Page 31 of Long Past Deadly

“I know.” She closed the subject and punched in the code on the keypad. The door clicked open and she stepped into home, sweet home. The blue throw she’d used while reading the night before their wedding lay skewed over the edge of the sofa, but everything else was in place. She moved toward the kitchen, arranging a to-do list for cleaning, shopping, and decorating in her head.

“Stop!” Behind her Hunt dropped the bag, shut the door, and pulled his weapon in one split-second maneuver. “Come back to me.”

She didn’t huff, argue, or stand her ground. When Hunt used his urgent tone of voice, it meant danger. She hurried to him. Staying silent, she waited for him to explain.

He used his arm to shift her behind him. He motioned for her to stay and went forward, clearing the house like he would on the job. What had he sensed? She shifted quietly and opened the drawer in the credenza by the front door. Her eyes widened. It was empty. Where was the weapon?

She couldn’t utilize months of training with Mackey to back up Hunt without one. Her husband disappeared into the hall, doors opened and closed in barely discernable noise. Back at their bedroom, he opened the door and disappeared into the space. She watched, waited, strained to hear. He came back to the doorway, shook his head, and walked to her. “Stay with me.”

She followed him through the dining room into the kitchen – again nothing disturbed. He stopped and opened the drawer by the back door. His expression said it all. She went on tiptoes to peek around him. Gun was gone from there, too.

Hunt opened all the drawers, face getting darker and more set as he went. He signaled for her to stay in the kitchen and cleared the laundry room and family room, then backtracked to his workroom.

Key in hand, he unlocked and opened the door. His mean face was a scary sight to bad guys around the globe, but not to Cait. She accepted every part of who he was, but somebody must have breached his workroom. The room was a no-fly zone for many, many reasons, including the gun safe, the weapons, and other professional gear locked away for safety and security. But the most important one was Hunt valued his private space. His work room and their bedroom were not accessible to strangers.

He came back to the kitchen and stopped next to her. “Somebody’s been in the house and in my safe, took guns, ammunition, and clothes.”

“Who? Theft?”

Hunt shook his head. “This house is protected better than most mansions. I can’t imagine someone got in that QM didn’t identify.”

“So it was a QM person?”

Hunt went silent. Neither of them wanted to even voice the idea – those people were their friends, their colleagues, their family.

Cait turned. “You haven’t cleared the garage.”

“Let’s do it.” Once again, he put her behind him and opened the door. A smell of gas and sulfur had her pulling back. Hunt hit the switch to raise the garage door, flooding the space with light and much needed fresh air.

Cait gasped. “Quaid’s car? Oh my God.”

She tried to brush past him, but he blocked her. “Let me check first.”

“What? Is Quaid dead in the front seat?” The shrill in her voice gave away her fear. Not Quaid. Please. The man was her anchor when her husband was in deadly territory.

Hunt went down the two steps, weapon raised, and slowly maneuvered around the first aid supplies and exercise equipment.

She couldn’t stop herself. She moved to the first aid boxes, prepared to jump in when Hunt gave the word.

He eased his stance. “He’s not here, honey. No one is. Bullet holes. Some blood. But no body.”

Cait’s breath escaped in a long sigh, and she sagged against the first aid boxes. “Christ, what happened?”

Hunt put his gun in the holster at his waist and walked around the car as much as he was able. “Multiple shots. Handgun here.” He pointed to the headlight. “The other holes are a sniper rifle.”

“Two different shooters?”

“Or two guns. You better call QM and Frank.”

Cait huffed and swiped away tears, choosing anger over fear. “These men and their secrets are messing with my safe space. What’s my number one rule?”

Hunt’s eyes widened. “We go home.”

“Okay, number two rule.”

“No blood.”

Cait hissed, the air escaping clenched teeth. “Okay, rule three.”