The night itself whispered with dread. The breeze coming off the lake was a hiss of deadly intent. The shift of branches, the creak of the trees. Which was nature, which was a killer waiting to strike?

The fog danced slowly around her, shifting and thickening, thinning and moving through the night with hollow grace. Shadows twisted within the dense mist, came together, then drifted apart, giving her no hint to who was near and who wasn’t.

How could a man of Jonesy’s size move so silently? Surely she would have heard something.

Biting her lip, she remained in place, stiff, still, waiting. Watching. Praying. If only Zeke would get to her in time.

“He has to be bat-shit crazy to think he could get away with this, Zeke.” Alex sat beside him in the Tahoe as Zeke cut the lights to the truck and made the turn onto the graveled road leading to his house. “He’s a hunter, a fighter. He’s had military training.

Dishonorable discharge for striking an officer though his fellow officers testified that the officer struck first. If nothing else, he’s a tough son of a bitch. If he has Rogue, getting her out won’t be easy.”

“Rogue will be watching for me.” He had to believe that. She wasn’t weak; she wasn’t stupid. She would know he was coming for her, no matter how angry she had been when he left.

“Listen to me, none of these men that were in the League are operating with a full deck here,” Alex warned him as he slid ammo into the rifle he carried.

He wore a night-vision device on his head; a handgun was strapped to his thigh.

Dressed in camo with a matching cap covering his hair, the chief of Somerset’s police department looked like the Special Forces soldier he had been six months prior.

Zeke eased the Tahoe over, aware of the other men in the backseat and back cargo area.

They’d loaded up after dragging on gear they’d packed in their own vehicles. The Mackay boys believed in “just in case.” They kept everything they needed on hand just in case something went from sugar to shit in a heartbeat.

Dawg, Natches, patched but still bleeding, Rowdy, limping but still walking, Cranston, a little worse for wear, but he was in one piece. And Gene. His deputy carried a sniper rifle similar to Alex’s and his expression was as cold and forbidding as Alex knew his own was.

Shutting off the engine, he pulled his weapon from its holster, checked it, then shoved it back in place before taking the extra clips from Alex and shoving them in the large pocket of the dark camo jacket he wore.

“We’re a quarter mile from the house,” he said. “Natches, Rowdy, and Cranston will take the tunnel entrance, Alex, Dawg, and Gene and I will take the two entrances to the house.” He stared at Gene through the rearview mirror. “You’re with me.”

Gene nodded, his eyes meeting Zeke’s, his expression tight with controlled anger. They were going to have to deal with each other, and with Cranston when this was over. But for now, nothing mattered but Rogue.

“Maynard, give me that sniper rifle. He’s had time to get here; that means one of us has to be in place to take him out at a moment’s notice,” Natches informed them, his voice rough, dark with the threat of violence as Gene handed him the sniper rifle.

Trusting no one, Natches began breaking it apart quickly and effectively. Within seconds he had it down, checked, and clicking everything back into place as Dawg stored ammo in the pockets of his own jacket.

“She’s alive,” Zeke stated. “That’s all that matters.”

He was aware of the looks the other men were giving each other.

“If she were dead, the house would be in flames.” He nodded to the silent shadows ahead. There was no sign of light, no glow of a fire. “Jonesy wouldn’t leave any evidence. He’s been too careful so far; he would continue to be.”

“Unless he took her out of the house,” Cranston suggested.

Zeke ignored him.

“He wouldn’t take her out of the house,” Gene said. “Jonesy would make it look like a suicide or he’d set fire to the place. Dad told me once that the League had a silent exterminator. He never said who it was, but my money’s on Danny Jones.”

So was Zeke’s.

“Let’s move.”

They exited the vehicle silently and moved quickly along the graveled road with the night-vision devices in place. The murky green visual displayed in front of his eyes gave Zeke a moment’s pause. He rarely used night vision. But now, with the fog from the lake thickening around the mountains and hampering regular sight, Zeke thanked God for them.

With Alex, Dawg, and Gene at his back he set a fast pace toward the house. He could feel the prickling of danger now, the awareness that time was running out.

He had to get to her. God help him, he couldn’t let her be hurt, or worse, taken from him forever. At that moment, nothing mattered but Rogue. Thoughts of her twisted through his head, rage and regret and blinding pain twisted and tangled together until rage bloomed from his inability to change the danger she was in.

He shouldn’t have left her. He shouldn’t have hurt her. He should have taken more time, explained more, made things clear. He should have assured her he was coming back for her, and that they would deal with the future then. He should have told her he loved her.

Rogue could feel the danger, it washed over her skin with an oily sensation and left her shuddering to the point that she had to lock her teeth together to keep them from chattering and giving her away.

She couldn’t hear Jonesy anymore. How could a man so big move so quietly? Or was he moving? He could be doing as she was, waiting, watching.

Her muscles were cramping with her efforts to remain completely still. A tear spilled from her eyes, tickled her chin, but she refused to wipe it away.

Where was Zeke? He had to be coming. He had to be close. He wouldn’t let her be hurt.

She was only going to be able to do so much to save herself here. It wasn’t as though she carried a gun or had even borrowed one of his. And she sure as hell wasn’t strong enough for a fight against Jonesy.

