Читать книгу Mountain Retreat - Cassie Miles - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Before the bullets flew, Nick had suspected trouble. His beautiful, brilliant Sidney never forgot anything, especially not the locking-up procedures when she left the house. She knew to leave a light burning.

His right arm flung around her slender waist. He scooped her off her feet and pulled her against him as he flattened his back against the brick wall beside the front door. Bullets tore through the opened door and cut into the night.

Still holding Sidney, he stepped off the concrete stoop and ducked into the space between the shrubbery and the red brick wall. “Stay down,” he said as he drew a Glock 9 from his ankle holster. He fired two shots toward the open door to let the intruders know he was armed.

It had taken a lot of negotiation to convince Hawthorne to allow him to carry a firearm, and his talk had been worth every minute. The gun felt good in his hand. When it came to survival, Nick trusted himself more than anyone else.

Special Agent Phillips and the other Fed who had been the driver were out of the vehicle and moving toward them.

“You good?” Phillips called out.

Nick gave him a silent okay signal and then motioned him toward the live oak at the far left side of the front yard. He assumed the two agents would know enough to avoid the sight line from the front window. After he turned Sidney over to their protection, he’d go back to the house and catch the sons of bitches who set up this ambush. Shielding her with his body, he crept under the window ledge toward the corner of the house.

“Where are we going?” she whispered.

“I’m taking you to Phillips. He’ll get you to safety.”

She balked. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

He hadn’t expected resistance. “It’s better if you’re out of the way.”

“Not if I’m armed. I can help.”

His attitude shifted from mild surprise to downright shock. Six months ago, Sidney hadn’t known how to handle a weapon.

A fresh blast of gunfire exploded behind them. Shards of glass from the shattered front window rained over them. He looked down at the delicate, pale oval of her face. Her jaw was set. Her clear blue eyes showed no fear.

“You don’t know how to shoot,” he said.

“I learned,” she said, cool as ice. “It’s not a difficult skill, and I have excellent hand-eye coordination.”

“Why?”

“I thought I might have to go to Tiquanna and rescue you. Learning to handle weaponry seemed prudent.”

The idea of Sidney charging into the palace of a Third World dictator gave him pause, but he didn’t dismiss the notion. She was a remarkable woman. “For now, let’s do it my way.”

“I’m tired of people telling me what to do,” she said, “and that includes you, Nick. I’m part of this operation.”

“I won’t let you risk your life.”

“Ditto.”

“We can’t stay where we are.” He nudged her forward. “Stay low and run toward the live oak where Phillips and the other agent are waiting. I’ll cover you.”

“And you’ll follow me,” she said. “Promise that you’ll be right behind me. If you aren’t, I’ll come back for you.”

“Just go.”

As she stepped out from the shrubbery, he dodged to the right and fired into the house through the shattered front window. From the corner of his eye, he saw her make it to the tree. Though he would have preferred heading to the rear of the house, he ran behind her.

Sheltered by the shade tree, Nick took command. “Phillips, you stay here and keep them pinned down. I’ll go around to the back door and do the same. I want to take these guys alive.”

“I assume that Special Agent Phillips has already called for backup,” Sidney said, again surprising him with her savvy comprehension of a dangerous situation. “If we keep the gunmen contained in the house until the others arrive, we’ll have the manpower to take them.”

Phillips gaped at her, and then stared at Nick. “What the hell’s going on with y’all?”

Nick didn’t have time to explain. “Get her to safety.”

“I can help,” she said. “Give me a weapon.”

In her short denim skirt and gingham shirt with her blond hair tucked behind her ears, she looked about as dangerous as Cowgirl Barbie. But he knew better than to doubt her abilities. “There’s no reason for you to take any risks.”

“I could say the same to you.”

But this was his job. He’d been trained for combat. He knew how to handle himself. “I’ll stay safe.”

After another burst of gunfire from the house, Nick separated from the others and emptied the bullets from his Glock 9 into the front of the house. He loaded a fresh clip and ran, returning to the left side of the house, where he ducked down. Remembering the floor plan of their little bungalow, he knew that the windows above him opened onto a dining room that attached to the kitchen. The only exits from the house were the front entry and the kitchen door. He eased toward the rear of the house.

