Midnight Games: A Killer Instincts Novel (4 page)

Her silence dragged on. He could see her pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat. She was nervous. It drove him nuts that they couldn’t be more open with each other, that they were always skirting around certain subjects, hiding certain emotions.

Would two people with so much baggage ever be able to make a relationship work? He’d been wondering that ever since Isabel ditched him in New York, and the same question arose now, giving him pause, making him uneasy.

Isabel still hadn’t spoken. Her beautiful face creased with reluctance, as if she wanted to confide in him but couldn’t lower her shield, not even a fraction of an inch.

He found it ironic that she thought
Abby
was the emotionally distant one.

Leaning forward to set his glass on the table, Trevor cleared his throat and searched her troubled gaze. “Isabel—”

An explosion rocked the house.

Before he even had time to register it, a wooden beam broke apart from the rafters and came crashing to the floor, two feet behind Isabel. She cried out in shock and flew off the chair, as the walls rattled and the entire house seemed to vibrate. Chunks of wood and plaster rained down on their heads, the ceiling beams cracking and splintering like thin ice on a frozen pond, about to break open.

“What the hell is going on?” Isabel shouted.

Trevor had no answer for that, nor did he have a chance to give it any real thought, because another beam had separated from the rafters, falling so fast he almost didn’t reach her in time.

Fueled by the adrenaline sizzling in his blood, he threw himself on top of Isabel and shielded her with his body as the ceiling caved in on them.

Sudden chaos.

Deafening explosions, falling debris, and thick gray smoke wreaked havoc on the house, the pandemonium so instant and the situation so dire that Isabel felt as though she’d been thrust into an alternate universe without warning.

To make matters worse, she couldn’t seem to draw a single breath into her lungs, but that was probably because she’d just had the wind knocked out of her. One second she’d been vertical, the next she was flat on her back, being crushed by a heavy male body.

Trevor.

He’d thrown himself on top of her, his body absorbing the impact of the beam that had plummeted from the ceiling.

Something started to ring. Her ears? No, those were actual sirens. Where the hell were they coming from?

“You all right?” Trevor’s urgent voice fanned over her. His hard chest blanketed her torso, powerful thighs straddling her legs.

“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. “What the hell is going on?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

His shoulders and pecs strained as he struggled to get the two of them out from under the fallen beam. A moment later, they stumbled to their feet just as another ground-shaking blast reverberated from the back of the house.

“Jesus! This is a full-blown assault. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said again.

“Good.” The concern in his eyes transformed into intense focus, and then he was no longer in front of her, but jumping over pieces of wood and overturned furniture. He moved with military precision toward the bookcases spanning the far wall of the living room. He touched one of the shelves, and a second later, the unit popped open to reveal the hidden cabinet built into the wall behind it.

“In case we can’t make it to the armory,” he said when he caught her staring.

She didn’t even recognize him—in the blink of an eye he’d gone from the Trevor she knew to a hard-core soldier, and for some strange reason seeing him in total control like this sent a thrill shooting through her.

He leaned into the deep space and emerged with two nine-millimeter SIG Sauers, one of which he tossed her way.

Isabel caught the weapon and checked the clip. Fully loaded. The sense of urgency in the air didn’t dissipate, but only intensified as alarms wailed and muffled explosions continued to go off, most of them sounding like they were coming from above.

Trevor quickly grabbed more weapons from the gun cabinet. An assault rifle he slung over his shoulder. Knives and sheaths went in his pockets. A couple of grenades he clipped to the belt loops of his cargo pants. Spare ammo he shoved into the numerous pockets.

Isabel stood guard in the doorway, peeking out into the front parlor, which was enveloped in smoke. The acrid scent filled her nostrils and made her eyes water, so she ducked back into the living room. She looked up, noting that the ceiling didn’t look at all stable. Plaster and splinters floated down like snowflakes, and one of the larger support beams was sagging in the middle, perilously close to snapping in two.

“Trev, we need to get out of here,” she said sharply, gesturing north.

He followed her gaze and grimaced, then popped an earpiece in and clicked it on. “Hank, come in. What the hell is going on?”

Hank was one of the techs who ran the security booth—he’d buzzed her in at the gate when she’d arrived at the compound earlier. She didn’t know what Hank was saying, but from the expression on Trevor’s face, it couldn’t be good.

Wood chips showered down on them as the center of that ceiling beam continued to bend from the pressure.

Crack
.

“Trevor!” she shouted.

He raced toward her and the two of them dove through the living room doors just as the rafter crashed to the floor like a towering oak tree succumbing to a lumberjack’s ax.

