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Mia listened for something. For anything. Footsteps. Movement in the backyard. But the only thing she could hear was her own heartbeat and gusting breath.
In contrast, Angel wasn’t breathing hard. He seemed to be in some kind of hyper-focus mode. And like her, he was waiting.
They didn’t have to wait long.
The shots started again, slamming into the kitchen from both the back window and the front of the house. Angel dropped further down, but he wasn’t safe. Nowhere near it. Either shooter could move in closer and have the kill shot they needed to end his life.
Mia needed to do something to stop that from happening.
She reacted out of instinct. Repeating the ploy she’d done with the flipflop, she hurled the knife toward the partial wall that fronted the foyer.
It worked.
The gunfire from the back window instantly went in that direction. Away from Angel. And Angel quickly took advantage of it.
Moving so fast that he was practically a blur, Angel levered himself up, taking aim at the shooter in the front. He fired twice. And the sounds of these shots were different. Not smacking into glass or walls.
But into the shooter.
She heard a sharp groan of pain, followed by the clatter of someone falling to the floor.
Angel quickly pivoted toward the window, and with that same lightning speed, he fired two more shots.
The seconds crawled by. And that eerie silence returned.
Mia held her breath. Prayed. Waited.
She couldn’t see either shooter, but she could see Angel, and she watched his expression turn from the fierce warrior to the former cop.
Then, he said the words she had hoped she would hear.
“They’re both dead.”
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Chapter Thirteen
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Angel cursed the fog in his head. Slams of adrenaline were great for winning a fight, but the aftermath came with a high price tag. Bone-weary fatigue and a muddled brain. His body was yelling for him just to lie down and rest.
That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
Mia and he had gotten through the first part of this latest shitstorm. They’d once again given their statements to the police who’d responded to the scene. RJ and Melanie had as well, after RJ had been treated for that cut on his head. It wasn’t a serious injury which meant they’d all gotten damn lucky.
They could have been killed.
And Angel hated that luck played into something that critical. He could have lost Mia in this attack, and he cursed the gunmen for nearly succeeding in doing just that.
Now, they were dealing with the aftermath.
After seven grueling hours at the police station, they had all finally been released. RJ, Melanie and their foster girls had gone to a hotel, and Angel had brought Mia back to his place—where the grueling was continuing. They were both searching for some answers as to who had orchestrated the attack and why.
Mia had taken up her now usual position on the sofa in his office, and while she was indeed typing away on her tablet, she looked as exhausted as he was. Probably more since she hadn’t had the experiences he’d had as a cop and in the military. No. This was all new ground for her, and soon, she’d need to crash.
He only hoped she didn’t get plagued with nightmares.
Angel was about to suggest, again, that she just close her eyes and give in to the exhaustion, but he saw the silent notification pop up on his phone. It was a request for him to join a video call with Ruby. That gave him yet another hit of adrenaline, and he put the call on the wall monitor.
