“I can’t reposition that quickly,” Dailey said.
“Fine. Stay on the house. Mercer, anything?”
“No.” Mercer sounded winded. “Someone was just running through the trees, but I lost him.”
“Goddamn it. The rest of you, into the house. Now. I don’t care how you do it. They already know we’re coming.”
The phone in Quinn’s pocket buzzed again, reminding him he had a text waiting. The vibration was loud enough for Nate to hear. He looked at Quinn, eyebrows raised.
Quinn ignored both his apprentice and the phone.
Abel and Cox darted to the front door. Without pausing, Abel kicked out with his right, connecting with the door just below the knob.
Quinn could hear the sound of the wood cracking. More noise pollution. He had seldom seen a job go this bad this fast.
Abel kicked again. This time the door flew inward, then rebounded toward them. Cox took up position against the jamb, aiming his gun into the darkness. Abel nodded, then rushed forward, keeping low.
“We’re in,” Abel announced as Cox slipped inside as well.
“He’s done something to his windows so we’re having a problem getting in at the back,” Donovan said. “Looking for an alternative. Dailey, what’s going on with the targets?”
“They’re at the back of the house, west side.”
Over the radio, Quinn could hear the spit of bullets passing through suppressors.
“We’re receiving fire,” Abel grunted.
“We’re coming around to your side,” Donovan said.
“They’re moving again,” Dailey broke in.
Three more muffled gunshots.
“Into the garage,” Dailey continued.
Several seconds of nothing, then the roar of an engine ripped through the night.
Quinn keyed his mic. “They’ve got a car in the garage. Engine just started.”
“Everyone out front. Now!” Donovan said.
Again, Quinn and Nate held their position. This wasn’t their fight.
Tires screeched, then a tremendous crash filled the air as a large pickup truck exploded through the garage door. Quinn looked at the truck’s crew cab, but couldn’t see anyone. They all must have been hunkered down below the dash.
As the vehicle weaved through the debris, Abel and Cox ran out the front door. A second later Donovan and Beech appeared around the corner of the house.
All four opened fire on the truck. The Ford sped up. As it reached the parked sedan, it swerved to the right, scraping against the Maxima but not slowing down.
“Abort! Abort!” Donovan shouted as the truck raced down the driveway toward Main Street.
“What about the dead man in the car? Shouldn’t we check for ID?” Cox asked.
“Abort now,” Donovan repeated. “No time. Team four, you’re released.”
“Copy that,” Quinn said. But he held his position as the others disappeared into the woods.
So did Nate.
After ten seconds, Quinn’s apprentice said, “You want the ID, don’t you?”
“The woman was the same woman who watched us in L.A. Wills is going to want to know who these people are.”
“Not our job to get an ID,” Nate observed. It wasn’t an admonishment, just information.
“
Nate rose out of his crouch and tossed the binoculars to Quinn. “Be right back.”
“My idea. I’ll get it,” Quinn said.
“I’m already on my way,” Nate said, but before he could take a step, something moved near the bushes in front of Moody’s house. Nate knelt back down. “The shooter?”
Quinn raised the binoculars. A man skulked around the yard, holding a gun that glowed bright with the heat of a recent discharge. As he took a few steps forward, Quinn was able to focus in on his face.
“It’s Mercer,” Quinn whispered. He must have come back for the attack on the truck.
Mercer snuck his way toward the car, his gun ready at his side. Then, very faint in the distance, Quinn heard a siren. Mercer’s head shot up. After a second, he glanced at the car, hesitated, then he whipped around and ran east toward the woods at the edge of the property. A moment later he was gone. Nate stood again.
