"Okay, fair enough," he concedes, even if he'd really rather not be doing this braced against a wall in the hallway. He gives himself a moment to marshal his thoughts past the throbbing pain in his arm and the general exhaustion of this whole damn day. "They had an inside man in security," he bites out, bitter and angry still at the betrayal, at having somehow missed it. "Abrams, been here about eight months. He put the cameras at the service entrance on a loop and opened the damn door so they could get their men in."

Christ, he wants to sit down, but he settles for stripping off his suit jacket and dropping it to the floor so he can adjust the towel he has wrapped around his biceps to control the bleeding. "There were a dozen of the fuckers, the shots we were was one of the housekeeping staff startling their rear guard and getting shot. She'll live, doesn't seem like any of 'em were very good shots."

He pauses for a moment, ordering his thoughts as he retraces the intruders' route through the house. "They knew the patrol patterns, so they could avoid our men." Because Abrams told them, of course, and he's gonna take it out of the bastard's hide when he gets a chance at him. "Knew where you were likely to be." Which is how they'd gotten to him so fast. "We've got nine bodies, got a clean-up crew disposing of them, and three in custody for questioning plus the fucker who let 'em in. I'll get to them once things are settled.

"But everyone left is at least trustworthy enough they helped take the bastards down, and we've done a room by room sweep t'make sure we got them all." By we he means he, because he doesn't honestly trust men he didn't hire himself enough for that right now. "I've reviewed the security tapes, walked the perimeter, and made sure the entire system's booted back up and operating."