Stark, silvery moonlight glistened across the backyard patio and the waist-high chain link fence. Nick was painfully aware that he wasn’t in a simple village in Tiquanna, where danger was a way of life. The complications of being in Austin were wide and varied. When lights went on in the house next door, he prayed that his neighbors had the good sense to stay inside. From down the street, he heard dogs barking. If this firefight continued, there were sure to be casualties.

Scanning the yard, he decided that the best vantage point for watching the kitchen door would be at the far side of the backyard, but that area offered little in the way of cover, and he wasn’t carrying another ammunition clip. Every shot had to count. His best option was to stay where he was and fire at anyone who came through the door. He wanted to take these men alive, to find out why they were coming after him.

If this attack had been arranged by the underfunded Tiquanna rebels, he didn’t expect sophisticated weaponry. They’d wear bulletproof vests but not body armor. How many of them were there in the house? He’d seen flashes from at least two weapons.

He heard more gunfire at the front of the house. The longer he waited for the gunmen to make their move, the greater the risk that somebody was going to get shot. Nick had to take the fight to the rebels.

Ignoring the chronic ache from a sprained ankle that hadn’t healed correctly, he vaulted the chain link fence and approached the kitchen door. The interior of the house was dark. There were shouts from inside and more gunfire.

From the street at the front of the house, he heard a police siren and winced. He could have handled the situation with two other marines. Now he’d be dealing with cops, Texas Rangers and backup from the CIA...and Sidney. He couldn’t help being proud of her. She’d learned to shoot and had been planning to take on the whole country of Tiquanna to engineer his rescue. He regretted every minute he’d been away from her and every lie he’d ever told her.

Red and blue cop lights flashed like fireworks through the branches of the trees, lighting up the neighborhood. There were shouts and more chaotic gunfire. The situation was slipping out of control. If he hoped to take these guys alive, he needed to rein it in.

A young, fresh-faced Texas Ranger with a handgun appeared at the back gate.

“Don’t shoot,” Nick said. “I’m on your side.”

“Put down your gun.”

Nick couldn’t blame the kid. If they’d traded places, he would have done the same. Another Ranger joined the first. Now there were two of them, yelling at him to disarm himself.

“Stand down.” The order was barked with the authority of a marine. Lieutenant Butler had joined the Rangers. “He’s on our side, boys.”

There was an explosion at the front of the house. It sounded like a grenade, but Nick guessed it was a flash-bang device that made a lot of noise and fired off thick smoke to drive the gunmen from the house.

The kitchen door flung open and two men wearing balaclavas rushed through. Nick was caught between the Rangers and the masked men. He pivoted and aimed at the rebels.

Bracing himself, he shouted, “Drop your guns.” He repeated the command in Spanish. For a moment, it looked as if they might obey. Then three other armed cops came around from the front and opened fire. Nick dropped to the ground.

When the smoke cleared, the two masked men were sprawled facedown on the concrete patio. Two of the Rangers had also been shot. Their cries and moans struck a familiar chord in Nick’s memory. The stink of blood and gunpowder dragged him back in time to other battles, other attacks. Adrenaline pumped up his senses. He staggered to his feet.

He didn’t seem to be injured. By some miracle, he had been spared. Stumbling, he approached one of the downed rebels and yanked the mask from his face. He’d been shot in the head, but enough of his features remained for Nick to identify him. His name was Rico.

Agent Phillips dashed into view. “I don’t want you to worry, Nick. She’s going to be all right.”

Sidney. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

* * *

SIDNEY WASN’T HAPPY about the blatantly obvious police presence in front of her house. Most of her neighbors were still strangers, and this wasn’t how she wanted to be introduced. Still, making a bad first impression might be the least of her worries. Number one was, of course, that she and Nick had been targeted, which validated Special Agent Hawthorne’s insistence on safe houses. Number two, Sidney had been injured. She sat on the rear step bumper of one of the two ambulances with a bandage wrapped around her upper left arm.

