He glanced up the hill and saw the unmarked car parked on the other side of the treeline. Of course Deacon would have someone watching the back to prevent the Anderses from making a break for it. Or to aid any of Tala’s surviving family who managed to escape. Marcus knew that as soon as he showed himself, the cop in that unmarked would be on his ass, keeping him from trying to gain entry.

Sending up a little prayer, he darted along the basement wall, reaching the back door without interruption, which made him frown and glance over his shoulder at the unmarked car. Nothing. No shouts, no demands for him to stop. Nothing.

Pulling the storm door open, he raised his fist to knock on the entry door, then froze when the storm door literally fell away from the frame. Shit. It was now precariously balanced, one corner dug into the dirt, the opposite corner resting against the house, most of its weight supported by Marcus’s hold on the handle.

The frame itself was splintered, with both sets of hinges – those of the storm door and the entry door – no longer attached. This was no accident. Someone had broken in and then put the doors back in place so that their forced entry wouldn’t be immediately visible.

One little shove and the entry door would be on the floor. Marcus had reached for his phone to text Scarlett to come and see when the detective in question rounded the corner, her annoyance evident in the look on her face and the stiffness of her stride. She was wearing a tactical vest, her service weapon tucked into the built-in holster.

She stopped inches from where he stood. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she hissed.

‘I was about to knock on the back door,’ he said calmly. ‘You knew I would.’

‘Yeah, but I thought you’d be more discreet about how you did it. Every cop up there saw you come back here.’ She narrowed her eyes at the storm door, her attitude abruptly changing as she took in the damage. ‘Shit. I need CSU.’ She pulled out her phone and dialed. ‘Deacon, send Vince down here. The back door’s been—’

The door frame exploded, sharp shards of wood showering down on their heads, and Marcus’s military training kicked into gear.

Sniper. On the hill behind us. Suddenly the lack of activity from the unmarked car made grim sense. Shit. No cover here. They were sitting ducks, standing in the open. Not a single tree they could hide behind. The only cover was inside the house.

He grabbed Scarlett around the waist, hunkered down and shoved his shoulder into the basement door a split second after a second bullet hit the door, inches from where his head had just been.

The hingeless door gave way, and he and Scarlett followed it down, their bodies slamming against it hard as it hit the floor. Marcus rolled them out of the now open doorway as a third bullet hit the floor directly behind them. Concrete shattered, sharp debris pelting his head and back like mini-daggers.

Breathing hard, his body hovering over hers in a protective shell, Marcus lifted his head. The light coming in through the open door had illuminated a section of the basement floor and inner wall. The concrete was a mess, the bullet having hit the floor an inch beyond where the door had come to rest. The shooter had changed his aim as they’d fallen, following their trajectory.

Had Marcus not rolled them out of the way, the bullet would have hit one of them for sure. He looked down at Scarlett’s face, relieved to see her alert and aware, her pistol firmly gripped in her right hand. She must have drawn her weapon while they were falling. While a small part of his ego wished she’d trembled and clutched at him just a little, the larger part of him was relieved that she remained cool under fire. She needed that cool to stay alive on a day-to-day basis.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked quietly.

‘Yeah. Just knocked the wind out of me. Are you?’

He nodded once. His head hurt, but it was nothing worse than he’d had before. She twisted in his arms, craning back to study the concrete, then following the trajectory with her eyes. She swallowed hard.

‘Damn. We’d have been toast.’ She looked up at him, her expression grim even as her eyes filled with approval. ‘Fast moves, O’Bannion. Army training?’

‘Yeah.’ He knew he should get up, but now that they were safe, his adrenaline had plunged, his muscles turning to jelly. His body sagged against her, his hips settling between her thighs. He braced himself on his forearms and lowered his forehead to hers. ‘Give me a second.’

She brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek, a gentle caress. ‘We’re both okay,’ she said softly, making him shudder at the thought of what might have been. ‘You did good, Marcus. We’re alive.’

He nodded, realizing that he was finally holding her the way he’d been longing to for months, her lips only a breath away. Except he hadn’t wanted it like this. Hadn’t wanted her in danger. ‘You could have been killed.’

She pressed her fingertips to his lips. ‘You could have been killed,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘He was aiming high. For you, Marcus.’ Her eyes roved his face in the semi-darkness, her lips bending in a frown as her fingers lifted to his temple. ‘You’re bleeding.’

His gaze dropped to her mouth. He wanted nothing more than to kiss the frown off her lips, but knew that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And he didn’t want to have to stop, but this was utterly the wrong time and place. ‘A chip of concrete, I think. I’m fine.’

‘We need to get you checked out,’ she said stubbornly, but then her lips trembled. ‘I need to get you checked out. Please,’ she added in a whisper.

He wanted to outright refuse, because he hated hospitals, but that slight tremble had gone straight to his gut and the whispered please had stripped his defenses bare. ‘Later, okay?’

Her throat worked as she tried to swallow. ‘Promise me.’

He nodded, not trusting his voice. He no longer trusted his body either, as it had gotten over its scare and was no longer jelly. Far from it. He was growing harder with every second he lay cradled between her thighs. He cleared his throat. ‘I need to get up. See if he’s still there.’

She shook her head. ‘Let me call Deacon first. Get him to check while we both stay clear of the door.’ She looked around her, frowning again. ‘I dropped my phone when we went through the door. Do you see it?’

‘No. Use mine.’ He forced his body to stand, ignoring the stiffness in his knees and back. And in his groin. Because this was neither the time nor the place to make all those fantasies reality. That would have to happen later. But not too much later.

He offered her a hand, gripping hers harder than he needed to as he tugged her to her feet. Releasing her was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He gave her his phone. ‘Tell him to check out the unmarked car at the top of the hill. The cop inside was too quiet.’

Understanding filled her eyes. ‘Shit,’ she murmured as she dialed. ‘We’re okay. We’re in the house,’ she said without preamble, then proceeded to tell Deacon what had happened.

Marcus blocked out her conversation with Deacon, instead listening intently for the sound of anyone approaching. The shooter had almost gotten them – three times. The guy wasn’t likely to give up so easily.

His ears pricked at a faint noise. But it hadn’t come from outside. It had come from the basement, to his right. He caught Scarlett’s eye and tilted his head in the direction of the sound.

‘Gotta go,’ she murmured. ‘Hurry, Deacon.’ She handed Marcus his phone and took a small penlight from the pocket of her vest. ‘Where?’ she asked, almost soundlessly.

Marcus activated the flashlight app on his phone and pointed it toward the sound. ‘There.’ He drew the Glock from his pocket holster and crept forward, his head cocked, listening.