62
A splitsecond before Zeke depressed the doorbell, a man’s muffled yell had him snapping his hand back and reaching for the knife sheath looped on his belt. A quick look at Liv confirmed she’d caught the disturbance.
She motioned for him to move to the side of the door.
“No way,” he whispered in a harsh voice. Every instinct he possessed shouted for him to stand between her and danger. He didn’t want to give way. Not an inch.
“Stand back,” she said, matching his decibel level, “so I can do my job.”
The yelling continued, sweeping through the house like a toddler with a shitty diaper on fire.
Zeke wished he had a pistol. He’d intended to have Liv stop by his truck so he could grab the handgun he kept stashed inside, but then that fucker had ambushed him. It was the second time Rogers had bypassed the FBI’s parking security. When this was all done, he and Mitch were going to have words.
“Zeke, stand back,” Liv ordered again.
Trust was a bitch. In order to get it, one had to give it in equal measure. Hadn’t he said as much to his brothers on their teleconference?
A line of sweat trickled down his back as he took one step, then two, away from the door. He held his breath as Liv knocked and shouted, “FBI.”
She waited three seconds before testing the knob. The door popped open.
They both stared at the two-inch gap for a heartbeat before Liv lifted her gun and called, “Mr. Rogers, this is the FBI. We’re coming in.”
“Disgusting creature!” the guy wailed from the back of the house. “Vile, unclean whore!”
Zeke met Liv’s eyes once more, hoping she read in his gaze everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. The severity of her features softened for a nanosecond before she slipped inside.
Zeke followed in her wake. He might not be trained in how to deal with kidnappers, but he sure as hell knew how to cover his partner’s back.