A bedroom, unoccupied and sterile. Next, a bath. He tried room after room, finding nothing except furniture and ghosts. He neared the entryway and slowed. Another camera blinked red from the ceiling. John stared straight at it.

  Wherever you are, Dane, I’m coming.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  EMMA

  Emma paced back-and-forth, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. Where was John and why hadn’t he come back for her? She pressed her lips together to keep from calling out for him. He promised to let her be a part of this and now he was going it alone, she just knew it. She reached up, fingers digging into the stucco for purchase, but it was no use. The wall surrounding the property was too high. She couldn’t scale it without help.

  Approaching the gate, she shook out her hands before grabbing the handle. She gave it a violent shake, yanking and pulling and twisting, but it was locked without an inch of wiggle. Dane didn’t want unwanted guests, but she couldn’t give up.

  As she stood there fretting, something clapped like thunder on the other side of the wall. Her eyes went wide as if she could stare through the material straight to the source. John needed her whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  Emma grabbed the sack of a dress and tugged it over her head. So much for concealment. They were beyond that now. She shoved the dress through the small gap between the gate and the wall before digging with her fingernails beneath the latch and pulling it back out. With the fabric looped around the locked latch, she fashioned a sling, knotting it securely so it wouldn’t give.

  I can do this. With a deep breath, she launched herself up, grabbing the top of the fence and propelling herself up onto her foot shoved tightly in the sling. Swing her leg over before she could talk herself out of it, Emma found a metal bar on the other side with her toes. Another deep breath and she pushed off, jumping to the ground inside the compound. The same boom sounded on the side of the house, louder now that it echoed off the wall, and Emma crouched against the gate on instinct.

  Where to go? Toward the noise or away? She had no idea. Another boom shook the house, and she ran away from it, hoping she made the right choice. As she rounded the corner of the house, Emma felt along the wall for any sort of access point. Halfway down, a small window sat head-high in the stucco.

  She reached out and felt around the frame. It was open. Only an inch or so, but she could work with that. It didn’t take long to find a planter full of desert succulents on the back patio. Emma dragged it with two hands, using the strength of her legs to propel her back toward the open window. She shoved the planter underneath and climbed on top, balancing on each side of the terracotta. As she gained a view of the inside of the room, a small red light blinked on and off in steady rhythm. An alarm? A camera?

  Sweat slicked her palms and she rubbed them on her pants before shoving her hands beneath the bottom of the window and pushing up. It opened another few inches, but that was all. Past the window glass, an interior screen blocked her access. She pressed on it, jabbing and poking with her fists, but it wouldn’t give.

  Emma cursed and jumped back to the ground, casting about for a sharp-edged piece of gravel beneath her feet. It took longer than she anticipated, but at last, she found one shaped almost like an arrowhead and climbed back on top of the planter before digging the sharpened edge into the screen. It didn’t cut.

  What? Emma leaned close, squinting into the dark interior of the room. It wasn’t a typical screen. It was made of thin strips of metal instead of a synthetic mesh. She tried again and again to cut it before throwing the rock down in frustration. There had to be a way. She dug her fingernails under and around the edge of the screen, trying to gain purchase and separate it from the sash.

  She broke first one fingernail and then another picking at the corner of the screen. At last, a single thread pried loose. Emma almost cried in relief. She kept working, picking, pulling, and ignoring the blood now dripping from her wounded index finger.

  As she dug her finger beneath the screen, she pulled, inching the woven metal from the binding along the edge of the screen. How long had she been at it? Twenty minutes? Forty? At least she finally was making progress. With a new wave of determination, Emma ripped the rest of the screen-free and shoved her arms through the opening.

  Pulling herself up inch by inch until her head, then her neck, then her shoulders breached the window, was a struggle. Emma gasped against the pain as she squeezed through the slim opening. Torn screen scratched her back as she shimmied face-first into the room.

  Her knees scraped the sill and she landed with a thud on a tile floor. Lingering remnants of steam turned the dry air moist. She was in the bathroom and the window had been open as a vent. It all made sense.

  She rose, ignoring the scrapes and bruises, and the pain in her hand. She crept toward the door, feeling her way in the dim light while the little red sensor blinked on the ceiling. Whoever was inside had to know she was there. The little globe looked more like a camera than anything else.

  Emma stopped at the door, steeling herself before yanking it open. Moonlight cast a pale glow across a terracotta floor. She was off the entryway, she guessed, in a dark hallway. No sign of John.

  Rolling her feet so as not to announce her presence, she crept toward the entry. The hallway opened up into a modest vestibule, tile floor leading from the front door to the rear of the home where a large, glass door let the moonlight in.

  Emma hesitated at the edge of the shadows. She fingered the handgun shoved beneath her waistband before pulling it out. John has been right to pack light. She’d never be able to handle a shotgun in a strange house with no idea who lurked behind the corners. She took a deep breath and stepped into the light, hurrying across the open area and into a modest kitchen.

