Free Gambled - A Titan Novella by Cristin Harber Page A

speak, and she shook her head.
    Well, damn it. Let’s do this. “I love you.”
    She nodded again.
    All right then. She followed the rules, like he did more often than not. Time to get this mission moved into the done column.
    He left her with the binoculars and checked the perimeter of the house to confirm his initial assumptions. Security was minimal. The trafficking group was relaxed, treating this house as a safe spot. Definitely an advantage .
    Brock took Sarah’s hand in his, and they maneuvered until it was time to crawl across an open lawn. At his cue, she handed him her package of flashlights and then belly crawled to a row of air conditioning units.
    He moved to the front door, set a remote charge, then ducked past a side door to a hedge line. After unbundling the flashlights and then a few laser-sighted scopes, he pushed them into the bushes, using the twigs and branches to hold each in place.
    They pointed toward the door, and he clicked them on. The bush was lit up, polka-dotted with white streams of flashlight and the red lasers of the scope sights. The bushes beamed at anyone who exited the side door. It looked like a lot of armed men hid in the bushes with their scopes sighted on the side door. Good .
    A few seconds later, Brock was by Sarah’s side and shoving a mixture of paper and garbage into a ventilation point. They had only a few seconds before someone saw the lights outside. “You ready?”
    She gave a thumbs-up then held out one matchbook, keeping another for herself. Her fingers grazed his knuckles with the exchange. It stopped his heart and reminded him how much was on the line. But she wasn’t staring doe-eyed at him. Her face was concentrated. Focused. God, he loved her.
    All right . Go time. He struck the matches, lit the kindling, and kissed her cheek before running around the corner.
    Time ticked by. Each nanosecond an eternity. Sarah was supposed to keep the kindling lit, stuffing more papers in when the burners turned to ash.
    Smoke faintly scented the air. It would be overwhelming soon enough with those fast-burn papers, giving off a chemical smell. Brock hit the remote button for the blasting caps. The front door exploded.
    Inside, yells and orders to move sounded. With the front door assumed as the breaching point, the traffickers would take defensive action initially. Anyone important would be hustled to the line of waiting cars behind the house, via the closest exit—the side door.
    As expected, the side door flew open. Weapons drawn, they fired at the flashlights and scope beams, battling with the bushes. Brock watched for the girl. Watched and waited. No kidnapped girl. Only a semi-guarded man with a flak jacket haphazardly covering his chest was rushed out the door. Must be their head honcho . Not his mark, but damn if Brock didn’t want to take the bastard out. But he couldn’t do so without giving away his location.
    By now, Sarah should have been safely positioned on the outskirt of the fence, ready to meet him and the teenager. Vehicles peeled down the driveway, deserting the house. Good defensive move on the trafficker’s part, but bad news for his extraction target. Either the teenage girl was sold already, or she hadn’t lived through the initial pickup.
    He needed to double-check. Just to be certain. Even if only to report back a grim truth. Brock ducked inside, sweeping his gaze and clearing each room. No girl.
    First floor. Done.
    He moved fast up the stairs. No telling if the trafficker’s security team had called for reinforcements or planned to drop their boss someplace safe and were regrouping to battle. Brock continued his fast inspection. Last room. He cracked the door.
    The girl.
    Thank God.
    But why had they left her? Probably dead. No blood. No obvious sign of trauma, but she didn’t move.
    Her hands were cuffed to one of several metal hooks in the wall. Brock’s stomach turned, knowing that, at one time or another, each hook had had a poor girl tied to