Hidden Away (KGI #3)(50)

Garrett scowled even harder when he found her, standing at one of the windows looking out with a worried frown. It didn’t matter if the glass was bulletproof or not. Her parading around in the opening was an invitation to anyone hunting her.

He was going to have a long talk with her about safety measures just as soon as he explained to her the magnitude of the danger she was in. Hell, everyone in the world wanted a piece of her. Resnick was probably having a kitten right this moment and would be breathing hard down Sarah’s neck. If Donovan had found Sarah, so could Resnick.

He didn’t even want to think of who else was looking for her. The break-in on the island still weighed heavily on his mind.

When he was through with his surveillance, and satisfied that an immediate threat didn’t exist, he stashed his gear between two rocks and began the slow journey toward the house. He’d get his equipment after his come-to-Jesus moment with Sarah. If he barged in fully armed, he’d only scare the shit out of her, and she was already going to have a big enough what-the-f*ck moment over his arrival. And he didn’t have chocolate to wave under her nose this time.

Since he didn’t want her to have any advance warning of his coming—she’d probably take off again—he was careful to keep his approach disguised and circled to the back edge of the property so he could access the back entrance.

Subtlety had never been his strong point, but now he warred between whether to knock like he was some casual guest—yeah, right—or just break in the back and corner her before she got any crazy notions. He was confident in his ability to talk fast once he was in.

He’d rather go in, explain later. Much more his style.

When he reached the solid wood door from the back terrace, he gave the knob an experimental tug. At least she’d locked it. He moved to the window a few feet from the door and peered in. He felt like a damn creepy stalker, and if she saw him, she wouldn’t have reason to believe otherwise.

“Get in first. Explain later,” he muttered.

She was a mission, and he shouldn’t feel like he had to apologize for making sure she was safe.

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy. Maybe you’ll believe it.”

Christ. Now he was having pu**y conversations with himself. Maybe he should have let Donovan take the job after all. It was apparent he was losing his damn mind.

After peering in, he didn’t see her, and it was likely she was still standing by the damn windows in the front. He tested the window and found it locked as well. Not just locked, but there were sticks between the top of the sill and the middle to reinforce the security. No one would get in unless they broke the panes.

So it was back to the door.

He took out the small pouch that held his “tools.” Hell, it had been a damn long time since he’d resorted to a breaking-and-entering that didn’t involve explosives. It took him longer than he’d like, but he finally jimmied the lock and carefully opened the door.

Only to find two chains that prevented it opening more than two inches.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

There was no quiet way to do this. He didn’t exactly carry around bolt cutters.

So he’d make an entrance anyway, despite his resolve not to scare the daylights out of her.

He pulled back and then rammed his shoulder into the heavy wood. It took two attempts before the chains gave way and he sprawled into the house. He hit the floor and rolled. Only to stop in front of a pair of female feet.

If he expected her to scream, panic or have an otherwise girly reaction, he was dead wrong. When he glanced upward, he was staring down the barrel of a f**king cannon. Jesus, she was holding a goddamn Desert Eagle .50 cal. When he looked higher, he met with one pissed-off woman. He dropped his gaze again to the gun to see that she had a haphazard grip around the stock, and worse, the safety was off, and her finger was curled way too tight around the trigger.

“Sarah,” he said in a low voice.

“You bastard,” she hissed. “It was you all along, wasn’t it? You weren’t there on some vacation. Someone sent you after me.”

“In a manner of speaking,” he said mildly, still keeping a very close eye on her trigger finger. “But if I’d been sent to kill you, you would already be dead.”

Confusion flickered across her face. Clearly that hadn’t been what she’d expected to hear. “Did Marcus send you?”

Interesting that she seemed to think someone else would have sent him. He’d get to that later. Right now he had to be damn convincing. “Yes. He sent me.”

Her brow furrowed and she took a step back although she kept the damn gun pointed at him, and the problem was where she had it pointed—though he wasn’t going to take the chance of pissing her off by asking her to target a different portion of his anatomy. There was a humiliating medical report he had no desire to file. Having his nuts shot off by a pissed-off woman.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she stared down at him. “Who is Marcus? And you better know all the answers or I’m going to shoot.”

There was a firm set to her chin. Her lips were pressed tight and her eyes glittered, and it wasn’t with fear. No, she seemed more than capable of shooting him just because she was pissed off.

“Can I get up?” he asked calmly.

“No. Stay down. Start talking.”

He sighed. He took a shot that Resnick knew what the hell he was talking about and hoped he wasn’t wrong. “Your brother sent me. He doesn’t want you unprotected.”