  Gloss white cabinets, gray counters. She trailed a finger over the top. Concrete. Clean, no sign of a struggle. No sign of anything at all. She hurried through the galley space and popped out into a living room. An oversized reclining chair faced the television with a dog bed beside it. Emma swallowed. She hadn’t seen a dog, at least not yet. Darkness enveloped her as she eased further into the room. Where was John? Had he not made it inside? Was he still out there, trying to find an entrance? Has she done exactly the wrong thing by heading inside?

  As her eyes adjusted, the darkness separated into two: the large, spartan living room and a sliver of barely perceptible light beneath a single door at the other end. There was someone in there. She was sure of it.

  Keeping the gun pointed toward the floor Emma eased down the hall. She paused outside the door and strained to listen. Was that a voice or just her imagination? She couldn’t be sure. She turned back toward the living room again. She should retrace her steps, clear the other side of the house. Find John and do this together like they agreed.

  If she walked in on Dane alone…

  Emma shook her head to clear it. Speculating would get her nowhere. She eased away from the door and headed back toward the kitchen and the unexplored hall. It didn’t take long to clear most of the rooms. All nondescript and empty. But as she neared the last one, a growl, followed by a scrabbling across the wood stopped her still.

  The dog.

  Emma swallowed. From the way it dug at the floor, trying in vain to escape, it didn’t sound friendly. But who would keep a dangerous animal loose in the house to snuggle up beside them while they watched TV?

  She closed her eyes. Back on the farm where she grew up, their next-door neighbor raised family protection dogs on his ranch. They were wonderful companions for the family, but still trained as lethal fighters against intruders. He shipped the gorgeous animals all over the world for celebrities and heads of state.

  Anyone who knew the commands stood a chance to be accepted. There was a whole series of them, all distinct and uncommon. She thought back. What had he used? Not Russian or Greek or English. She snapped her fingers. Latin.

  The chances of it working were almost zero, she knew. The dog would probably still want to kill her, but if not… If she could find a way to tame it, maybe she could use the animal to her advantage. At least, ease its suffering. No animal deserved to be so stressed and anxious.

  Emma crouched outside the door and spoke as calmly as possible, “Discedant!” If she remembered correctly, it meant stand down or something similar. The dog stilled. “Amica. Gratus.” She tried to convey that she was a friend, that she was welcome in the home.

  Incredibly, the dog whimpered.

  With shaky knees, Emma stood and reached for the door handle. She opened the door to find a gorgeous white shepherd, exactly like the dogs she remembered from her childhood, sitting patiently on the other side of the door. Emma held out a hand like her neighbor had taught her, palm up beneath the muzzle. The dog sniffed before wagging his tail. She exhaled in relief. Even without John, now she stood a fighting chance.

  “Veni.” The dog stood and followed her down the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  JOHN

  He checked the entire house but for the quintessential room all by itself with the light on. The one where the main character in every horror movie always ended up. He knew Dane was in there waiting for him. Laughing and mocking him while he watched countless video cameras that had announced his presence. He’d been surprised there were no henchmen here, only the dog.

  Had Dane really deployed all of his assets to hunt John down? Had he really taken out every guy still loyal? It seemed hard to believe, but stranger things had happened in the last few weeks than even John had been prepared for.

  No more waiting. He opened the door.

  “It’s about damn time. Thought maybe you were too much of a chickenshit to confront me face-to-face.” Dane leaned back in a leather chair holding his handgun of choice, a Beretta 9mm, casually on his knee like it was nothing more than a letter opener or a glass of scotch.

  “You look well.”

  “Don’t lie. I look like shit. So do you.”

  Dane was right, of course. The end of the world did that to most men. He jerked his head toward the door. “Nice dog you got. You starve him so he thinks every stranger is his next meal? Or does he just like the taste of human meat?”

  “You remember that drug lord we busted in Idaho a few years ago?”

  John scoured his memory. “That guy with the ranch and a thousand head of cattle?”

  “That’s the one. Raised guard dogs on the side. Will kill any intruder, but is sweeter than pie to his owner.”

  “It didn’t kill you?”

  Dane shrugged. “Maybe I got that woman of his to give me the commands. I can be pretty convincing.”

  John’s stomach soured. He didn’t want to know. He stood there silently contemplating what to do as Dane drummed two fingers on the barrel of the Beretta. “How are we going to play this?”

  Dean cocked an eyebrow. “I thought that part was obvious. At some point you make a move, I shoot you. We’re finally done with all this.”

  John snorted and shook his head. “Why? Why now? You’ve got this place. It was wrapped up like a supermax before I got here. You could’ve lived out your glory days all alone, you and that dog. Now you got a hole in the wall and death staring you in the face. It didn’t have to be this way.”

  “You should’ve done your job.”

  “That’s what this is all about? Me following orders, me doing your bidding like always?” John shook his head as the anger built. “Was I never allowed to leave? Never allowed to change my mind?”

  “Dane leaned forward and the back of the chair snapped into an upright position. He set the gun on the desk and ran his tongue across his lower lip before speaking. “Hasn’t this job always been a little Hotel California? You’ve always known that.”

  “I’m not the only one who tried to disconnect from you.”

  Dean pressed his lips into a line and broke eye contact for a moment.

