Page 50 of Nothing to Fear

But how in the hell did they find Willow and Gideon?

“Is it the Gray Box?” Willow came up beside him.

“No. Mercenaries.”

The metronome ticking in his head set the controlled beat he’d learned to operate under. Not at the Farm, where the CIA had formally trained him. Not at the Gray Box, where he had refined his skills to a new level. Much earlier, when his path had first been forged and he’d been taught to follow through—all the way.

Gideon glanced at Ken. Guilt rolled through him. Mariko wouldn’t be lying in a pool of blood if they hadn’t come here. “I’m sorry about your sister, but we need to leave.”

His friend stared at the rotating images on the screen as if in a trance.

“Pull it together.” Gideon sharpened his voice to flint. “Is there another exit?”

Ken blinked, coming back online. “Uh, yeah.”

“Grab our stuff while I make sure the exit is safe,” Gideon said to Willow as he followed Ken toward the master bedroom on the other side of the kitchen.

“I dumped everything out of the bag. I need a minute to gather it up.”

“Thirty seconds.”

She took off for the third bedroom, and he hustled into the master. Ken pointed at the metal ladder flush against the wall that led to a steel hatch in the ceiling for rooftop access.

One problem. Tangos were already up there. And he couldn’t jump from a second-story window with Willow. “Other options?”

The locked hatch door rattled. Ping. Ping. Bullets struck metal. Steady gunfire would rain down until those guys got in.

Drawing his Maxim 9, Gideon motioned Ken away from the hatch with a nod. Instinctively, Gideon’s hand went to his pocket, checking for extra clips. The rest of the ammo was in the backpack. He patted the extra 9mm pressed against his kidney under his shirt.

Ken dropped to a knee, grabbing a bag from under his bed, and flew to his feet, backing toward the door. They exchanged a knowing glance.

Digging in and fighting was the only way out. They hurried to the living room.

Ken scooped up passports from the table and tossed them to Gideon. “I didn’t get to finish the one with her fake name.”

Shit. They’d have to evade customs going into the Cayman Islands and figure out how to get back into the United States later. Problems were mounting.

First things first—kill every baddie gunning for them.

More bullets struck the hatch door. Gideon lunged to check the cameras again. The two on the ground were gone. No sign of them on the other screens. Damn.

The fifth guy outside the apartment door unzipped a pouch, removing a wad of plastic explosives. The dude was going to blow the door. The ones on the roof just breached the hatch.

Splendid. Shit kept getting better. “Willow, hurry.”

“Almost finished,” she called from the third bedroom.

Gideon shoved the sofa to the side to provide cover as Ken grabbed the shotgun, situating himself in the kitchen. Locked and loaded to stop anyone coming down the hall from the master bedroom.

Glass shattered from the second bedroom. A thud—something hitting carpet. Footfalls crunched glass. Heavy. Quick. They were inside.

Willow. Gideon surged up and forward.

A hot spray of bullets from behind him riddled the wall and furniture, forcing him to drop to the ground. The mercs from the hatch door had a prime position in the hall off the kitchen. Under the fusillade of shots, bits of drywall, glass, and sofa padding kicked into the air.

Pinned, his back to the sofa, Gideon’s options shrank. The blanket of suppressive fire was buying the enemy time to strategize and maneuver. Precious seconds evaporated.

In the doorway of the second bedroom, next to Willow’s, an operator peeped into sight. He wore an H-harness. Bastard had rappelled in.