In the parlor, Isabel glimpsed bodies emerging from the haze of smoke shrouding the staircase. She automatically raised her gun, then lowered it when she made out Kane’s face. Abby and D trailed after him.

All three were armed to the teeth and wearing identical looks of unadulterated fury. The compound’s canine residents scampered at Abby’s feet, eyes alert, body language aggressive, acting like those squeaky puppy barks could actually ward off potential attackers.

“Did you get Hank’s report?” Kane demanded when he spotted Trevor.

Trevor’s face was grim. “Two military Jeeps bearing down on us. Almost at the gate.”

Another explosion shook the house. The walls around them shuddered, and suddenly the mechanical whir of rotors could be heard through the din. Sure enough, a helicopter flew directly over the skylights, its blades slicing rapidly through the early-morning air.

Isabel caught a blur of motion, a male figure hunched in the open cabin of the chopper, but she’d barely absorbed the sight when the figure raised a hand and—

“Grenade! Get down!” Kane shouted.

It was all the warning they had. Isabel flattened herself on the floor just as the skylights above them shattered into a million pieces. Glass fell from the ceiling like sparkling diamonds. Deadly diamonds. Protecting her head with her arms and hands, she felt the sting of pain as shards of glass pierced her skin. The little nicks wouldn’t kill her, though.

No, the real threat came from whoever had launched this unforeseen assault in the first place.

This time her ears did ring from the explosion. She heard the muffled barks of the Labrador puppies as they continued to voice their outrage. Several muted blasts, coming from somewhere far away. And then someone was shouting her name.

“Isabel, answer me, damn it! Are you okay?”

Blinking wildly, she staggered to her feet and met Trevor’s frantic gaze. “I’m fine. Just a little cut up.” She noticed the blood dripping down his left arm. “You’re hurt!”

“Got sliced in the arm. It’s no big deal.” His dark head shot up as the helicopter made another pass. He touched his earpiece. “Hank, what’s the gate situation?”

Trevor, Kane, D, and Abby were all wired in to the security booth, and a moment later, all four let out the same simultaneous expletive.

“
Shit
.”

“What is it?” Isabel demanded.

“They blew up the gate.” Kane took a step toward his wife. “You and Isabel need to head for the tunnel. Now.”

The redhead protested. “No way. I’m not leaving you. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“The boys and I can handle it. Isabel can’t get out alone—she doesn’t know the exit protocol. I need you down in the tunnel, damn it.” When the dogs started to bark again, Kane’s expression pained. “And take the fucking pups with you.”

“Incoming!” D barked.

In the blink of an eye, Trevor pushed Isabel toward the hall closet behind them as the chopper flew by and unleashed a spray of machine-gun rounds at the empty space where the skylights used to be. Bullets pounded the debris-covered floor, sending chunks of hardwood and glass spitting in all directions.

“We need to take care of that motherfucking bird,” Trevor growled.

“On it,” D said. He hurried off and disappeared in the smoke.

Loud footsteps thudded on the stairs. Every weapon in the room snapped up, then lowered when Ethan arrived on the scene. His handsome face was covered in soot, his T-shirt soaked with sweat, and his jeans were unbuttoned, as if he’d yanked them on in a hurry.

“I can’t get to Holden and Beth,” the rookie reported, looking both upset and exhausted. “Goddamn ceiling caved in and the rubble is blocking the hallway.”

“They in Morgan’s suite?” Kane asked. At Ethan’s nod, he gave one of his own. “Holden’ll use the balcony to get them out. I need you with Abby and Isabel. Gather the gear. Head for the rendezvous zone.”

Ethan didn’t question the orders. “Yes, sir.”

The screech of tires penetrated the commotion, bringing a jolt of confusion to Isabel’s chest. The soldiers at the gate were approaching. God, what the
hell
was going on?

Dazed, she met Trevor’s brown eyes, which reflected nothing but calm. “It’ll be fine,” he said gruffly. “You’ll be safe in the tunnel.”

Two feet away, Kane grasped Abby by the chin and gave her a hard kiss. “Love you, sweetheart. See you on the other side, okay?”

Isabel opened her mouth to answer Trevor, but the next thing she knew, Abby was dragging her toward the corridor. There was no time to look back, no time to tell Trevor good-bye, or plead with him to stay safe. With Abby in the lead and Ethan bringing up the rear, Isabel found herself being herded to the back of the house.

When they neared the kitchen, Abby stumbled abruptly, then halted, causing Isabel to slam into her.

“Keep moving,” Ethan ordered.

But Abby didn’t budge. She pointed at the dogs, uttered a sharp “Boys,
stay
” and then darted into the kitchen.

A second later, gunfire erupted.

“Isabel, get down!”

