Page 63 of Love Undercover
Chase spun away from the bed, kicking the legs out from under the man, who uttered a string of curses as he went down with a thud. Chase searched the dark room for the other guy, and, most importantly, his gun. But his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dim light yet, and the second attacker had an opening to pick up a chair, slamming it into Chase’s side. A spider web of pain shot with lightning speed through his rib cage.
He took a wheezing breath and mustered the strength to spin away again, catching sight of the dark shape of his gun on the floor close to the door. Scrambling to his feet, he lurched for the weapon, grappling for the handle. He turned and fired off the first round at the first guy, who jerked sideways and caught it in the shoulder instead of the chest like he should have.
“Son of a bitch,” the man muttered, lurching back.
The move cost Chase, and he wasn’t able to prepare for the lamp the second guy used against his face. He caught it square against his cheekbone, the skin spearing open on impact as his teeth rattled together.
The other man chuckled darkly as the hot copper taste of blood blossomed inside Chase’s mouth. Must have sliced the inside of his cheek on his teeth. He spat red onto the floor, trying to calculate his next step when another blow landed against the back of his head. Something hard.
Spots clouded his vision, and when it cleared, he was starting to topple face-first into the carpet. The image of Sadie’s terrified, panic-twisted face filled his mind, and he remembered that she was alone and defenseless against that asshole and his slimy underling.
Thinking about Travers putting his hands on her again filled Chase’s vision with red. The rage poured into his body with a blinding heat that was beyond his ability to fathom, that he quickly lost control of. It was like his soul left his body the minute he gave himself over to it, and he watched himself from above as the dragon took control.
His huge frame pushed up from the floor, releasing an inhuman roar as he plowed into the second man, ramming him into the opposite wall like a linebacker. Chase pulled him forward by his throat and slammed again. The guy’s head snapped back against the surface, making a crater in the drywall, and he flopped down to the ground, unmoving.
There was a small sound from behind that reached Chase’s ears, and his full consciousness slid back into his body just in time for him to catch an arm around his neck as the other guy attempted to trap him in a headlock. He could tell the man was losing strength because of his gunshot wound, and Chase was able to block him from completing the move.
Planting a foot behind the other man’s, Chase forced the guy backward, and he tripped and went down. Chase’s breaths shot in and out of him in rapid succession as he pawed the floor for his dropped gun. He barely managed to aim before he pulled the trigger once, twice, and the guy dropped in a heap.
There was only space for one moment to catch his breath and his racing thoughts before he lumbered to his feet and staggered out the door. He would have sprinted if he could get enough air. But every breath hurt, and he wondered if he’d broken a rib. His cheek was swelling, too. He could see it as the puffiness infiltrated the skin around his eye on that side. Swinging into his car, he grunted and panted as he yanked the door closed. He didn’t bother to buckle up as he whipped out of the parking space and sped through the lot to the street, steering one-handed.
He wouldn’t tempt fate, though, and kept his speed at a reasonable level above the limit, cursing his way through two red lights and punching it as soon as he came to Kyle’s neighborhood. His tires screeched on the pavement, and gravel pinged against the undercarriage of his car as he barreled down Kyle’s street.
They’d hear him coming, but he didn’t care. He had no capacity for planning, for strategy, for stealth.
The sick feeling twisted in his belly that they wouldn’t be at the house anymore, anyway. Still, he sped through the tunnel of trees, his breathing continuing to come fast and painful as the house came into view.
No other vehicles out front. No movement in the window. He stomped on the brakes, the back end of the car fishtailing as it lurched to a stop at the curb in front of the house.
He threw it into park and practically leaped out of the car, sprinting up the steps, ignoring the way his body protested. There was no wondering if the door was unlocked, no need to ring the bell or knock. It was broken, shards of wood on the porch at his feet, and he slowed only long enough to pull his weapon.
He walked through the house cautiously once, then slammed through the whole place again, looking for any kind of clue, praying that his instinct was wrong. That she’d gone for a walk, that he’d imagined the broken door, that this was all just a nightmare he would wake from.
But the constant throb through his ribs reminded him that he was awake and living the nightmare.
He caught sight of himself in a mirror, wincing. His eyes were wild, his hair mussed, his cheek swollen and bruising. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. It didn’t matter though. He lurched toward the door before he thought better of it. Heneeded to regroup, figure out his next steps first. Figure out where Santiago had taken her.
When he turned from the door, he spotted his laptop half-hidden under the couch.Hidden. Like she’d done it on purpose.
He stalked toward it and hissed when he bent to retrieve it, the pain ricocheting through him again. He flipped it open and unlocked it. It was still open to the list of names from the flash drive, but it was scrolled to the end, and his heart slammed down to his toes.
Jared Gibson, his boss. Had she recognized the name? Maybe she’d seen it and run. God, he hoped that was the case and not that his boss had sold him out and told Santiago where to find them.
He was such an idiot. Except he wassupposedto trust his boss with his safety, was required to check in. But he hadn’t taken the time to go through the whole list that first time, his worry for Kyle, founded but too late anyway, had blinded him. He forced himself to look at the other names now, to make sure he didn’t go off half-cocked. If he’d known Gibson was compromised, he never would’ve left her alone.
But his mind whirled as he kept reading, noting the other names that made his stomach twist so tightly, he thought he’d vomit. Hank Jeppesen. Larry Fink. Upper-level agents.
Good God.
He shut the laptop with barely contained rage, the snap making him pause to wonder if he’d broken it. He inhaled deeply, curling his fingers into his palms.
Maybe she’d just gone for a walk.
The thought reverberated in his mind, empty and hollow. He looked at the front door where the wood had splintered off, the light color of the interior a contrast with the dark green it had been painted. Implausible. Not possible with the way that door looked. Someone had kicked it in.
Chase’s phone rang, and he hit answer before looking.
“You got out faster than even I anticipated,” Santiago said. He didn’t sound irritated. More like amused.
