nearby housing.
On the other side, Tracy was making her final preparations, including pulling a black knit mask over her face, then securing a strap around her head. Nate did the same, then took a small night-vision monocular from his pocket.
Standing on the running board of the Silverado, he put it to his eye and studied the route they would take to the house. The streetlights in the area worked intermittently at best, which was good, since there were no trees for cover, only the sides of houses. Nate checked the windows for signs of observers, a moving curtain on this breezeless night, a shadow passing in front of a living-room or bedroom window or anything else that tripped his stakeout senses. He saw nothing. So far, so good, he told himself.
With Nate leading the way, they crossed a small median, then entered the block containing the gang house. On one side, one of the single-story homes had suffered a fire and looked abandoned, with empty, gaping window frames yawning wide in smoke-blackened walls. The other house was either deserted, or the occupants were asleep.
Nate crept down the narrow space between the two homes, trying to look everywhere at once, expecting a gangbanger to pop out from the shadow. He reached the end of the space, and peeked out at the gang house, only a few yards away. Putting the monocular to his eye, he scanned the back of the house carefully, finding what he was looking for on the flat roof. A guard had nodded off, apparently exhausted from keeping watch over all the partiers during the evening.
Nate pointed at Tracy, held up his hand to indicate she should stay put, pointed at himself, then at the back door.
After her nod of understanding, and steeling himself for the impact of a bullet out of nowhere, he walked slowly toward the door, every sense alert for the slightest indication they’d been made. When he reached the door, he took up a position beside it, then waved Tracy forward.
When she reached the side of the house, he removed night-vision goggles from a hard-shell container on his left hip and clicked them into place on the hands-free mount on his forehead. After checking to see that Tracy had done the same, he turned them on, and the world around him flared into sharp, brilliant, green-and-black life. They were too powerful to use on the street, where the light from the lamps would have blinded him, but in the dark backyard, they were perfect. Every detail of the squalid area around him was visible as if it were high noon. With the goggles in place over her eyes, as well, Tracy flashed him a thumbs-up, indicating she was ready to go.
Nate extracted a lock pick and torsion wrench from his kit and went to work on the back door while Tracy kept an eye out for anyone. Minutes ticked by, until he finally engaged the last tumbler and was rewarded by the lock opening with a soft click. Nate froze, but when no one showed up after another minute, he put his picks away, drew his pistol and gently eased open the door.
The inside of the house was stifling, with a pall of mar-ijuana smoke hanging over the rooms in a thick haze.
Tracy muffled a slight cough as she came inside, drawing a glare from Nate. The hallway ran two-thirds of the length of the house, terminating in the living room he had been in yesterday. Next to the hallway was a staircase that went up to the second floor. Nate pointed up, where he could hear the far-off rattle of a window air conditioner. Pistol aimed at the second-floor landing, he cautiously stepped on the first stair, near the wall, so it wouldn’t creak. Part-way up, he reached over and unscrewed the single bare light bulb from the hallway fixture. He then proceeded up the rest of the stairs, sweeping and clearing the second-floor hallway before motioning Tracy up after him.
This hall had five doors set in its walls, but Nate had eyes for the far one, the only one that was completely closed.
Sweat soaked his mask, but he couldn’t wipe his face. The harsh smoke burned his lungs, as well, but he ignored the discomfort as best as he could while he watched the hallway.
Tracy stood next to him after creeping up the stairs as quietly as he had. Nate motioned for her to follow, and they headed for the end door. Without being told, she took up a position on the far side, pistol at the ready.
The sudden crash of the pull-down staircase as it dropped to the floor behind him made Nate’s heart race.
He stepped over to Tracy, who looked as if she was preparing to take out whoever was coming down. Putting a finger to her lips, he pushed her into the shadowed corner as the wooden staircase creaked under someone’s every step. Nate half twisted and looked back to see the big man who had given him crap yesterday step on the floor with a thump that shook the entire landing.
Muttering to himself, the hulking Latino lumbered down the hall to the stairs. Nate’s free hand held his pistol, ready to fire if necessary, but he let his hunch play out first, hardly daring to breathe. He felt Tracy’s body against his own, tense as a taut steel cable, her breathing light and rapid.
Without looking up, the bruiser rumbled downstairs. As he had hoped, covered from head to toe in their black clothes and masks, Nate and Tracy blended perfectly with the thick darkness. They waited until the heavy thuds faded away on the first floor, then Nate was back at the door, warning Tracy to watch the stairs as he tried the knob again.
Turning it very slowly, he made sure it was rotated all the way before pushing inward. The door didn’t move.
Nate pushed harder, leaning his body into the wood and pushing as carefully as he could. It flexed a bit, but he knew from the resistance near the jamb that there was some kind of dead bolt or hasp lock holding it shut from the inside.
Releasing the knob, he went back to Tracy. “Locked from the inside,” he whispered.
“We need to abort,” she said.
“Hell, no, we’re too far in now. Let’s—”
The thump of approaching feet silenced Nate. He listened as the big gangbanger approached. “Stay here,” he whispered in Tracy’s ear. “Get your flashlight ready, and flip your goggles up when the door opens. Move only if he takes me down.”
Nate crept back along the hallway, stopping only to push the attic staircase back into the ceiling. Stealing to the farthest door, he held his breath and pushed it open, slipping inside just as the man-mountain hit the first step below.
A quick scan of the room revealed a slumbering form underneath a crumpled sheet on a queen-size bed. A slow-turning ceiling fan moved the hot air around. Nate closed the door most of the way, leaving a thin sliver to see through. While he waited, he found the inside lock button on the door and pushed it.
The man reached the top of the stairs and stood there sweating for a moment, a bulging burrito in his fist. He took a huge bite, chewing noisily, then ambled down the hall. At the stairs, he looked up at the pull cord, then looked around at the other doors, for the practical joker who had pushed up his stairs. Seeing no one, he reached up for the knotted cord.
Easing the door open, Nate slipped out, making sure to close it behind him. As soon as it clicked, he charged full speed ahead, his booted feet pounding the thin carpet.
Even with only about five yards between him and his target, Nate got up a good head of steam before he lowered his shoulder, knowing he had to make this count.
The gangbanger had just started to turn at the noise behind him when Nate plowed into his back. Already off balance from reaching for the cord, the massive gang member staggered, aided by Nate shoving him forward with all his might. The burrito went flying, disappearing down the hall as the hulk crashed into the locked door with every one of his 350 pounds moving at an unstoppable velocity.
The door broke under the impact with a splintering crack, as Nate rode the big guy down to the floor.
“Lights!” he hissed, flipping up his goggles and switching on his flashlight. Scrambling to his feet, he ran at the bed in the center of the room, shining the blinding beam into Lopez’s groggy face. Nate was aware of at least two women, one fumbling to cover herself with a sheet, the other lying motionless, dead to the world. But he only had eyes for the man in front of him.
“What the hell—?” Lopez threw up an arm, squinting at the harsh glare. His chest was covered with tattoos, and as the sheet flew off him, stolen by the woman, it revealed that he was dressed only in red satin boxers. His other arm reached under his pillow, withdrawing a pistol just as Nate brought the butt of his own gun down on the man’s shoulder. The collarbone cracked under the blow. Lopez’s shout of pain was cut off by Nate sticking the barrel of his gun in the Mexican’s mouth as he knocked the pistol—a cheap Smith & Wesson knockoff—out of the
