Shit. Impact-resistant glass. He’d have to be content with a fire on the outside of the house. It would still force them out. He’d started to pitch the bottle toward the house when a woman’s voice barked out of the darkness.

“Stop! FBI. Toss the bottle into the street. Now.”

Cade spun toward the voice, immediately recognizing half of the last couple to have left Dani Novak’s house. The redhead who’d kissed the blond man now held a rifle like it was a lover.

FBI. It was a trap. Not taking time to think, he hurled the bottle toward her, pleased when she turned and leaped out of the way, sliding on her belly. The bottle shattered, spreading fire all over the lawn.

The woman had tricked him, doubling back. The man was likely here, too.

FBI. Fuckers.

Sure enough, a male voice growled from behind him. “Hands in the air. Or I will shoot you, make no mistake.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Heart racing, Cade slowly turned, leading with his left shoulder. He lifted his left hand while his right reached into his pocket and withdrew the grenade, keeping it palmed and out of sight.

Shit, damn, fuck. The big blond man was standing next to the open door of Cade’s Sequoia. Any grenade explosion would destroy his own transportation.

I’ll have to shoot him instead. He reached for his gun, but was stopped when the Fed fired a warning shot at the ground in front of him.

“I said, hands up,” the man snarled.

Asshole. Cade pulled the pin and tossed the grenade at the man’s feet. He had only a split second to enjoy the shocked look on the man’s face before the Fed turned and sprang forward, better than any long jumper Cade had ever seen. Sailing over the grenade, the Fed landed on his stomach with his arms outstretched, reaching for Cade.

But Cade was already running and the Fed grasped at air. He’d sped between Novak’s house and her neighbor’s by the time the grenade exploded behind him. He ducked as hunks and shards of metal—remnants of his own vehicle—rained down. Grabbing the pistols from their holsters, he ran, fueled on adrenaline, rage, and fear.

But it was his leg that was hit, not his head. Searing pain tore through his thigh and he looked sideways to see the redhead holding her rifle, aiming it at him again. She’d rounded the burning lawn, coming at him from the back of the house.