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Logan leaned forward between the seats and pointed. “I think that’s it. There.”
The building was an unremarkable, three-story beige building.
Harper’s body went cold as the sound of gunfire erupted.
“Shots fired. Shots fired,” Logan said.
Harper heard the words through his headset.
“Damn it, wait for back-up,” Baruti ordered in Harper’s ear.
Tucker slammed the SUV into park. Harper shoved his door open. The others piled out. They wouldn’t be holding back and waiting. Too many times they’d barely stopped disaster from happening and only because they didn’t wait.
“Roll out,” Logan barked.
“Logan!” Baruti’s other words were drowned out by automatic gunfire.
Robin was in there.
Harper’s strides carried him beyond Logan to the point of their advance. With the team at Harper’s back, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t do.
He pulled the glass door open and stepped inside. There was only one way to go, down a hallway and through a small space where an ancient copier sat next to a dried-up watercooler.
A man staggered backward then fell through the doorway ahead of Harper. The man wore tactical gear, but nothing could protect him from a bullet to the face. Determination and resolve chilled Harper’s insides as he focused beyond the dead man.
The plain clothes shooter stood beyond his target, staring at Harper. Probably because of the FBI vests Baruti had insisted they wear today.
Harper didn’t announce himself. He shot, but not to kill. Someone would have to provide answers. Someone would pay for terrorizing Robin like this.
He stepped over the dead man into the room beyond and chaos.
A small group of men in plain clothes had taken up position in a corner to Harper’s right. They were taking a great deal of fire from men in tactical gear.
“Fire in the hole,” Evan called out.
Harper ducked as two flash-bang grenades sailed over his head. He turned his face and counted.
One…
Two…
Three…
The room lit up in a brilliant flash of light followed by acrid smoke. Immediately the gunfire stalled as men cried out in alarm.
Across the room, a slight figure stood then darted around a desk and toward a hall leading to the back of the building.
Daar.
Harper couldn’t see him clearly, but he knew that profile. He’d stared at it enough.
“In pursuit,” Harper snarled and sprinted.
“Wright, wait,” Logan ordered.
But Harper wasn’t listening. He vaulted over a desk and hit the ground running.
A man a few yards from the hall lifted his gun. Harper launched himself, diving forward. The blast of gunfire was so close he could almost feel the heat from the barrel and the brush of the bullet as it passed him.
