Carrie's Protector. Rebecca York
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they approached the property line, they came in low, making themselves as small a target as possible. The first real evidence that something was wrong hit Wyatt when they reached the electric fence. He threw a stone at it and was only half surprised to find that it was no longer working. Somehow the current to the wires had been disrupted.
He threw another stone, then took a chance and crept forward to touch the fence. Nothing happened. Dead as a drowned rat.
Again he considered leaving Carrie but decided against the tactic.
He was able to lift the wire fence and scoot under, then hold it for her.
She came up beside him, her gaze focused on the house.
“It’s quiet,” she whispered.
“Too quiet. You might think we’d hear the TV. Or guys talking.”
Too bad he didn’t have a pair of binoculars. But he hadn’t anticipated the need to spy on a facility that had been perfectly safe when they’d left.
His instincts warned him to turn around and get the hell out of there, but he couldn’t do it. Not when he felt an obligation to the men who’d taken this assignment with him. What if they were injured? Or being held under threat of death?
“Stay low,” he whispered.
Carrie did as he’d asked.
Taking his time, he moved forward until they came to the flat stretch, where the fields for a hundred yards around the structure had been cleared to make it difficult for anyone to sneak up on the safe house. Great planning when you were on the inside, but not so advantageous if you were trying to get close to the house.
Unfortunately, he found he didn’t have to get close to understand what had happened. The evidence was big as life and twice as plain—a body lying sprawled across the back steps.
Chapter Three
Carrie heard Wyatt mutter a curse.
Alarmed, she followed the direction of his gaze.
From her hiding place, she saw a dark-skinned man with a shaved head lying at the bottom of the back steps, his arms spread and a gun still clutched in his hand. As she realized who it was, her chest constricted painfully. The man was Gary Blain, one of the bodyguards who’d gone out of his way to be nice to her during guard duty. It looked as though he’d been trying to get away when he’d been gunned down.
She choked back a sob. Another casualty. On her account. “No.”
Wyatt put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against his side, and she turned toward him, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead against his chest.
“Well, we know why he didn’t answer the phone,” he said in a raspy voice.
“What about the rest of them?”
“We’ve got to assume they’re dead, too. Probably in the house. And Gary almost got away.”
“My fault—again,” she whispered.
“No. The bastards are determined to get you. When we escaped from the Federal Building, they probably came here. Or maybe they sent a team here as a precaution in case we got out of the trap they’d set.”
“How did they know about this place?”
“Obviously, somebody gave away this location.”
“Could they have followed you? I mean, sometime earlier?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered, but she heard the tiny note of doubt in his voice. Still, he continued, “We have to assume it’s the same person who told them about your meeting this morning.”
Carrie fought the sick feeling rising in her throat. Death and destruction were following close on her heels. It was hard to imagine everything that had happened today and harder still to believe that someone was deliberately trying to kill her. But apparently, that was what happened when you ratted on terrorists.
“What are we going to do?” she murmured.
“For starters, thank God that we didn’t go charging in there.”
“You mean thank your instincts.”
“Whatever,” he answered dismissively. “We’d better get the hell back to the car before somebody spots us.”
Even as he spoke, it was already too late. Lookouts must have been stationed in all directions, because in the next second, gunfire erupted from inside the house, and men charged outside, sprinting in their direction.
Wyatt grabbed Carrie’s hand, leading her back the way they’d come, heading for the screen of trees. Behind them she heard running feet closing the gap.
Lord, no.
“On my own turf, I’ve got a little surprise to slow them down,” he said. He reached into his pocket, pulling out something that looked like a cell phone. As they ran, he pressed a series of buttons. In back of them, small explosions began to erupt from the grass, sending sprays of dirt and stones into the air.
She heard a loud curse, as someone behind them took a hit.
The explosions continued, but Wyatt didn’t slow his pace, so she kept running beside him, her lungs burning as she struggled to keep up with him.
She was beginning to think they were in the clear when the gunfire stopped. But after the last explosion, she heard a sound that made the hair on her arms prickle. Someone must have escaped Wyatt’s trap and he was pounding along behind them.
At first the thuds were faint. Whoever was back there had lost ground because of the charges, but he was catching up, and now he began shooting as he went.
Wyatt whirled and returned fire, but his weapon was no match for his opponent’s. Unfortunately, they were still a long way from the electric fence and the car, and she could hear the pursuer steadily gaining on them.
She glanced at Wyatt, seeing the grim set of his jaw. Apparently, he didn’t think they were going to make it to the fence.
When they came to a place where the land had been contoured into several small hills and valleys, Wyatt stopped.
“Get down. And stay down, no matter what happens.”
She remembered when she hadn’t liked Wyatt. Now she obeyed his orders without question, because she knew that was the only way she was getting out of this trap alive.
Dropping behind a hillock, she dragged in great gasps of air and pressed her hand against her side, her gaze fixed on the man who was charging toward them, firing his weapon as he ran.
She ducked and slung her arms over her head, as if that would stop a bullet. Her heart was pounding as she waited for Wyatt to drop the guy. But in the next moment, Wyatt made a strangled sound and fell back against the ground.
Carrie felt her heart stop. He’d been hit!
With a whoop of victory, the gunman closed the last few yards between them and swung his weapon toward her, taking a long moment to meet her terrified gaze.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
But Wyatt obviously had no intention of letting her get murdered. He leaped from behind the mound and shot the guy in the back at point-blank range. The attacker went down with a gasp of surprise.
Wyatt charged toward her, snatching the assault rifle from the man’s grasp.
“Why didn’t you shoot him before he got so close?” she gasped as she stared at the terrorist. He was another perfectly normal-looking young man. If you saw him on the street, you never would have known what was in his mind.
“Because I only had one bullet left, and it had to count,” Wyatt answered.
He turned to look back the way they’d come, and she followed his gaze toward the bodies of two men sprawled in the