The first one disconnected his call. “If he left the country, he was using an alias. We haven’t been able to track him.”
The second agent took Quinn by the arm and led him toward their car, parked outside on the circular curb. “We need to get you to a secure location, Mr. Gallagher.”
“You need to get me home.”
As soon as they were on their way, Quinn called the house.
David Damiani answered. “Sir?”
“You keep eyes on my daughter at all times. Tell Miranda and Michael Cutler and your men. The Feds can’t find Nikolai. He could be anywhere.”
24 Minutes until Midnight, New Year’s Eve
T
HE FIRST POP SOUNDED LIKE
the illegal fireworks the neighbors down the block were setting off to celebrate the coming New Year. Miranda blinked her eyes open to make sure Fiona was still sleeping soundly and checked the time. She wondered if the game would truly end in twenty-four minutes—or, if Nikolai Titov’s idea of making things right wasn’t met, the New Year was when the real nightmare would begin.
Miranda shifted in the rocking chair, crossed her booted feet and pulled the afghan up around her neck before dozing off again. Why was she so sleepy? Sure, she’d had some late nights this week, and some emotional ups and downs that had drained her. But she was the last line of defense between Fiona and the horrible thing Titov wanted to do to her. She needed to get on her feet and shake off this terrible fatigue.
Miranda sat bolt upright at the second pop and immediately paid the price for the rapid movement with the pinball machine playing inside her skull. “What the hell?”
She could smell it now—the faint tinge of something sulfuric in the air. She squinted at the yellowish mist swirling beneath the hallway door. Oh, my God. This was some kind of gas attack, an airborne sleeping drug that was slowly stealing her consciousness from her.
“Miranda?”
She heard Quinn’s voice calling from the hallway. Then she heard a couple of thumps before something big crashed onto the carpet outside the door.
“Quinn?” She pushed to her feet and stumbled to the bed to hold her hand beneath Fiona’s nose. Good. She was still breathing. So far it was just a sleeping gas and not something more deadly.
Her legs felt like putty, her feet like lead weights as she grabbed on to the bedposts and pulled herself around the bed. Quinn was in trouble out there, but they all would be if she passed out, too. She changed direction and headed toward the windows on either side of the bookshelf.
“Miranda?” The door swung open and Quinn collapsed to the floor. He was wearing nothing but his glasses and the sweatpants he slept in. He pushed the door shut and stuffed his robe into the opening at the base of the door. “Gas…coming…from downstairs. Is she…okay?”
“We need air.” She fell against the bookshelf, hitting her injured arm. The sting of pain shooting up her arm and down into her fingers revived her for a moment. “We need to get a window open.”
“Fiona?” Quinn was crawling across the carpet now, pulling himself toward his daughter.
Miranda unlatched the first window and tried to raise it. But she was so weak. Her knees buckled before she could reach the second window. They were all alone. She was alone. Always alone.
As the blackness threatened to overtake her, she heard a sharp voice. “Miranda!” Quinn’s voice. Quinn needed her. “You can do this, sweetheart. Save her.”
Fiona needed her.
“Save her.”
She wasn’t failing the people who needed her again.
Reaching up, Miranda grabbed the edge of the bookshelf. She pulled herself up high enough to grab the window ledge. She got her feet beneath her and pushed with her legs to stand. But the window was so heavy.
In a burst of strength that came from determination alone, Miranda pulled herself up higher, climbing the shelves with her hands, one by one, reaching up to the top of the shelf and feeling around until her fingers closed over the grip of her Glock.
Tick. Tock,
the cruel voice inside her head warned. Time was running out.
Air. They needed air. They were passing out. Maybe dying.
Her hands, trained by the best, trained to be the best, knew what to do even when her eyes refused to focus. Miranda unhooked the holster and dropped it. Her palms folded around the grip, her finger slid against the trigger. She raised the heavy gun and fired three shots at the window, shattering the glass.
Cold night air rushed into the room, clearing her head as she breathed it in. She tucked her gun into the back of her jeans and found the strength to slide over to the other window and open it. The curtains fanned out into the room, telling her the sweet, fresh air from outside was filling the room.
