Jake was having a hard time imagining a worse scenario. He’d never been pinned down like this. Despite his stint in the FBI and later work in private security, the past few days had presented the hairiest situations of his life. Maybe he wasn’t really cut out for this new line of work. But he wasn’t about to admit that to Syd, who unless he was sorely mistaken was thoroughly enjoying herself.
“On three,” she said. “One…two…”
The crack of a rifle, and a yelp. They exchanged glances. “What the hell was that?” Jake asked.
Suddenly, a garbled voice. It took Jake a minute to realize it was being filtered through a loudspeaker. He shrank deeper into the shadows of the tree.
“More hostiles?” Syd hissed in his ear.
“I don’t think so.” Someone was barking orders. Another exchange of fire, then silence.
“I still say we make for the river,” Syd said in a low voice.
A figure approached through the trees, silhouetted hazy-blue by the smoke. Jake stiffened, tightening his grip on his gun.
The man shouted to be heard over the roar of the fire, “Jake Riley, get your ass out here!”
“Who the hell is that?” Syd asked. She looked stupefied.
“The fucking cavalry,” Jake said, face splitting in a wide grin as he stood and emerged from the shadows.
“Thanks for coming,” Jake said, shaking George Fong’s hand as he took him in. The years had been kind to George. He still had that lanky surfer look, broad across the shoulders, lean in the hips, dark hair longer than Bureau specifications. Not surprising since he’d been raised in Hawaii, son of a Japanese mother and native father.
“You kidding? My life is dull now, I can use the excitement.” George nodded toward the burning farmhouse. “Up to trouble as usual, huh? We found a couple good ol’ boys with a sniper rifle. Don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”
Jake shrugged, and George’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, it’s not what you think,” Jake said defensively. “I’m one of the good guys.”
“Benicia P.D. doesn’t seem to agree. They’ve got a BOLO out for you, something about a couple of dead guys on a boat and a missing girl?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“Sure it isn’t.” George crossed his arms. A beam in the house collapsed with a thundering crack. “Nice handiwork.”
“Not mine.”
“Glad to hear it. Any bodies in there?”
“Not that I know of, but we didn’t get a chance to check.”
“We?” George raised an eyebrow.
Jake glanced back. Syd had finally come out of hiding and was approaching slowly, looking ready to flee at the slightest provocation. “This is my new partner, Syd.”
George looked her over appreciatively. “Sure, the hot former-spy girl. Man, I might have to join this new company.”
“We’re not hiring yet,” Syd responded, trailing her eyes over him, “but I’ll certainly take it into consideration.”
“Perfect. We’ll be all set for our first sexual harassment lawsuit,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. He hated to admit it, but the flirtation bothered him. Of course, women always took to George. It was one of the reasons they’d bonded-the two of them could walk into a Georgetown bar and have the pick of the place. He and George had gone through the Academy together, then split off into different field offices-Jake to Seattle, George to San Francisco. He was one of the few people Jake stayed in touch with after being expelled from the Bureau.
“I’d never sue such a lovely lady,” George said.
“Jesus,” Jake groaned. “So how many agents did you bring?”
“Three from the field office, since it was last-minute,” George said, suddenly all business. “Just so you know, they’re under the impression we’re bringing you in.”
Jake raised an eyebrow, and George shrugged. “Hey, only way I could get any official support. Bureau rules. And even then I had to link it to the kidnapped girl.” He glanced around. “She behind one of these trees, too?”
“We think they set off on foot, probably across the river. She’s with three of my men, her mother and her sister,” Syd said. She’d retrieved the radio and was tinkering with it. “Maltz, do you copy?”
The only response was static.
“And unless the kid joined a biker gang, it appears they’ve got company?” George asked.
“Definitely. We’re not sure how many, though.”
“Christ, Jake. I can always count on you to get my ass in a sling.” George rubbed his chin. “All right. We’ll head north on route 128, across the river. With any luck, we’ll pick up their signal. I’ll see if I can raise the locals to help.”
“You sure the locals aren’t the problem?” Syd asked skeptically.
“My, aren’t we paranoid. You really are a spook.” George grinned. “I assisted on a case up here a few years back. If it’s the same sheriff, he’s good people.”
“We’ll have to chance it, Syd,” Jake said, gazing toward the river. “ Madison can’t walk, she’ll be slowing them down. They’re probably running out of time.”
Twenty-Six
Madison covered her ears. It was like being in the middle of a war movie, but so much louder in real life. She’d had no idea guns were so deafening. She didn’t know how anyone could stand shooting them.
The commando-boys had stashed her, Audrey and Bree behind a rickety shed on the outskirts of a ranch. There was a house a few hundred feet away, but despite the noise nobody had appeared at the windows-probably empty. They’d been headed there, hoping to find a working phone, when all hell broke loose. Maltz had ordered them to stay down while he and the other men handled the situation. That was what he’d called it, a “situation,” as if this was all a big misunderstanding, not life and death. She had no idea how many people were out there trying to kill them, but it sounded like hundreds. The three of them huddled together, hands over their ears, terror in their eyes.
“There are too many of them!” her mother yelled as a spray of bullets sent a chunk of wood flying off the shed.
Bree spoke, but her words were overwhelmed by a rapid pounding that tore up the ground twenty feet away.
“We have to run for it,” her mother said, eyes wild. “Get to the house, call for help.”
“I can’t run, Mommy,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
“I’ll go,” Bree said.
It took a second for Madison to process the words and realize that Bree was serious.
“No, honey…risky…” her mother’s voice was drowned out by another explosion.
Madison recognized her sister’s grave expression, the same look of intense concentration that terrorized opponents during field hockey games. She reached out a hand to stop her, but Bree was already on her feet, running for the house.
She zigzagged crazily, bullets spitting up clods of dirt around her. It was amazing that Bree knew to swerve like that, Madison thought, impressed. She’d already covered half the distance. Madison had forgotten how fast she was, she’d been an all-star forward back in California but ditched field hockey after the move. Bree said the team at the new school was lame, they’d never win, but Madison figured she had another reason. Watching her slip through the trees, fast and sure-footed, it looked as though she would have dominated every game.
“Is she going to make it?” As her mother spoke there was a brief lull in the shooting, and her voice was overly loud. She sounded hopeful, and scared.
Madison didn’t answer. She watched, riveted, as Bree vanished into another stand of trees. There was more
