Chapter 118

118

Gunnar crept through the basement toward the back stairs. They'd come out near the laundry room, and garage. Miguel would most likely come down the front stairs—they were the closest to the bedroom Miguel would have found his way in. It would have been Powell's old bedroom as a child—there was a balcony up there, with white furniture and beautiful French doors. She'd told him she'd often study out there as a teenager.

This house was too damned soundproof for him to be able to hear what was happening above.

He was just going to have to assess the situation when he got to the situation. And trust in his teammates to have his back.

To have Powell's.

He pressed on the wound in his shoulder. It hurt like the fires of four hells, but he was just going to have to make do. He wasn't stopping until he had his woman back. Period.

And then? Then he was going to rip the Grundenmans into a million pieces.Mostly for Powell—but a little for Heather, just for good measure.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the small hall at the rear of the house. He could see the light of the side sitting room. He knew that was where they were.There were two entry doors—large, open arches—into that room. One on the north, one on the west. Two couches would be all that would provide any cover. And there were a set of elaborate French doors that led to the side yard that faced the park.

Gunnar was almost to where he could cut across the formal dining room, the one the Barratts' didn't use much, when the side door to Mason's office swung open.

And a man stepped through.

The guy cursed, raised the weapon in his hand.

It was too late for him.

Gunnar slammed the .38 in his own hand into the son-of-a-bitch's head. The guy went down to his knees. Gunnar confiscated the guy's gun. It looked suspiciously like his own missing service weapon. Imagine that. "This will come in really handy."

Gunnar grabbed him and yanked him back up. He pressed his own fully loaded gun to the man's temple. "You make a sound, and it's dead. You got me?"

The man nodded.

"Walk. One slow step at a time. That's my woman in there, and I have nothing to lose right now. I will drop you like bird shit right at her feet. And laugh about it. I am not in the mood for stupidity. This is not the kind of romance I had planned for my evening. And now I am beyond pissed. I am angry, very, very angry. Do you understand me?"

The guy just nodded.

Gunnar muscled him down the hall.

He heard voices now. Distinctive.

"What was that? It sounded like something breaking," a man said, an almost hypertense tone in the words.

"I suspect it's your boy toy upstairs breaking something. I don't think they are exactly housebroken," Heather said next. So tauntingly.

That woman had balls of steel. No denying that.

Gunnar shoved his new friend into the living room, blocking the door to the front parlor with his own body. That eliminated one way the guys inside could escape.

He just paused there for a moment, the gun to the man's head. He looked for her.

He would always look for one Powell Melissa Barratt.And never stop looking until he found her.

And there she was. The woman who meant the world to him. "Hi, sweetheart. Did you miss me?"

" Gunnar! You're…here. You're right here!" He would never forget the pure joy and love in her eyes when she looked at him. "I thought he said...you're bleeding."

"This? Just a little scratch. I am in a bit of a bad mood, right now, though." She was too close to the younger Grundenman for his liking.Her father was sprawled in the middle of the overly large sitting room, almost to the arched entry to the family room.

Heather stood quickly; she held her weapon pointed at the older Grundenman now. "See, Timmy Three, you have always thought you were smarter than me. And we just all know that isn't true. Did you honestly think I came in here all alone? Did you seriously think I would be that stupid? Or that Powell wouldn't send me a message for help? Did you?"

Then Miguel was there in the north door. There was blood on him and an almost feral look on his face."Well, well, well. Party started without me."

"Miggy, are you bleeding again, dear?" Heather asked almost chidingly. There was a great deal of blood on the other man's shirt. "We have discussed this bad habit of yours too many times before."

"Not my blood."

"That doesn't make it okay, dear. It just doesn't. I have told you too many times before."

"Well, most of it isn't mine. May have cut my arm on some glass upstairs. It just…incentivized me a bit." Miguel shrugged and grinned. He looked so damned fierce and terrifying, Gunnar almost laughed.

Especially seeing the streak of what had to be pink finger paint on the man's jeans. What a contradiction the man was.

"Enjoy yourself tonight, Mig? You get to crush a skull or two upstairs?"

"Just one, Gun. Can honestly say I did enjoy it too. I've been feeling a bit tense lately, needed the outlet..." Miguel looked at Powell. "Sorry about the carpet in your old bedroom. And…your French doors. I needed a way in—a big enough way in. I couldn't quite shimmy through the basement window like your man could. Your parents will have to replace them."