A bullet had grazed her. Though the EMT told her she needed stitches, he also assured her that the wound wasn’t serious. She clenched her jaw, telling herself that it didn’t hurt even though the straight slash across her biceps stung like hellfire. The EMT had given her something for the pain, but it hadn’t kicked in yet. If only the bleeding would stop... Her bandage was already soaked through. Nick was going to be upset.

When she saw him plowing through the mob of law enforcement officers like a running back crashing toward the goalposts, she stood and adjusted the black POLICE windbreaker draped over her shoulders so he couldn’t see the bandage.

His thick black hair—though neatly trimmed—stuck out in spikes. The lines in his face seemed to be etched more deeply, and he looked much older than his thirty years. This was a part of her fiancé that she didn’t know. She’d never seen him in action. The battle-tested marine who had experienced the devastation of war and who risked his life on a daily basis was a good, brave, admirable man. She wanted to be closer to him, but he kept his warrior spirit hidden.

As he approached, she could tell that he intended to embrace her, which was really going to hurt her arm. She held up a hand, bringing him to a halt.

“This wasn’t my fault,” she said. “Phillips wouldn’t give me a weapon, and I was trying to obey orders and go back to the vehicle, but others kept arriving and—”

“Were you wounded?”

“It’s nothing serious.” She turned away from him, hoping to hide the bandage. “A couple of stitches and I’ll be good as new.”

Gently, he removed the windbreaker. When he saw the bandage, he inhaled a sharp gasp. “You need medical attention.”

“Several other people have been wounded. The EMTs have their hands full.”

“You’re pale, Sidney. Have you lost a lot of blood?”

“I don’t think so.” But she did feel a bit dizzy and unsure on her feet. “I took a pill.”

“You could be going into shock.” He wrapped the windbreaker around her again and held her against his chest in such a way that her left arm was untouched. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so damn sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I never should have left you alone.”

Agent Victoria Hawthorne, wearing her own black windbreaker with CIA stenciled across the back, charged toward them. “Get in the back of the ambulance, both of you.”

Glaring at her, Nick gestured toward the battlefield on their front lawn. “How the hell did this happen?”

“A misjudgment,” she snapped. “Do what I say. I need to get you both out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

Angrily, she gestured to the back of the ambulance. “Let’s move. We’ll talk on the way.”

After Sidney refused to lie on the gurney, Hawthorne shoved it out of the way and they sat on plastic-cushioned seats with minimal seat belts. Wall space and drawers held an array of medical equipment, including oxygen tanks, defibrillators and stethoscopes. She reached for a blanket to cover her bare legs and settled back on the seat as they pulled away with the siren blaring.

Hawthorne barked into her cell phone, snapping out instructions to her staff. Sidney figured that if anyone should be offering an apology, it was the thin, angry senior agent. She was the one who gave the okay for Sidney to go home without having her house checked out first.

Her skeletal hand, holding the phone, dropped to her lap. She spoke loudly so they could hear her over the siren. “The only way this operation could be arranged so quickly was with prior knowledge. We have a leak, a mole.”

“At the CIA,” Nick said.

“I don’t know. Several other agencies are involved in this operation, including Marine Intelligence.” With a disgusted snort, she shook her head. “I never should have allowed you to come to the house with your fiancée.”

“Thank God you made that misjudgment.” His voice was cold, hard and angry. Sidney had never heard him speak so harshly. “If I hadn’t been along, she would have walked into this ambush by herself, defenseless and vulnerable.”

Hawthorne pinched her lips together. “Not necessarily.”

“They would have taken Sidney hostage, used her to get what they wanted.”

The ambulance careened around a corner, and she was thrown against his shoulder. Her wound still ached, but she appreciated the warmth of the blanket over her knees and the jacket around her shoulders. A comfortable heat spread through her, and she felt her eyelids begin to droop. Though she had plenty to say to Hawthorne, it was a struggle to merely stay alert.

“There’s been a change in plans,” Hawthorne said. “We’ll swap vehicles shortly, and you will be taken to the safe house.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Sidney,” he said.

“Understood.” She gave a terse nod. “For now, you’ll be staying together.”