“You know,” comes the reply.
What the hell does that mean? Jake wonders in frustration. He wedges the parabolic antennae between a pair of rocks to free his right hand and pulls a Glock pistol out of its shoulder holster. Against every impulse he has, he holds fast and waits, desperately hoping that he didn’t just hear an order to do away with “the girl,” who is almost certainly Brittany Valenti.
No joy, reads a new text from J.P. Duclos.
Jake thinks for only a fraction of a second before deciding to send a request for help. Am at Target Two, he texts. Joy here. He hopes that J.P., who Jake suspected and hoped was wise to his and Max’s plans, earmarked some assets to send to their aid if need be.
Jake ponders his next move. The bad guys already know they have company, so things will start hopping any minute. If he and Max get into a firefight trying to get Brittany out, they’ll probably need the Journey on short notice to make their escape, so it makes sense to move Tony closer. Doing so is a risk, but seconds saved could prove critical. If Tony goes where he’s supposed to and does what he’s been told to, he shouldn’t become a target.
Jake sends text C.
“Hey!” comes a voice from inside, “I got a guy on camera hiding behind the rock wall out back!”
That would be me, Jake realizes as a rush of adrenaline surges through him.
“How the fuck did that happen, asshole?” the deeper, older voice roars. “You watching porn again instead of monitoring the fuckin’ cameras?”
Thank God for porn, Jake thinks dryly while he calls Max and tries to tuck himself more tightly behind the meager protection of the two-foot-tall stone wall. Nobody inside is going to hear him and Max amid their bickering. “They know I’m out here,” he whispers to his partner. “Expect them to bug out any moment, probably shooting when they do. They mentioned a girl.”
“Is she going with them?”
“I don’t know. One said to the other, ‘You know what to do,’ whatever that means.”
“Fuck!” Max hisses, sounding every bit as impotent as Jake feels. “What’s our play?”
A very good question, Jake thinks. Go in? Let the bad guys get to the pickup truck if they try to move Brittany, then follow? Keep them from getting to the vehicle at all? Should he plan for FBI support?
“Jake?” Max whispers impatiently.
“Thinking.”
“Think fuckin’ faster.”
“They’re not taking that girl anywhere if I can help it,” Jake decides aloud. With the FBI now in play, he wouldn’t give a plug nickel for Brittany’s safety if these bastards get away again. “Don’t let them get in the car if you can stop them without hitting the girl.”
“Copy that.”
The night falls still for an interminable minute, during which Jake weighs the pros and cons of making a move of their own. Go? Don’t go? The decision is promptly taken out of his hands.
Gunfire erupts from the front of the house. Semiautomatic. Big bore. Max is outgunned, but the sharp crack of his Glock assures Jake that his partner is still in the fight. Jake begins to scurry toward the front of the house to support Max, trying his best to keep low behind the wall as he does. He’s only moved ten feet when the back door explodes open and a man bursts out with an assault rifle, cuts sideways a few steps, and starts firing on full automatic. While he sprays rounds along the wall and into the spot where Jake had been only seconds ago, Jake ducks behind a bush and grips his Glock in both hands. His enemy’s magazine clicks empty within seconds.
Undisciplined bastard, Jake thinks with a sliver of hope while the shooter slaps a fresh magazine into his weapon. I’m only gonna get one shot at this guy before he turns that fucking thing on me. Do I warn him before taking him out?
Jake’s in a millisecond of indecision when a second man wearing jeans and a T-shirt barges out the back door with someone slung over his shoulders in a fireman carry. He runs toward the south side of the house and disappears around the corner. Jake’s eyes snap back when the shooter unleashes a fusillade into the bushes, walking the stream of lead toward his hiding spot. Jake shouts “Police!” and squeezes the trigger just before the heavy-caliber bullets shred the shrubbery he’s sheltering behind.
Max has just put his target down beside the pickup and shot out the truck tires when automatic gunfire erupts from the rear of the house. He breaks cover and races toward the action. The gunfire stops after a few seconds.
“Police!” Jake shouts.
What the hell? This is no time to give the fuckers a break! “Put him down, Jake!” Max hollers as he sprints along the north side of the house. The crack of Jake’s Glock is all but drowned out by the roar of the heavier automatic gunfire. The shooting stops within seconds. Max recklessly turns the corner onto the back patio with his gun thrust ahead of him and slides to a stop. A groaning man he doesn’t recognize is sprawled on his back. An assault rifle lies on the ground a foot away from his twitching hand.
“Jake!” Max shouts. He kicks the gun farther away from the gangster while his eyes roam the back of the house and yard for additional threats. The only human sound is the labored breathing of the mobster on the ground at his feet. Max peers down at him and snarls, “Where’s the girl?”
The unmistakable death rattle of the bastard’s last breath is all the answer Max gets.
His attention shifts when he hears footsteps running down the driveway. Gotta be Jake, he thinks with relief when he spies someone sprinting away with a person draped over his shoulders. And he’s got Brittany! “Yippee fuckin’ ki yay!” Max whoops as he bends down to collect the assault rifle.
He’s about to
