Shit, he hoped it was Jim Heron, but he didn’t think the guy would just bust in. And Grier’s father could disarm the system—he’d already proved that. So he obviously hadn’t let whoever it was inside.

Goddamn it, if it was Matthias’s boy, why hadn’t the arrival been announced through the Life Alert? Then again, Isaac wouldn’t have let them inside, and they no doubt knew that: Matthias may have demanded that Grier and her father stick around, but Isaac wasn’t about to get himself killed in front of them.

She’d never recover from that.

Please, God, he thought. Let her stay where she was.

Back-flatting it against the wall, he went down the stairs, leading with his gun. Sounds . . . where were all the sounds? There was literally nothing moving in the house, and considering that Grier’s father had been pacing like a caged lion, the all-quiet was not encouraging.

As soon as the wall broke away and the free-standing banister started, he pulled another swing-and-drop, and deliberately landed hard as a rock on the Oriental in the front hall.

Sometimes noise was a good directive, giving your opponent a target to come running for.

And what do you know. The boom of Isaac’s feet hitting the floor drew their visitor out: From down in the kitchen, a man dressed in black stepped into full view.

Matthias’s second in command.

And he had Grier’s dad up as a human shield.

“Want to trade?” the guy said grimly.

The gun to Childe’s head was a nasty-looking autoloader with a silencer. So not a surprise. It was identical to the one in Isaac’s own palm.

Moving slowly, Isaac bent down and put his weapon to the floor. Then he kicked it away. “Let him go. Come and take me.”

Childe’s eyes went wide, but he held tight. Thank fuck.

Isaac turned to the wall, put his hands up on the plaster, and spread his ankles in a classic apprehension pose. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “I’m ready to go.”

The second in command cracked a smile. “Check you out, all compliant and shit. Brings a tear to the eye.”

With a slash, the operative lights-outed Grier’s father with the butt of the gun, the elder Childe dropping to the ground like a bag of sand. Then it was saunter city as the second in command strolled toward Isaac, that gun trained on him and unwavering.

Just like the man’s oddly matte, black eyes.

“Let’s do this,” Isaac said.

“Where’s your other gun. I know you’ve got one.”

“Come and get it.”

“You really want to fuck with me?”

Isaac reached in and took out his other weapon. “Where do you want it?”

“Loaded question. On the floor and give it a kick.”