Rowan’s friend was already shifting to a new position when the second man targeted her. She scrambled to the far edge of the couch and returned fire.
The man shot at her, firing continuously. When Lily took cover, he continued to shoot while he raced toward her.
Heart in her throat, Rowan gripped the lamp tighter, preparing to rush from the hall to help if Lily needed her. Pounding footsteps at the door drew her attention to the front of the living room.
Rowan’s breath caught. Carstairs. And he was aiming his gun in Lily’s direction. At least he wasn’t firing. Yet. Just a matter of time, though. At the moment, he couldn’t fire without hitting his friend because the guy had just scaled the top of the couch and landed on Lily.
Her friend blocked a punch, then landed one of her own, followed by another punch to the man’s groin. He roared with pain and anger, and threw short, vicious punches that slammed into Lily’s face and ribcage.
Horror stricken, Rowan longed to go to Lily’s aid, but couldn’t without putting herself right into Carstairs’ hands and bringing about the very thing Lily had warned her against.
Carstairs growled, evidently frustrated because he still didn’t have a shot at Lily because of his own man. He must have concluded that he needed to reposition himself because the Fortress reject began moving toward the back of the couch. In changing positions, he was also bringing himself closer to Rowan’s hiding place.
Oh, yeah. Perfect. Come on, Carstairs. Keep on coming, Rowan silently urged. One glance over his shoulder and Carstairs would see her. Not like there was any place to hide in the hall. No alcoves to duck into. If she retreated to a dark doorway to protect herself, Rowan wouldn’t be able to aid Lily. As good as the other woman was, the guy whaling on her was a good foot taller than her and outweighed her by at least eighty pounds.
Carstairs shifted still closer to the hallway, his gaze locked on the fierce battle raging on the floor between Lily and his buddy. The two fighting bodies shifted enough that Carstairs finally had a shot. He moved slightly, adjusting his aim.
It was now or never, Rowan realized. If she didn’t do something, Lily would die or be seriously injured. Rowan raised the lamp, rushed from the hall, and slammed the lamp on the back of Carstairs’ head. He dropped to the ground and didn’t move. Pieces of the ceramic base lay scattered on the ground.
A gunshot exploded in the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Brent slipped out the window into the inky darkness at the side of the house, weapon out and quartering the area for the location of their attackers while Remy joined him. Once he and Remy took out the two men in the back, they would have to hurry to the front to deal with the other three. He had a feeling time was not on their side. These clowns weren’t going to wait long.
Brent’s jaw clenched. He wanted to have a discussion with the man who had targeted him and Rowan before Brent turned him over to the Williamson County law enforcement officials. They could ship him along to the Rutherford County cops who had the open case file on Carstairs. Brent looked forward to at least one of their problems being resolved. And with this latest escapade, Carstairs was looking at time behind bars for either attempted kidnapping or attempted murder. Either set of charges suited Brent fine because it meant he and Rowan no longer had to worry about the failed operative mucking up their attempts to rescue Alexa.
He studied the area surrounding the back of the house until he spotted the men. Both the former Fortress employees were hiding in two stands of trees on opposite sides of the yard, their attention focused on the back of the house. They weren’t paying attention to the rest of the area. If they had, they might have seen him and Remy standing in the shadows of the house.
Brent nudged Remy and indicated their location with an inclination of his head, then via hand signals indicated for Remy to take the operative on the left while Brent circled around to the guy on the right. With a nod, the Cajun disappeared into the trees to work his way to his target. Wouldn’t take long, though Remy would hold until Brent was in place. Neither man watching the house paid attention to anything but the back door, which indicated they still hadn’t furthered their training or at least the training was substandard.
Seconds later, Brent was in the cover of the trees and moving from shadow to shadow as he closed in on his target. Since rainfall had been scarce for months, he moved carefully to keep from alerting Carstairs’ cronies they were being hunted. The leaves and branches on the ground were brittle and made maneuvering with stealth difficult.
A mission clock ticked in his head, counting down the minutes he’d been away from Rowan’s side. Brent had never worked so hard to focus on his job. Gunfire still peppered the safe house, though the assailants weren’t making an effort to do more than irritate. Made him wonder if Carstairs had told these guys not to kill anybody.
What Brent couldn’t figure out was why the men were exercising such restraint. Maybe Carstairs wanted to pull the trigger himself on Brent or he recognized the lack of control on the part of his cohorts and worried he’d lose the chance to use Rowan for leverage.
Any minute, Brent feared the restraint might stop if the other men managed to breach the premises. Carstairs and his buddies had been kicked out of PSI and Fortress after only a few weeks’ training. Their control and tactical skills weren’t good. Of course, they might have gone to work for another, less reputable outfit. Brent had made sure they couldn’t work for the top-tier security firms. He knew none
