The Colonel's Widow?. Mallory Kane
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one.”
“I’m at the door. You?”
Rook flattened his back against the kitchen door, mentally measuring the distance out to the yard. The door opened onto a small stoop and then down five steps. “Yeah. See anything?”
“Nah. I say we go on three. If you spot one, try the flash grenade, but be ready with firepower. I’ll be shooting down from the porch.” The edge in Deke’s voice cut like a razor blade through Rook’s head. He knew the tone. Deke was prepared to die to protect him. Rook felt the same way.
But it wasn’t going to happen. Not today—not ever. Deke had every reason to stay alive. He had Mindy and their newborn baby boy.
And Rook had—He gripped his machine pistol in both hands and shoved those thoughts away. “On my mark,” he growled.
“One.” He tensed his thighs and pushed to a standing position, then pulled the night-vision goggles over his eyes. It took him a second to adjust to the Matrix-like look of the world through the infrared lenses.
“Two.” He turned the key in the back door and reached for the knob, ready to angle around. Ready for anything. A heady rush of adrenaline buzzed through him, making him super-aware. He heard the whisper-light hum of a mosquito, noticed the faint cold breeze on his neck.
He took a long, slow breath.
“Three!” He slung the door open and slid around it, his finger on the trigger of the HK 416. The 416 was a heavy piece of equipment and carried plenty of ammo, but right now its weight was comforting.
A second wave of adrenaline jacked up his heart rate and sharpened his already-honed senses.
Deke’s labored breathing sounded like a windstorm above the sawing of his own breaths. His nose picked up the fresh, earthy smell of rain from the brief thunderstorm. His trigger finger tightened.
In one long stride, he crossed the stoop and put his back against a wooden pillar.
Poised to shoot, he swung out and swept the backyard with his gaze and his gun. It was empty—no shadowy figures, no sound other than rain dripping off eaves and tree branches.
Where were they? If they were his men, they’d be covering the main entrances to the cabin.
He didn’t like that he couldn’t see them. Had they circled around to the barn? Or was Deke wrong? Were there just two of them?
He shook his head. Deke was rarely wrong.
“Whatcha got?” he whispered into the com mic.
“Nothing.” Deke’s voice was laced with disgust.
“Still think there are four of them?”
“Yeah. But maybe not.”
A noise to Rook’s left had him swinging his weapon in that direction. Glass shattered.
“They breached the kitchen window with a tear-gas grenade. Ready to go? Flash grenade first?”
“On your mark,” his friend replied.
“One…” Rook hopped lightly to the ground and planted his back against the north wall of the cabin, east of the porch. The grass, wet from the thunderstorm, muffled his footsteps.
“Two…” He cradled the HK 416 in his right arm and pulled out a flash grenade with his left, noticing his arm, dark and edged with acid green, through the goggles.
“Three!”
He rounded the corner of the cabin in time to see a human-shaped green monster slink away from the kitchen window back toward the woods.
He jerked the pin with his teeth and tossed it a couple of feet beyond the man.
“Flash!” he muttered into his com unit. “Look out.”
Suddenly the yard lit up like the midway of a state fair. Even through the goggles the flare was painfully bright. Someone screeched in pain.
Then all hell broke loose.
The air around him filled with the deep rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire. The blinded enemy were strafing the yard randomly, hoping to score a hit.
And coming damn close.
Rook shrank against the wall, making himself as small as possible as a flurry of bullets zinged past him. If he could dodge them long enough, their attackers would soon be out of ammo.
If he could dodge them.
“Deke?”
“I’m okay. You?”
“Soon as they’re done wasting ammo, let’s take them. Tasers and cuffs. Then we’ll see how many buddies they’ve got.”
“Say the word.”
Rook stayed flattened against the wall until he heard the spit of machine-gun fire slow down and then stop. The volley that seemed to go on forever had probably only lasted a few seconds.
He pulled the fully charged Taser from the scabbard he’d attached to his belt and checked its setting.
Medium. He turned it to high. To the danger zone, in fact. He wanted the bastards helpless and moaning with muscle cramps.
Then, with his finger on the trigger of the HK 416, he tensed.
“Go!” he spat through the com unit.
He rounded the northeast corner of the house just as Deke appeared on the southeast end of the long front porch.
The guy who’d thrown the tear gas was dressed head to toe in black. He lurched across the bare yard toward the woods, obviously still blinded by the high-powered flash. Rook hoped Deke had the other man in his sights.
He slung the 416 over his shoulder by its strap and ran toward the stumbling terrorist. He took him down easily, zapped him with the Taser and then, ignoring his moans, cuffed him and jerked his ski cap over his eyes as a blindfold.
“Move, and I’ll shock you again.”
The man squealed in protest. His legs jerked involuntarily.
The unmistakable stacatto of machine-gun fire broke the silence.
“Deke?”
“Over here. I got two for one. Had to take one out. Got the other one trussed up like a turkey.”
“Mine, too. That makes three.”
“Hey.” Deke’s voice brightened. “Here comes the cavalry, right on time.”
As his voice faded, Rook saw the headlights. He jerked his captive to his feet by the neck of his black sweater, but the man’s legs buckled under him.
“Get moving. I’ll drag you if I have to,” Rook growled and proceeded to do just that. By the time he got to Deke his arm muscles were protesting.
Rook dumped the man onto the ground next to Deke’s prisoner and shoved his goggles up onto his forehead. “Where’s the casualty?”
Deke nodded toward the bushes that hugged the edge of the porch. At that moment, the headlights of a black SUV shone on them like spotlights, and four Secret Service agents jumped out, dressed in flak jackets with weapons at the ready. The driver stepped over next to Deke while the other two took charge of the prisoners.
“Good timing, Dan,” Deke said, nodding at the driver.
Rook glanced beyond the SUV as a second vehicle pulled up and four more flak-jacketed men emerged.
“Rook, meet Special Agent Dan Taylor, with the Secret Service. He just took over as Agent in Charge of Security around the ranch. He’s been briefed about your situation. Dan, this is Colonel Rook Castle.”
Taylor shook his hand. “Pleasure, Colonel.”
“Glad to meet you,” he said. “Deke, I’m going to