Page 10 of Remote Access

Something woke Lane, some inner sixth sense because he was sure there hadn't been a noise. It must have awakened Quincy, too, because he stood over him, moonlight glittering off his eyes as his gaze latched onto Lane's. He held one finger over his mouth and that's when Lane spotted the gun in his other hand.

A door creaked somewhere and Lane's eyes flew wide open as he realized someone was in the house, and this stupid security guard had handcuffed him to a bed.

"I don't have pants," he whispered.

"Shh," Quincy snapped.

"Asshole," he hissed back. "Get me loose. I'm not dying half-naked and handcuffed to a bed."

"You're the one who kicked off your pants. Be quiet!" He silently moved toward the open bedroom door, then dropped low when a gunshot sounded.

Shock froze Lane, followed quickly by sheer panic when he looked up to see the hole in the wall between the slats of the bed. He tried to curl up into a ball but felt that made him a bigger target. "Please, Quincy."

"Shit," the man whispered as he came back to the bed. He quickly leaned over to fit the key in the cuffs, but another shot came into the room and he cursed and dropped to the floor.

"I'm going to kill you for this!" The fear rolling through Lane wasn't anything like the one he'd carried all these years on jobs. Then, he could run, hide...anything! He was just fucking stuck here. Helpless.

The gunshots stopped and Lane held his breath, unable to hear anything over the frantic pounding of his heart. He slowly turned his head to see Quincy crouch-walking to the bedroom door, his gun trained on the opening. With his vision used to the low light, he could clearly see the man, see the intensity—the ferocity—of his expression, so he kept perfectly quiet and still so he didn't distract him.

Still, when the dark shadow filled the doorway, the terror that shot through him froze the blood in his veins. He couldn't see the face, but the man aimed his gun right at Lane. When the shot rang out, Lane squeezed his eyes shut, unable to do anything else. But the pain didn't come. And death sure as hell didn't come because he heard a grunt and a slam. His eyes shot open to see Quincy wrestling with the other guy in the hallway.

He had to get out of here!

He rolled as much as he could and tugged on the bar his handcuffs were attached to. It didn't slide, didn't turn. The damn thing was welded on, so there was no way he could slide it loose. It didn't even budge when he yanked on the cuffs. He rolled to his back and reached with his free hand toward the bedside table.

His fingers touched the side, so he scooted as far as he possibly could, pulling on years of training to stretch and the pad of one finger barely touched the drawer handle. Something slammed into a wall closer, and he frantically looked to find Quincy had been kicked back into the room. The security guard didn't hesitate, jumping back to his feet, grabbing the guy by the shirt and slamming him into a wall. This time, the other guy's grunt held more pain and his next cry was pure agony because Quincy smashed his fist into the guy's side.

He slumped to the floor and Lane winced and squeezed his eyes shut when Quincy flipped on the light. Rapidly blinking, he frantically worked to get his vision adjusted. Just as he did, Quincy punched the guy across the face. Blood splattered the wall as his head slammed into it and he was out.

"Hurry, get me loose!" Lane yelled. "No way the neighbors didn't hear that shot and we gotta get out of here!"

"Igottafind the key." Quincy knelt beside the bed. When he came back up, he paused as he hovered over Lane. "I'm going to set you free, but I'm still not letting you out of my sight."

"What the fuck ever, man, hurry up!"

“Trust me, the cops will take their time on this one.”

“What do you mean?” Lane narrowed his eyes, suspicion a sickening punch.

“Let’s just say that old Letsen has a few men in blue on his payroll in this town.”

“Figures,” Lane muttered. “We should still hurry.” When he was loose, he grabbed his backpack from the corner and tossed Quincy a roll of duct tape.

"Perfect." Quincy hurriedly taped the unconscious man's arms and legs.

"That's a lot of blood," Lane muttered as he crouched beside the man and eyed the pool forming under him.

"I shot him and hit his arm but he still kept coming.” Quincy jogged into the bathroom and returned with a towel he tied around the guy’s arm.

"Hayrick only hires the best." Lane stared at the still form.

"Do you know him?"

Lane turned him so his face wasn't smashed into the floor and took in the heavy, black eyebrows, crooked—at least now—nose and the high cheekbones. He shook his head. "No. I would have remembered him, too. Especially with that tattoo on his neck." He pointed at the serpent head that peeked from out of the collar of his shirt.

Quincy froze, gaze locked on the tattoo. "Do me a favor and snap a picture of that."

"With what? My magic camera?"

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