Page 143 of These White Lies
“I see it,” Sera says. A second later, there is an audible click. The light goes green.
We sweep the kitchen, goggles lighting every detail. Empty. We move into the house, a large staircase looms in front of us.
“Approaching the staircase.”
“Rear all clear. Approaching,” Rhodes says. I catch their movement as they join us.
“Entrance to the wine cellar, straight ahead.” Vincent’s voice is barely louder than a whisper.
We tighten formation, moving in a diamond, weapons raised, through a hallway lined with portraits—the Lindquist family staring down at us. We pass in silence.
Heavy footfalls sound.
I raise a fist. Everyone freezes.
A second later, the door to our left clicks open. A muscular man steps into the hall from the basement stairs, shoulder holster visible. He doesn’t even notice us.
Rhodes surges forward, chopping his throat. The man’s shout turns into a wet gurgle as Rhodes locks him into a hold.
“Easy.” Vincent presses his pistol to the guy’s temple. “I’m going to raise fingers. Nod when I hit the number of men down there. Got it?”
The man doesn’t move. Vincent lifts his hand. One finger, two, three, four, five. Nothing.
Vincent sighs, “Oh well,” and cracks the guy across the head with the butt of his gun. The man’s knees buckle. Rhodes lowers him soundlessly to the floor.
“That’s two,” Sera says in my ear. “She only had one guard at the party. Doubt she keeps more than a handful at the house. Security doesn’t appear to be her strong suit.”
I hope she’s right. But we can’t count on it.
Then I hear it.
A scream. High, female, and full of agony.
Elizabeth.
Every plan, every ounce of caution, blows apart. I tear down the stairwell two steps at a time, weapon up, fury burning through my veins.
I burst into the cellar, not waiting to clear as I know I should.
An older woman with a glass of wine. Two guards. And Elizabeth. My brain instantly catalogues the threats.
She’s tied to a chair, wrists bound, head hanging, her hair a curtain covering her face.
Is she alive?
Don’t look. Don’t think about her.
One of the guards raises his weapon, but he’s too slow. Two rounds and he’s thrown back, slamming back against a wine rack, the bottles shattering around him.
“Left!” Vincent’s voice is sharp near my ear. He’s already moving, breaking wide as Rhodes barrels past me.
The second guard charges, knife flashing. Rhodes slams into him, tackling him into the wall. The two grapple, grunting, glass crunching under their boots. Rhodes headbutts him savagely, wrenching the knife free, and buries it in the man’s gut. The guard folds with a strangled gasp.
“Clear right!” Finn calls, weapon trained across the racks, sweeping for more threats.
Anna screams and dives behind the chair. My finger flexes on the trigger, but I can’t take the shot—she’s too close to Elizabeth.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Anna shrieks, hands in the air, voice shaking.