She heard another pop. Her ear jerked to the sound. From somewhere inside the house. With her head clearing, she identified the three pops immediately.
Gunshots.
They were in trouble. Big trouble.
And she’d just announced to whoever was in the house that he wasn’t the only one here armed with a weapon.
“Quinn? Quinn!” Growing stronger with every breath, she stumbled back into the room and knelt down beside his still form. She rolled him onto his back and spread her hand over his chest. “Thank God.”
There was still a strong heartbeat.
“Quinn?” She tapped his cheeks, tried to rouse him. “Quinn, wake up. We have to get out of here. Someone’s in the house.”
She rose to her feet and pulled on his arm. But all she managed to do was turn him sideways. He was too big for her to drag outside. And away from the windows, she was falling under the influence of the knockout gas again.
“I’ll come back for you.” She stooped down and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “It’s my job, right? I’m going to take Fiona outside. I need you to breathe in the fresh air and wake up while I’m gone, okay?”
He moaned something unintelligible.
She leaned in closer. “What’s that?”
“Go. Save her.”
“I will. I promise I will.”
She could hear footsteps all the way down in the basement level. How had Titov or one of his men gotten into the house? There were guards, gates, cops, codes.
“Come on, sweetie.” Miranda wrapped Fiona up in the afghan from the rocking chair and carried her sleeping body to the open window. She kicked out the screen onto the second-story porch.
The footsteps were in the hallway now. Anyone who could move that quickly had to be immune to the gas. A standard-issue gas mask would suffice.
“Quinn!” She turned and whispered desperately. “He’s coming.”
He was on his hands and knees now. “Go.”
“He has a gun.”
He pushed himself to his feet and leaned against the bedpost. “Systems must be…offline.” He lurched to the next bedpost. “No lights. No alarms.”
That was right. The house was deathly quiet. There was no movement outside. She’d fired three shots straight out the front window. This place should have been locking down like Fort Knox. Guards from the front gate should have been storming the house. But it seemed every technical gadget Quinn had put into place was dead.
And then she understood what he intended to do. “No. You come with me. When we get outside we can call for backup.”
The footstep hit the first stair.
“Come with me,” she begged, panic clearing her head now. “We can run to the gate. Climb over it somehow. Forget your security system.”
“I can fix it.”
She stepped back into the room. “Then I’m staying with you.”
He pushed her right back to the window. He bent his head to kiss Fiona. “You save my daughter. That’s why you’re here.” His blue eyes were clear as he captured her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the mouth. “I’m sorry our timing was off. I didn’t know I was ready for another relationship until I met you.”
Footsteps. “Quinn.”
He freed her ponytail from where it was wedged between Fiona and her chest, and smoothed it down her back. “I owe you a proper New Year’s kiss,” he promised. “But first I’m going to take this bastard down.”
He lifted her out onto the porch and disappeared inside Fiona’s closet just as a shadowy figure filled the doorway.
M
IRANDA RAN THROUGH THE
snow, shutting down her emotions, allowing herself no opportunity to think about Quinn trying to be a superhero when he just needed to be Fiona’s daddy.
She was across the bridge before Fiona stirred in her arms. “Wandy?”
“Thank God.” She kissed her soft forehead. “Randy loves you, sweetie. Be still. Be quiet.”
Where were the lights of the front gate?
“I’m cold.”
If she thought about it too much, Miranda was, too. But she had to get Fiona to safety. Nothing else mattered.
Except getting back into that house to help Quinn.
She saw a large, dark shadow moving behind the bars of the gate and she instinctively zigzagged off the driveway and plunged into the snow again, making it tough for a potential enemy to get a straight shot at her.
“KCPD!”
The shadow called out at the same time Miranda shouted, “Identify yourself!”
There was a huff of relief and then the beam of a flashlight hit her in the face. “Murdock?” The light instantly lowered. “It’s Holden Kincaid and Trip Jones.”
She saw the second figure, an even bigger shadow in the darkness, working with a flashlight over by the thick brick wall. “I can’t get anything to work,” Trip groused. “What the hell is going on? We heard gunshots.”
