
On the way, he grabbed his satellite phone and telescopic sight and ignored everything else. “This way.”
“We can call the police,” she said in a breathless hush as he hustled her into his stark bedroom.
“No time.” He pressed his back against the wall and peeked out the window. The magnification provided by the goggles let him see the advance of the unwanted visitors.
“Of course there’s—” She stared at him. “Binoculars?”
“An updated version, yes.”
“Are the people close?”
Holden thought about lying to her. If she started crying or went into shaky shut-down mode, he might have to knock her out to rescue her. He didn’t look forward to that possibility at all.
“Stand against the wall and no noise.”
She obeyed. Waited all of three seconds before talking again. “Do you have another gun?”
“Depends. Can you shoot?”
“How hard can it be?”
“So, that’s a no.”
He got a good look at the attackers now. And that’s what they were. Dressed in black and loaded down with ammunition, they moved in unison through a mix of hand signals and nods. Mercenaries. No question these guys were guns for hire.
“We have to get out of here,” he said.
“You have a plan?”
He nodded at the wall. “We’re going through there.”
She followed his gaze and frowned. “It’s solid wood.”
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to sneak out the front? There’s no door, but at least there’s a hole and an obvious exit.”
“The guys we’re trying to avoid are at the front.” He ducked down and crossed under the window. No need to give the attackers a clear target.
“What are—”
From the edge of the bed, he motioned to her. “Get on the ground and come toward me.”
She didn’t question this time and he was grateful.
With his blood pounding through his veins and her breathing echoing in his ear, he dropped to his knees and headed for the far wall. After crawling the short distance, he hit the floor a second before she did and collapsed with his back against the wood.
Panting now, her green eyes filled with fear, she looked over at him. “I don’t understand why all this is happening.”
To calm her, he brushed her wild hair back off her shoulder. “We’ll get to that later.”
“Are we going to have a later?”
“Count on it.” He punched a series of numbers into the square black watch on his wrist until he heard a click and the wall behind them shifted. “Lean forward.”
The partition lifted from the floor. He waited until it drew up about four feet and then rolled into the small room on the other side.
Her jaw dropped. “What are you doing?”
Before she even finished the sentence, he pulled her through the opening and slammed the wall shut behind them. He was on his feet and grabbing for his computer hard drive in the next breath.
Hands moving and mind shifting into gear, he inventoried the L-shaped desk and four shelves and grabbed a small backpack. He couldn’t carry much but some items should come along if possible.
She brushed her fingers across the paneled wall. “What is this place?”
“It’s called a SCIF.”
Her hand dropped to her side but the confusion didn’t clear from her face. “Come again?”
“The technical term is Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility,” he said as he rifled through the desk drawer for a set of keys.
The area was an enclosed, windowless space in his house. In here he could review classified information. It functioned as a secure office within his sanctuary. The bedroom, closet and bathroom surrounded it. No one would check for it unless they knew it was there and started measuring square footage and found some missing.
“If you didn’t look so serious I would think you were kidding,” she said.
“’Fraid