Before I knew what was happening, Glitch closed in on her, making Katarzyna let out a squeak as she backed up. She would’ve tumbled over the back of the couch if Glitch hadn’t grabbed her waist.

“Whoa, brother.” I gripped his shoulder and tried to shift him from the terrified woman, but there was no moving him. No pulling his focus from her.

His voice was soft. Gentle even. But there was barely concealed rage in his question when he asked, “How bad did he hurt you?”

Our eyes shot to Katarzyna, whose face flushed as she shook her head. “He didn’t.”

“Bullshit. Mrs. Danes told me. Begged me to make sure you got away safely.”

Even as she tried to shrink in on herself again, her expression softened at that little crumb of consideration.

“Why didn’t you give me a heads-up?” I asked Glitch, thinking how lucky it was I’d impulsively taken her with me.

And working hard not to think about what could’ve happened had I left her behind.

“Called and texted twenty fuckin’ times,” Glitch bit out, not looking away from Katarzyna.

I pulled out my cell and saw he was wrong.

Between calls and texts, it’d been closer to thirty.

“Fuck, this is why we don’t change plans like this,” Judge said, though he didn’t look pissed.

Just worried.

When Kathy Danes had hired us for security, it hadn’t been a regular job.

She’d wanted surveillance proof of her husband’s cheating. She’d known it—a bad case of the clap was proof enough for her—but without hard evidence, Danes could claim she’d given it to him. Worse, he’d use his money and influence to win custody of their two kids. She also needed help getting her passport, ID, and everything else he’d locked away in a bid to control her.

The initial plan had been to play it cautious. Learn where he’d stashed her stuff. Get the kids set. Make sure we had all the pieces in place before we made any big moves.

Those slow, measured actions were the hardest part of our jobs. Especially when we had to smile to his face when we’d rather punch it till it resembled the insides of a pumpkin.

But we knew if we went in hot, shit could go sideways. He could cut off our access to the house. Destroy evidence. Someone could get hurt.

We’d learned that the hard way.

Play it slow. Play it quiet. Play it patient.

Everything was supposed to be in place by the following week. But when the panel had begun acting up while their kids were already away with her parents, Mrs. Danes had taken that as a sign.