He was holding a crowbar, trying to pry open the lock on the silver cabinet.

I stepped into the room, my weapon raised.

“Drop it,” I said.

He spun around, his hand reaching for his rifle.

I fired twice.

The suppressed rounds made a sharp snapping sound in the large room.

He fell back against the table, glass bowls shattering around him as he slid to the floor.

“One down,” Marcus said, moving quickly to drag the body behind the long dining table.

The second man must have heard the noise.

We heard the heavy thud of combat boots running down the hallway toward the library.

“He’s going for the main stairs,” I said.

We ran through the parlor, our feet silent on the thick Persian rugs.

The library doors were wide open.

I saw the shadow of the second mercenary moving near the grand staircase in the foyer.

The portraits of my ancestors stared down from the high walls, silent in the gloom.

Marcus flanked the left side of the foyer, moving behind the marble pillars.

I stayed near the library door, waiting for the man to show himself.