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Grace perched on the edge and pushed off at his command, landing in his arms.
He placed her on the ground with care. “You’re doing great.”
The metallic cycle of a shotgun being racked made him freeze.
Fuck. Out of time.
Heart thundering, he yanked the trapdoor closed, plunging them into pitch blackness.
He unholstered his gun, his palm against familiar ridges and grooves. His heart pounded a relentless tattoo against his ribs as he tensed, every sense honed to a razor’s edge.
Hudson’s men were smarter than he’d anticipated, their stealth suggesting an impressive level of training. But if they thought that alone would grant them Grace, they were in for a rude awakening.
He pushed her behind him, deeper into the shadows, angling his body to shield her.
A deep menacing rumble rose from Dolly at his side. She was all but invisible in the suffocating darkness, even with patches of white on her coat. Caleb raised his gun, the polymer grip molded to his palm like a second skin as he regulated his breathing, every sense straining to locate any scrap of movement.
Because these men would give themselves away. He was sure of it.
There—the faintest scuff of a heavy boot against stone. Caleb launched himself toward the threat. He collided with a wall of muscle, grappling for purchase as they crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
The intruder’s shotgun roared like thunder, the muzzle flash searing Caleb’s retinas. Pulverized dirt rained on him, coating his clothes and filling his nose with the acrid stench of gunpowder. He landed a barrage of punches before thick fingers clamped around his throat, crushing his windpipe.
Stars exploded across his darkening vision, as he ripped at the hands locked on his neck. Fur and fury hit Caleb, knocking him sideways. Dolly’s enraged snarl cut through the blood roaring in his ears. Bones crunched, and a man screamed, his grip slackening enough for Caleb to suck in a desperate lungful of air.
He registered Grace’s choked cry, but the primal need to neutralize the threat consumed him. With a bellow, Caleb smashed his forehead into the other man’s face, feeling the satisfying crunch of cartilage.
Pain exploded along his ribcage, as the man retaliated, punching his side with an iron fist, but Caleb pushed through, seizing a fistful of the intruder’s hair. He slammed the man’s head against the stony floor and the man went limp, the clatter of his gun loud in the confined space.
Caleb rolled to his knees, chest heaving as he fought to master breathing through his bruised windpipe. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.
They were alive. Their attacker….
He pressed trembling fingers to the man’s jugular, finding a pulse. Their attacker would live to see another day.
Dolly whined, nose prodding at Caleb’s knees as he sagged back on his haunches.
“Grace?” Fuck, the lining of his throat felt like ripped metal. He spat blood. “Grace?” He lurched to his feet, desperate to have eyes on her. “Talk to me.”
A flashlight beam sliced through the dark. “Caleb?” Grace’s familiar silhouette materialized at his side. “Oh, my God. Are you…”
Her flashlight illuminated their bloodied attacker. Caleb followed her gaze, registering the man’s ruined face with grim satisfaction. If their paths ever crossed again, he wouldn’t forget.
”That’s Granger. One of Alex’s men.” Her voice fell to a stunned whisper.
Now he saw it. The beet red cheeks masked by dirt. One of the two men he’d encountered at the vets.
The complete lack of surprise in her tone sent a fresh surge of rage cascading through Caleb’s veins. He swallowed blood, tamping down the murderous impulses still burning in his gut.
“Are you okay?” She turned her attention to him, palmed his cheek, her touch tender.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing serious.”
Dolly whined, cold nose nudging Caleb’s knuckles in solidarity.
“Let’s move.” Lacing his fingers through Grace’s clammy ones, Caleb tugged her the short run toward the exit.
Not soon enough, he found the exit, the wooden hatch above hanging from one hinge.Caleb boosted himself through the narrow opening, ignoring the screaming protest of sore muscles. Taking one knee, he scanned the tree line for any hint of movement, listening to hear past the frantic pounding of his own heartbeat. Behind them, a radio burst into life in a burble of static. A team leader asking for an update. Then the rumble of approaching vehicles drifted on the winter breeze—reinforcements closing in to cut off their escape.
