Page 104 of Viper

“On my go,” he whispered in the mic.

“Copy,” Striker and Havoc said.

He inched forward, staying low as he moved out from behind the furniture. He reached the glass door and tried the handle.

It didn’t budge.

“Picking the lock now.”

He tucked his weapon into his waistband, then retrieved his lockpick set from his vest and slipped the tools inside the tiny slit. Metal tinkled on metal.

The lock gave away.

“Go.”

The barely audible steps behind him told him his friends had his six. He pulled his gun from his back and stepped into the living room. He moved the weapon from side to side, his system hyperaware.

A white leather couch was pushed up against the wall beneath a window. A TV sat on an entertainment stand and beyond that was a dining room and kitchen.

Moonlight streamed in through the windows. His pulse drummed in his ears. Tension wound his muscles as tight as wire.

“Clear,” he murmured into the mic.

Havoc gestured toward the set of stairs leading down. Striker motioned that he’d take the set going to the top level.

Troy nodded toward the short hallway that housed the bathroom and bedroom—where he’d found Paige last time.

He cut across the floor, his boots moving soundlessly on the tile. Bringing his back to the wall next to the bathroom, he peeked inside the empty room then motioned for Striker and Havoc to head upstairs and down, covering them.

No movement came to target his men. In fact, the boat was eerily quiet. Unease skittered over his skin.

Something wasn’t right.

He moved swiftly over the floor, bumped open the bedroom door, and aimed toward the bed.

Nothing.

The king-sized bed was neatly made. Sliding wood doors caught his gaze. He pushed one side open and leaped back a step with his finger on the trigger.

Empty.

He expelled a breath. Where the hell were they? They’d moved inside only minutes before. He couldn’t have missed them.

He stalked out of the bedroom just as Havoc came upstairs and Striker down.

“Anything?” he asked softly.

“Negative,” Striker reported grimly.

Havoc gave one solemn shake of his head.

“What the fuck?” he muttered. Then into his mic: “Inside’s clear. Reaper, what’s your sitrep?”

“No change in situation. Over.”

Striker met his eyes. “Where the hell are they?”

Panic fluttered in his chest. “I don’t fucking know.”