  “What’s different this time? Why couldn’t you just let me go?”

  “Some of the other guys,” Dane began. “I always knew they were short-term operatives. Not heavy hitters. Not in it for the long haul. But you,” Dane picked up the Beretta and waved it in John’s general direction. “You never failed. Never wavered. If there was anyone I could count on to do the job, it was you. I never once questioned your loyalty. Your devotion.”

  John didn’t know what to say. All this time, he thought Dane hunted him to avenge Willy, but that wasn’t it at all. He felt like a circus monkey who didn’t want to dance anymore. “That’s all this was ever about? Me doing what I was told?”

  “It’s been about a lot of things, John. That was one of them.” He inhaled and put both feet on the floor before leaning forward across the desk. His movements were controlled and calculating, but John saw the rage simmering underneath. Dane was angry. Hurt. He was never going to let this go. “How about you just hand over your weapon now and be done with it.”

  John tightened his grip on the Sig Sauer. “Not a chance.”

  Dane exhaled, thick and heavy. “Fine, but you’re going to lose. I’ve always been a better shot.”

  “This doesn’t have to end this way.” John didn’t know why he said it. Maybe Dane did still have a hold of him somehow. Maybe he always would.

  Dane smiled, but it was cold and hollow. “Of course it does.” He lifted the Beretta and John ducked, giving himself a bit of cover behind the closest chair.

  As he braced for the bullet sure to follow, the door swung open, and a blur of fur burst into the room. John recoiled as the dog sped past him, leaping up and over the chair before landing half on the desk and half on Dane. His former boss, the man who controlled his life for years, cried out like a stunned child as the dog toppled him to the floor.

  “Oppugnatio!” Emma’s voice called out, strong and true, and the dog lunged for Dane’s throat. His Beretta fired a single shot, and Emma screamed. “No!” She rushed forward as John finally snapped into action.

  He dove past her, rushing toward Dane and the dog. As he rounded the edge of the desk, John brought the handgun into position. He caught sight of Dane, grimacing as the dog went for his throat, gun arm twisting to fire again.

  Without hesitation, John took aim. The bullet sailed past the ball of white fur and lodged itself straight between Dane’s eyes.

  “Discedant!” Emma called out in anguish.

  The dog released its hold on Dane’s throat and eased off his one-time owner. John rushed forward and checked the man’s pulse. He was gone.

  “Is he?”

  “Dead? Yes.” John turned toward Emma. She stood above him, white shepherd at her side, red hair wild and free around her face like Diana the Hunter. “How on earth?”

  She smiled down at the dog. “I grew up on a farm, I thought I told you that.”

  He waited.

  “Our neighbors raised protection dogs. Delivered them all over the world. He always said he was the only one who worked with white shepherds. Said they were disarming. No one expected them to be trained to kill.”

  John glanced down at Dane’s body and the blood pooling around his head. “In Idaho?”

  “Yep. I used to help with the training of the pups, socialization, that sort of thing.”

  John blinked.

  “What?”

  He didn’t know where to begin. “I’ll tell you later.” He rose and reached for her. “For right now, a thank you is enough.” With an outstretched hand, he pulled her toward him. The dog growled.

  Emma reached out a hand and ran it over the animal’s fur. “Amica.” It stilled.

  John held her a bit away from his body. “You sure he’s not going to kill me?”

  “She’s a good girl. Just had a bad owner for a while. In time, I think she’ll be fine.”

  John shook his head. “I’ll just have to trust you on that.” He pulled Emma close, kissed her, and the weight of the past decade fell off his shoulders. He was still the same man who’d done all those horrible things, but Emma brought out the best in him. Emma turned him into someone worth knowing.

  Someone worth saving.

  She broke contact first. “Is it over?”

  “Not quite.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm, but John smiled. “The threat is eliminated, but we have a bit of housekeeping to do.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  John motioned toward the open door. “This house, the garage. We’re not leaving until we destroy all the equipment, intel, and weapons, and ensure no one can come after you ever again.”

  Emma relaxed in his grip. “What about him?”

  John glanced again at Dane’s body. “I say he stays right here. Rotting where he lived. Behind a desk, like a coward.” He wrapped his fingers in Emma’s and tugged her toward the door. “Come on, there’s got to be some food in here and I bet I’m not the only one who’s hungry.”

  Emma said something indecipherable to the dog and it trotted, tail wagging, toward the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  EMMA

  Three Months Later

  A wet nose nudged Emma’s arms and she smiled as she turned toward the back of the Jeep. “I know you’re excited, but you’ve got to hang on. We don’t even know if they are still here.”

  She twisted back to the front as John eased the Jeep off the main road and onto Vince’s rutted, muddy drive. Fall had been unseasonably wet this year, dumping enough rain to green the now fallow fields of east Texas. Emma reached out and squeezed his hand. “You ready for this?”

  His face broke into a grin, and it warmed her insides. The last few months, just the two of them and Noelle, as Emma had named the white shepherd, had transformed John. As the horrors of Dane and everything he’d done receded into the background, he’d become the man Emma always knew he could be. Warm, kind, devoted.