A crash and something whizzes past, slamming into the wall by my head. A bullet. Welcome to the party, Storm. I jump the last two steps and roll on the floor, coming up with my gun pointing at the nearest window. I release the safety of the SIG Sauer, scanning the place.

The broken window is to my left. The dining room. Nothing’s moving. Sunlight spears through the many windows, illuminating the sunken living room and the kitchen to my right. Raylin could be anywhere.

And so could our attackers.

Fuck my luck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to have more time. I still haven’t told her about myself. Man, the timing really sucks ass.

When seconds trickle by and nothing happens, I take a risk and get up, then run into the adjoining room. It’s the TV room where Ray rode my cock to the soundtrack of Spiderman, and fuck if the sight of the sofa doesn’t get me hard, even in a situation like this.

“Ray!” I move on to the study, my uncle’s papers still scattered on the desk. I swear to God, if anything has happened to her I’ll raze this place to the ground until everyone is dead. “Come on, Ray.”

Can’t panic. Not now.

A noise outside has my feet moving. I lift my SIG and inch back into the hallway. A slender silhouette is hiding behind the folded sliding door, the light glancing on a gun.

The gun swings in my direction. Dark eyes flick to me and widen. “Storm.”

Thank God. I struggle to hide my relief as I join her behind the door. “Hey. How are things down here?”

“Two shooters, I think. One in the front, one in the back.”

My assessment exactly. “They don’t know where we are. As long as we don’t shoot…”

She nods. “For now.”

Yeah. Because if we don’t get help soon, we’ll have to show our hand. “I’ll make a call.”

She grins. “Make yourself at home.”

The hell. She looks calm, even though sweat shines on her face and neck. Her hand doesn’t shake on the grip of the gun.

Filing this information away for later inspection, I pull my cell from the pocket of my shorts, about to turn it on, when a male voice rings from outside.

“Step out!” the man shouts, his voice so clear he has to be at the door or one of the windows of the main hall, less than twenty feet away. “Do it now, and we won’t harm your friend.”

Her face goes gray. “They’re here for me.”

“Fuck them.”

“Maybe he’s right.” She swallows hard. “Maybe I should—”

“Screw that. No, Ray, you shouldn’t.”

“But you—”

“I’m where I want to be.” I grip her arm and squeeze. “Stay put.”

I turn on my cell for the first time since I snuck out of the hospital weeks ago. It starts chirping immediately with alerts for messages and missed calls. She glances around the door, lifting the gun like she knows what to do with it. It’s my favorite, a Browning HP, 9mm.

I lift a brow at her and she shakes her head. She can’t see anyone. Damn. I’m about to call nine-one-one, when Hawk’s name flashes on the screen.

I connect the call.

“Fucking asshole,” Hawk’s voice thunders down the line. “Florida, huh? What the fuck? How about turning your phone on and telling people who give a shit about you that you’re still breathing, huh? Motherfucker.”

I hold the phone away from my ear, sorting through the info. One thing sticks out at me. “How the hell do you know where I am?”

“You fucking kidding me? Who doesn’t? It was splashed all over the tabloids this morning. Online, man. Boom. Post went viral. Photos of you with a brunette at the house on the beach. I thought your uncle sold that monstrosity years ago.”

What. The. Fuck. “Hawk, I need you to do something for me.”

“I’m riding over to see you, asshole. Just parked my Harley so see what’s going on—someone’s been firing shots nearby. Hey, I’ll be at your door as soon as we hang up. You’re lucky I was around here—”

“Stay right there,” I hiss. “Someone’s shooting at us.”

“What? You in that paranoid mood again—”

A bullet slams through the folding door, crashes through and strikes the wall a few feet away, leaving a hole.

My blood roars in my ears as I jerk back. I check on Raylin. Her face is white, but she looks okay. I grab her hand and drag her away from the door, expecting any moment now more bullets to tear through. The store room will have to do for now. I pull her inside and we crouch there.

“Holy shit,” Hawk is yelling in the phone. “What the fuck was that?”

“Hawk, shut the fuck up and call the police. Now, dammit.”

I hang up, shove my cell back into my pocket. I stare down into Ray’s pretty eyes, and pray we survive until the cops arrive.

Chapter Eleven

RAYLIN

The storeroom smells musty. The only light comes through the door. No other doors, no windows. We’re trapped here, and the way Storm stands close to the door means he realizes it, too, and doesn’t like it.

We should get out of here. Walls won’t protect us from these bullets. This isn’t like the movies.

I point to the right, and he’s already rising and moving, his hand wrapped around mine, pulling me along. He checks around the corner, the gun in his left hand, thumb on the safety. He seems to know how to use one. I wonder if he brought the guns with him, or if he found them stashed here.

Still haven’t figured out if he broke in here or if he was telling the truth about knowing the people who own the place. Mixed signals there, what with his vague “something like that” answers.

As if that matters anymore.

Storm drags me to the study and releases my hand. We crouch and scoot by the window. Sunlight dapples the rich wood of the floor, bringing out red and yellow streaks. I stare at it, unable to hold on to anything but this one question: how in the world was I found? I was so careful. I thought I was.

I think again of the gardener I saw, then the flash and the figure I thought I saw moving behind the fence. Again it makes no sense. If they’d found me, why wait? What’s going on? And if they’re after Storm…

A shot cracks through the house, and I flinch. My fingers clench around the handle of the Browning. One more shot. Something crashes in the direction of the kitchen.

Then I hear sirens wailing. They’re approaching fast. Several cars, from the sound of it. I glance at Storm. He’s crouched beside me, gun pointing up, his gaze flicking between the door and the window. His jaw is set, his hand on the gun steady.

More shots are fired, and I’m not sure where. Storm grabs my shoulder, squeezes. He’s such a solid presence. Gives me courage. Gives me strength.

The door in the main hall bangs open, and I jerk. Storm’s hand keeps me down as heavy steps sound, nearing us.

“Storm!” a man’s deep voice calls. “Where the hell are you, man? Place is clear, come on out.”

Storm lets out a long breath and stands up, pulling me with him. “In here.”

“Who’s that?” I mutter, my heart still racing.

We step out into the hallway, and a tall, blond guy in a leather jacket, jeans and biker boots is striding toward us.

“This is Hawk,” Storm says and lets go of me to grab the guy in a man-hug, complete with back thumping. “Good friend of mine.”

“Your only friend.” The guy grunts and turns his gaze on me. Light gray, it gives him a fierce air. His pale hair is cropped close to his skull. The dark lines of a tattoo climb up his thick neck. “So this is the girl.”

“The girl?” I glance from one to the other. Storm rubs a hand over his face. “What’s going on? How did they find me?”

“Your photo was all over the internet, sweetheart,” this guy, Hawk, drawls, eyes narrowing. “By the pool, with Storm in the background. How do you think that happened?”

“Reporters,” Storm spits the word out.