Looping Fiona’s arms around her neck, Miranda jumped to her feet again and met the two SWAT cops at the gate. “How many?”
“Three.”
She shook her head. “That was me.” The house must be soundproofed. “I had to bust out a window. There’s some kind of sleeping gas inside.”
“The gate’s locked up tight.” Holden wrapped a black-gloved hand around one of the unyielding bars of the gate. “We can’t get in unless we scale the wall or cut through these with a torch. The sarge is coming with the van and some rope.”
“Do either of you guys have a spare radio and a gear bag?” There was no way either of the big men could squeeze through the bars, but she had a little three-year-old who could. “Here. Take her.”
“Wandy?” she whined.
“You’re fine, sweetie. I need you to be a big girl for me.” She handed Fiona through to Holden on the other side. “Got her?” Funny, trusting this most precious gift to the man she’d feared was back at KCPD to replace her. Maybe he still was. But tonight, that didn’t matter. Tonight, they needed to work together as a team. “I have to go back in and help your daddy.”
“Hold up. You don’t go anywhere without a sit-rep,” Trip chided. He thrust a radio and earbud through the gate. “Alex and the captain are on their way. Captain said all of Damiani’s guards missed their check-in. They went to find them.”
Intel. Routine. Communication. Training. They were all part of being on SWAT. It was the only way to get the job done quickly and safely, and Miranda intended to do both. She gave a quick situation report while she clipped on her radio and tested it. “Somebody’s hacked into the security system here. Everything’s offline. Quinn’s trying to fix it.”
“Here you go.” Trip unzipped a gear bag and started passing equipment through the gate. Flak vest. Flashlight. Gloves. Watch cap. Spare clips. Second weapon. Gas mask.
Miranda suited up. “There’s someone in the house. He’s armed. I heard three shots besides my own. I’m going back in.”
“Wait for backup,” Trip insisted. “We’ll get the gate open.”
“There isn’t time.”
“Murdock,” Kincaid warned.
She swung back around and pointed a finger at him. “If anything happens to that little girl, I will come back and kick your ass.”
And then she was running, retracing her steps through the snow and across the bridge.
“Can she do that?” She heard Kincaid’s voice in her ear.
“Oh, yeah.” There wasn’t a doubt in the world in Trip’s tone.
Now she just had to believe it, too.
M
IRANDA CLIMBED BACK UP
the railings and decorative posts to reach the second-story porch. Moving as silently as the breeze itself, she sidled up beside the broken window and held her breath, listening for any signs of movement inside. Nothing. Then she stooped down and lightly sniffed the air around the window. She couldn’t detect the sleeping gas.
She tapped her radio and whispered, “I’m going in.”
“Roger that.” Captain Cutler’s deep voice startled her. Then reassured her just as quickly. “You’d better be coming out, too. Delgado’s here with the climbing gear now. Jones and Taylor will be there to back you up in two minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” She inhaled a deep breath. Two minutes was an eternity when an officer was storming a building in search of a hostage. This was all on her. Saving the man she’d fallen in love with was all on her now. She couldn’t fail. “Going to radio silence. Now.”
She turned off the radio and climbed inside.
Fiona’s bedroom was empty. Miranda checked the closet and the panic room located inside. That must have been where Quinn had been headed. The door stood open, as if he’d tried to take refuge there. But a quick check showed it to be empty, too.
Miranda fought off the fear that tried to take hold. She needed to think clearly right now, for her own survival as well as his. An empty room meant there was every chance Quinn was still alive, that the man who’d been at the door when she’d escaped with Fiona hadn’t killed him. Maybe he hadn’t even intended to kill him. Maybe that man had been one of David Damiani’s security guards, or Damiani himself, who’d managed to get a gas mask on so that he could find the occupants of the house and get them safely to breathable air.
Yes, think like that. Be positive. Damiani’s men were here and—she shined the flashlight on her watch—her own team would be here to back her up in a minute and a half, give or take.
Moving to the door, she checked the hallway for any signs of movement.
Clear,
she sounded off inside her head. She made quick work of the upstairs rooms.
All clear.
Wherever the shadow had taken Quinn, wherever he had gone, it wasn’t up here.