He maneuvered out of the kitchen, listening for the soccer game to give him cover. A footstep creaked on the stairs, and he pushed against the wall, unable to see who was coming. Brock’s eyes dropped to a blood-smeared wall. Shit. The reddish marks were a telltale sign that he wasn’t handcuffed to a wall anymore.

Another step on the stairs. Soft. Nearly a figment of his imagination, but he trusted his instincts and stayed against the wall.

Click.

The din wasn’t the hammer of a gun, readying to fire. Nor was it an electronic switching off. The click was a familiar, radio-silence sound. A soft tut meant to share information or gain attention. Brock took a step, uncertainty scratching at his thoughts.

What the hell?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Brock’s jaw fell. Jared stood midway up the stairs. He was the last person on earth Brock expected. By the furrowed brow and nasty glare, he could tell Boss Man wanted to be in Saint Lucia about as much as Brock had wanted Sarah on an extraction operation.

A quick exchange of familiar hand gestures, and Jared traversed down the stairs and met Brock against the wall.

“Hey, asshole.”

“Boss Man.” It came out automatically and hit Brock in the gut so hard he flinched. “Jared.”

Jared nodded. “You can thank your wife.”

“She’s a keeper.” As long as she’ll stay married.

They exchanged a rundown of intel and passed the parlor during an eruption of soccer cheers. They pushed out the side door. Brock pulled out a set of keys, hit the unlock button to see which set of headlights would flash. There were Jeeps along the side and back of the house, and Jared caught sight of the flashing lights and pointed.

They ducked and ran to the Jeep. Brock jumped into the driver’s seat, and he turned the ignition as Jared shut the passenger door. They flew down the driveway while Jared directed him to his stashed vehicle. No telling if the Jeep had a tracking device or was rigged to blow. They needed to ditch it as soon as they were clear.

Brock kept the pedal pushed to the floorboard until the road ended. They jumped out and ran through the underbrush until Jared flagged him to stop. A Range Rover was covered netting and branches, and they peeled the camouflage off of it. Another minute later, they had jumped in and were rolling down a hill before they finally bounced onto a road.

Awkward silence hung between them. Brock’s legs throbbed. He was covered in sweat and could smell the stench of his dried blood.

His throat was dry, and he needed to tend to his legs. “Got a first aid kit in this rig?”

“Nothing worth your time. But it’s in the back.”