Damn him. She hoped he knew he was fired now. The bastard had burned her bar?

Blown it up? How could he blow up her bar?

Son of a bitch.

God, she was scared.

She clenched her teeth tighter and hoped she was out of sight. Of course in this fog, he could be standing beside her and she wouldn’t know it.

A shudder worked over her as the dew began to seep into her thin T-shirt. The cool moisture became freezing after a while, and she didn’t like the cold.

She wanted to be in Zeke’s arms. She wanted him to hold her, wanted to be warm again against his naked flesh. She wanted a chance to kick him for using her.

She couldn’t believe he had played her so easily. Rogue wasn’t easy to play. At least, she hadn’t thought she was.

She bit her lip as she heard a shuffle of sound. Was it wind or was it death coming closer? She was dead if Jonesy found her, and she knew it.

Another shift, it could be the breeze or the sound of a footfall against the grass.

She fought the need to run, to scream.

“Bitch! There you are!”

She screamed as cruel fingers gripped her hair and jerked her up, then over the railing.

She slammed to the ground, her hands jerking to her head, nails digging into his flesh as he cursed.

“You sorry whore!”

Agony screeched through her nervous system as he jerked her up by her hair. A hard fist glanced the side of her head, momentarily rattling her before she could kick back with the heels of her boots.

Wiggling, scratching, she fought to be free as he jerked her around by the hair, his other hand moving.

The gun. He had a gun.

Her screams pierced the night as she released his arm to grip the one she knew held the gun. He shook her as her hands reached for him, causing her to fall against him. The feel of the gun at his waist had her reaching desperately for it.

His hands knocked hers aside as she felt it, as it was almost in her grasp. The blow numbed her wrists as she felt the weapon knock to the ground.

“You fucking bitch!” he yelled into the night, his fist cracking against her cheek as she struggled in his grip.

Stars exploded in front of her eyes as an edge of darkness began to seep through her mind. Rogue felt herself wavering, knees weakening as she began to fall.

He shook her and she barely felt the pain in her head until her knees collapsed and the force of her weight threatened to tear her hair from the roots.

“Where’s the fucking gun, bitch?” he screamed in her ear. “I’m going to beat the fucking hell out of you before I put a bullet between your eyes.”

It was dark, so dark. Rogue felt herself falling, felt the strength leaving her limbs.

Suddenly she was free. She went to the ground with enough force to bruise her knees.

The moment of freedom seemed to pump the strength back into her. Not a lot, just enough to scramble away before turning on her back and kicking out.

She caught him in the knees with the sharp tips of her heels, slamming them into his kneecaps and feeling a surge of triumph at his squall of pain as he stumbled backward.

Turning, she fought to crawl quickly from him. Her nails tore against the hard-packed dirt. Her hair fell over her face, blinding her further.

It was already so dark she didn’t worry about the hair. The curls tangled around her arms, her face; rocks dug into her knees and palms.

She had to be close to escape. Close enough to get to her feet and run. She paused only long enough to try to jump to her feet. As her toes dug into the ground, harsh hands wrapped around her ankles and jerked her back.

The rending of fabric where her jeans ripped at the knees infuriated her. Why that would piss her off she didn’t know, but a growl clawed from her throat as she tried to kick out at him again.

“I wanted to be nice about this.” His voice was demented, monstrous. “I would have been nice.”

The gun was in her face.

Rogue stilled. She felt the barrel pressing into her cheek, looked up, and through the fog saw the demon wielding it.

“There’s a nice way to murder someone?” she cried out. “Is that what you told Joe and Jaime, that you’d be nice? Is that what you told their grandmother?”

“No,” he sneered. “I told them to burn in hell. And that’s where you’ll burn, too.”

His finger tightened on the trigger.

Rogue’s scream pierced the night, spurring Zeke through the night as he raced to find her. The night-vision device he wore painted the world in a hazy green, but it was a clear picture of where he was going.

The house was just ahead of them. Gene was at his back, Alex off to his left, while Dawg took the right.

He couldn’t seem to run fast enough, he couldn’t get enough speed to his legs; adrenaline wasn’t coursing fast enough through his body.

Desperation filled his mind as pain seemed to sear his soul. He was too late. He was going to be too late to save her. He was going to lose her. The only woman who had ever touched his heart, and he was going to lose her if he didn’t hurry.

Her screams were digging into his head now. Piercing, filled with fury and pain. As he reached the house he jerked his gun from its holster, gripped it with both hands, and tore around the side of the house.

God, he had to run faster.

It seemed to take forever to reach the corner of the house and move around to the back deck. The fog was so damned thick he didn’t know how Jonesy had navigated through it. But Zeke could see. He could see everything in slow motion. The gun in her face; Jonesy’s finger tightening on the trigger.

“No!” he screamed out in fury as he lifted his gun, then watched as Jonesy jerked at the same moment and the back of his head exploded out into the night.

Zeke didn’t pause to think, he didn’t give himself time to worry about shooters that might not be friendly. As Jonesy toppled over Rogue’s fallen form, he jerked the other man off, threw him back to the ground, and lifted Rogue into his arms.