Savage Hunger(73)

“Easy, boys.” Rafferty raised his hands in surrender and grinned. “We’re good. They’re gone, whoever they were.”

“They’re gone?” Quinton snarled, holstering his gun and rising to his feet. “How the hell did they escape?”

“There were three of them. They started shooting at me when they realized I was there. But they didn’t get away unscathed. I took out a good chunk of one guy’s calf.”

“Did you recognize anyone?” Hilliard asked, lowering his gun.

Rafferty shoved his hand into pants that he’d obviously put back on outside and shrugged. “I don’t have a damn clue who those ass-clowns were.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

Warrick cursed and glanced—along with everyone else—at Sienna, who stood at the end of the hallway.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Agent Hilliard replied. “Looks like you got cut one helluva break, missy.”

Rafferty looked sharply at Quinton. “The memory wipe didn’t take?”

“Apparently not,” he drawled.

“Want me to hook her back up? We should still follow through with the orders from HQ.”

Sienna was across the floor in an instant, sidling up to Warrick and gripping his arm. He knew she was thinking of what he’d said in the hallway. And he still meant it. He would go down fighting before he let them try a memory wipe again. She was his mate, and he’d spent so long worrying about what that meant, that he’d almost lost her.

When he’d marked her he’d made a choice, conscious or not, and he would live with the result. Sienna was his to protect. And dammit, from this point out he’d do a helluva better job.

“We’re going to hold off on any memory wipe for now.” Quinton averted his gaze from the agents as he picked up large fragments of a broken lamp. “In case you haven’t realized it, boys, our safe house has been compromised. We probably should’ve relocated yesterday after that officer wandered onto the property.”

No shit. Warrick slid an arm protectively around Sienna’s waist and she leaned into him immediately.

“Looks like that officer showing up here was no coincidence and someone likely sent him,” Quinton continued. “The same someone who just shot up the house.”

“I’d like to know who in the hell blew our location,” Agent Hilliard muttered, joining Quinton in his cleanup.

So did Warrick. An officer showing up had the slight chance of being a coincidence, but an ambush couldn’t be as easily dismissed.

Quinton shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now, boys. What matters is that we get the hell out of here within the next hour, before they come back with help to finish what they started. Sun’s gone down and pretty soon we’ll have the cover of darkness to aid in our escape.”

“Where’s our rendezvous point?” Hilliard asked.

Quinton glanced at Warrick. “Boston.”

Warrick stilled, but was careful not to show his surprise. So Quinton wasn’t just sending him and Sienna alone, but all the agents as well.

“What the hell’s in Boston?” Rafferty muttered.

Hilliard grunted. “We going to the P.I.A. office there?”

“My father?” Sienna asked hopefully.

There was a moment’s silence as Quinton looked at Sienna. “Yeah. Your father.”

Warrick could sense her relief by the hot puff of air she exhaled against his neck, and the way her body seemed to go weak against his.

“I’m going to contact HQ and have them set up a direct flight tomorrow morning,” Quinton began. “But for tonight, there’s another safe house not far from the airfield. We need to move everyone, including the ferals, over there. It’s not going to be as nice a place, and there’s going to be a helluva lot less room.” He turned to Rafferty. “Call Larson, he’s off following up on the officer we wiped, and let him know what’s up.”

“I’m on it.” Rafferty plucked his cell from his black jeans and strode out of the room.

Quinton turned back to Sienna and Warrick. “Get ready. We’re leaving within the hour.”





“The hit on the safe house failed.”

Robert ducked just in time to avoid getting hit by the marble paperweight. Instead it crashed into the wall of her office behind him, leaving a sizeable dent.

Damn. Jocelyn swallowed her bitter disappointment that the object hadn’t hit him in the head. Was it possible to find a less capable man?

“We tried, my love,” he sputtered, folding his hands in front of his face as he scrambled toward the door, likely fearing another attack.

“How could you fail!” she seethed, striding after him. “I wanted everyone dead except her. But there’s no one dead. Not one. How could you screw this up? We knew exactly where they were—even had the element of surprise.”