Countdown. Heather Woodhaven
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turned to the boys at the same time as he reached out to hug them. “Your daddy is here, and you’re safe.” She leveled a cold glare at him. “Now that we know they’re not here for a chat, what’s the plan?”
He stood and turned the volume on the intercom speaker to low. “They can’t hear us, but we can hear them.” The basement wasn’t soundproof, but he knew from experience that he would have to be yelling before anyone would hear him upstairs, through the closed door.
He pulled out his smartphone. Telling the police his theories about Launch Operations would be foolish but alerting them to a break-in seemed pretty cut-and-dried. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”
Footsteps and doors slamming could be heard even without the aid of the intercom. “I thought they were supposed to be here,” a gruff voice said through the speaker.
Rachel’s breath hitched.
James turned to make sure she was okay. She seemed to understand his unasked question because she nodded, her lips in a tight line. She crossed her legs, sat on the ground and the boys jumped onto either side of her lap. She whispered into their ears, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. He trusted she was attempting to soothe them as she’d done earlier.
“Maybe they’re onto us,” the other man said. “I found a car in the garage, but it’s empty.”
“Or they got picked up by that neighbor girlfriend of his.”
James turned in time to see Rachel roll her eyes.
“So we’re going to check there, too?” the other man’s voice responded. “I heard she’s a spitfire.”
“I’ll go. She won’t give me problems.”
The other man laughed, a sickening chuckle. “Just because you hide behind your NSA badge.”
“Hey,” the man yelled. The sound of shuffling feet rattled the bookshelf door upstairs. James flinched. If they were thorough, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out there was no wall behind it.
“I wouldn’t be here if your team hadn’t messed up,” the second man said, his voice seething. “So get to work finding the guy’s computer. Grab any electronics you see like a hard drive or something.”
James glanced at the backpack at his feet where he’d stuffed his laptop. Even if they got their hands on it, he felt sure they wouldn’t find anything of use. He’d wiped all evidence of his work from it.
“Trash the place?”
“Whatever it takes to get the job done.”
James’s heart dropped. He shoved the phone back in his pocket. NSA? This wasn’t how the NSA acted, so either the agent was a fake or crooked, but either way, the police wouldn’t do him much good if one of the men had an NSA badge to flash.
But now he knew what they were after. They’d confirmed his suspicions. This was about Launch Operations, and Derrick was the only one he could trust. He clicked the intercom volume off before the boys could understand their toys were in danger of being smashed. “I think it’s time to go.”
Rachel extracted herself to stand. “Where?”
Crash!
James grimaced and swung his backpack over his shoulder. “Let’s focus on getting out of here first.” He pointed to the white door behind the staircase. “This office used to be part of the garage before we remodeled. Boys, time to go.” He led the way in case one of the boys slammed the door open, drawing attention to their location. He cracked the door open and trained his eyes on the set of steps connected to the kitchen.
All clear.
Rachel followed behind.
He waved them closer but kept his eye on the other door into the house. “Remember, no noise, boys. Quiet game.”
Rachel placed Caleb in his booster seat while Ethan jumped into his. James shoved the backpacks the boys had discarded underneath their feet.
“We can buckle them in later,” she whispered.
James grabbed the seat belt to Ethan’s left. That was not a risk he was willing to take, no matter how short the ride. “No. We buckle them in now.”
Her wide eyes met his for half a second before she nodded and buckled Caleb.
“Lift the handle as you close it,” Rachel whispered, but it came out more like a hiss. Closing the doors still made some noise. James hoped the chaos the men were creating inside would mask their movements.
A moment later they were all inside the Charger. Rachel held her purse against her chest like someone clinging to a flotation device pictured on an airplane safety pamphlet, and her backpack sat between her feet. “You, too,” he said softly, his eyes drifting to the unbuckled seat belt.
She raised her eyebrows and looked at him. Confusion lined her forehead. James shook his own seat belt as he clicked it into place with his left hand.
“Oh.” She followed his example as he turned the key in the ignition with his right hand. The door to the house burst open.
“Stop,” a man in a black suit hollered. He whipped a gun out from the holster underneath his suit jacket and aimed the weapon at the windshield.
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