She heeded Ethan’s urgent command and dropped like a stone. As she positioned herself on her side with the barrel of her gun trained on the kitchen doorway, she had a perfect line of sight to what had stopped Abby.

Lloyd.

Dead.

With a sharp intake of breath, Isabel stared at the lifeless body of the giant housekeeper. He was on his back, half leaning against the bottom of the stainless-steel refrigerator, one meaty hand clutching his chest. His undershirt might have been white at one point. Now it was red, soaked with blood, with several bullet holes visible in the fabric. His dark eyes were wide open, a mask of pain and fury frozen on his face.

“Son of a bitch,” she heard Ethan mumble, the grief in his voice evident.

Two more gunshots ripped through the air.

Where the hell was Abby?

Isabel couldn’t get her bearings. She could hardly see through the smoke rolling out of the kitchen. The temperature was hotter too, as if something was on fire very close by.

She belly-crawled away from the open doorway and slid into a sitting position, flattening herself against the wall, which provided cover from the unknown shooters in the kitchen. Abby’s loyal puppies were whining in the hallway, but they didn’t make a single move, heeding their mistress’s order to stay.

More gunshots blasted from the direction of the parlor. Fists of fear pummeled Isabel’s chest. Trevor and Kane.

God, please let them be okay.

A blur of motion whizzed past her peripheral vision and then a loud
thud
echoed in the hall as a stocky man in faded fatigues landed on the floor, spraying a round of machine-gun shells into the wall as he went down.

Isabel raised her gun, but Ethan was already disarming the intruder before she could pull the trigger. The rookie, with his classic good looks and sweet demeanor, turned into a ruthless warrior right before her eyes. His features stretched taut across his face, hazel eyes glittering with rage, thick biceps rippling with power as he got the other soldier in a chest lock. Grunting, Ethan wrapped his hands around the man’s neck and twisted.

A sickening
crack
sliced through the air.

Ethan let go of the dead man and the body slumped to the floor. “Abby!” he shouted into the kitchen.

No response.

“Goddamn it, Abby, answer me!”

The redhead appeared in the doorway, her honey-colored eyes lined with weariness. She clicked her earpiece and said, “Three dead tangos in the kitchen.” Her gaze drifted to the dead body on the floor. “And we lost Lloyd.”

Isabel didn’t need to be plugged in to know how Trevor and the other men would react. Rage. Devastation.

The three puppies swarmed Abby. She scooped two into her arms while still keeping a solid grip on the twin Ruger pistols in her hands. “Let’s keep moving,” she ordered. “Iz, will you grab Brownie?”

Lord. Maybe this
was
a parallel universe. A mere twenty-four hours ago she’d been in Nigeria, slipping out of Ekala’s tent and disappearing into the night.

Now she was racing down a smoke-filled corridor with a wriggling puppy in her hands, making her way to a secret underground tunnel.

The next explosion was louder and more powerful than any of the previous blasts. Again, it sounded like it had come from the front of the house.

Fear coursed through her veins. Not for herself, but for Trevor.

Ignoring the paralyzing rush of worry, she kept her head down, matched Abby’s brisk pace, tried not to inhale too much smoke.

And prayed that Trevor would come out of this alive.

•   •   •

Ethan and the women hadn’t been gone a minute when the helicopter fell out of the sky.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the front door, Trevor saw the chopper plummet to the dirt in a grinding shriek of metal, blades spinning erratically like the wings of an injured bird. It landed fifty yards from the porch, and when it burst into flames, a blast of heat seared his bare chest. Shit, he needed a goddamn shirt. His skin was covered with soot, glass, and blood, and the razor-sharp glass fragments digging into his bare feet were annoying as fuck.

He and Kane stood on opposite sides of the entrance, weapons drawn, expressions hardened with fortitude. He stole another glance at the window and cursed.

“I count eleven.”

“My count’s a baker’s dozen,” Kane reported.

Thirteen men.

Shit.

In the courtyard, the soldiers went on the offensive, getting into formation and fanning out. Two groups of three broke off and moved with military precision toward the sides of the house. Seven made a fearless dash for the porch, using a zigzag pattern that made it difficult to lock in on a target.

Trevor shot out the windowpane and emptied the entire magazine of his MP5 on the approaching intruders. Two bodies hit the ground, then a third as Kane fired from his position.

Damn, he wished he’d made it to the armory. In a gunfight he always preferred the HK416 to the nine-mil submachine gun. Or an RPG. Fuck, if he had a rocket launcher right now, he’d blow these bastards to kingdom come.

As the four remaining soldiers ducked out of sight while maintaining their single-minded advance, Trevor glanced at Kane. “Take the three heading west?”