"Small price to pay to see you again, Commander Rodriguez," Powell said calmly. She wasn't panicking.Of course not, Powell didn't panic. At least, she never let it show. "You sure you aren't hurt too badly?"

"Just a little scratch. Honey, I want you to step a few steps toward me, okay?" Miguel said, keeping his weapon steady on Timothy Grundenman.

"My dad…"

"Would want you to take a few steps toward me, too," Miguel told her firmly. "Trust me on that."

"Powell, do as Mig says," Heather told her. "Gun, Mig and I need to decide what we are going to do here now. Did anyone bother to bring cuffs to this little party? I seem to have left all my cuffs in my lingerie drawer tonight. I do have a roll of duct tape in my pocket, though. What's…left anyway. I suspect Hazel Hope bought this roll—it is covered with pink and purple hearts. She has a really girly side, loves the color purple, you know."

"I'll keep that in mind," Miguel said, stepping toward Powell a bit more. Gunnar understood the man's plan.

Miguel was going to put himself bodily between Powell and Timothy Grundenman. He'd just earned Gunnar's loyalty for life.

"I'm usually much better prepared than this. I do apologize," Heather said. "I've had a bit of a rough month, and everything. Entirely your fault, Tim. Yours and Timmy Three."

Gunnar forced the man in front of him to his knees. "Hands on your head."

The guy did as he was told. He was shaking from fear.

Hell, Gunnar wouldn't be surprised if the punk pissed himself soon.Heather tossed Gunnar the tape. It had glitter too . He ignored the pain in his chest, and made short work of taping the guy's hands. And feet. He wasn't going anywhere.

Gunnar ignored a rush of dizziness. He wasn't about to let weakness show.

"Well, I see you found Perv Number Four," Heather said, looking at that man. "He likes small women, Gun. He told your Powell all about it. Hands all over her, too."

"Well now, so that's him? I've been waiting a long time to get my hands on him." Gunnar grabbed the guy's shoulder. Squeezed until the guy cried out. He stopped short of breaking the guy's collar bone. One of the hardest things he had ever done. "He's going to be a good boy. Since I'm in a bit of a bad mood now. I planned to spend a nice family dinner razzing my girl's older brothers about their love lives tonight, you know. Rumor has it Alex is pining for little Cara Coleson, and someone said Mac might have a real burning thing for Heather or something."

"Not bloody likely," the Heather in question said. "I'd be way too much for a man like Mackie Mac McBarratt."

"But it would be really fun to watch," Powell said.

"What are you fucking going to do?" Trey Grundenman asked, smirking. Like he was still in control here. Even with Miguel pointing his forty caliber at him. "You're cops. The good guys. You can't exactly just kill us or anything. You have to follow the rules," he said after Miguel introduced himself, his job title, and ordered Trey to surrender. They had to at least say it to cover TSP ass.

"Really? Haven't you heard? The TSP is corrupt. Dirty. I know you have friends there still. They should have told you," Heather said. "Let's see...Kimball, Costovia, Callahan—I never met that one, though—Bell, of course. And, well, Steve. Hard for me to forget him. He's not here in front of me, but you are. I'd hate to overreact and everything, kill you for revenge or something. We can kill all three of you right now, and just...say you fired first. We'd be believed too. How is that for a kicker? Being believed. You broke into this fine family's home and held them hostage too. You are the bad guy, Timmy Three. You are. And surprise. Your time is up."

"Already killed one guy tonight anyway," Miguel said, still grinning.Almost whistling.

"The one upstairs? I was wondering what I should do about that one while I dealt with the fam in here. So...thanks for that. You're a real pal, Mig," Heather said.

"Anytime. Told you before, I'd kill for you in a heartbeat. It's what a good friend does, after all. Which one should I start with in here? I know my choice. Did I ever tell you that men who go after other men's wives really push my buttons?"

"I believe you have, Miggy, dear. I believe you have. That day we picked up your baby girl at the hospital and everything."

They had control of the situation now, mostly. But with Powell and her father still caught in the middle, Gunnar wasn't going to do anything stupid. Neither would Heather or Miguel.

Not while Trey Grundenman still had a gun.

And it was pointed at the one woman they were determined to protect.