As we suited up, X arrived. She stood in the middle of the gym and called us to attention. Kat had kept her informed of our progress throughout the day, so X didn’t need to ask questions. But from the grim look on her face, I suspected she had something to share, something we wouldn’t like.
“I have bad news.” X was not one to equivocate. “TheFBI has received an anonymous tip about suspicious activity. It came via a 911 call. The report includes descriptions matching Ally and Riker, and mentions a white SUV.”
“How is that bad news?” Lang asked.
“Because the location of the suspicious activity is an hour west of the location you’ve identified.”
Kat shook her head. “I trust our work more than a random tip.”
“And I trust this team more than I trust the FBI,” X said. “However, they have declined our request to provide back-up on this operation. Therefore, I’ve called other HEAT teams to deploy. They’ll meet you onsite.”
“After all the chest-banging about cooperating, they’re leaving us high and dry?” Pasco muttered some choice swear words for our sister agency.
“Fine by me,” Lang said. “In fact, I prefer it.”
The rest of us concurred.
“I agree, too,” Pasco said, “but do you know how much time I wasted, sending them our data and keeping them in the loop?”
“Sorry to break it to you,” Kat said, “but that won’t end until this case is closed. So, let’s do everything in our power to end this tonight.”
We tookpositions outside the abandoned two-and-a-half-story barn that had a perfect set-up for running an illegal operation. The well on the property provided clean water, and a generator provided off-grid power. It also provided noise to cover our movements, but we strived to move soundlessly, as we did on every mission. If the damn thingcut off, we didn’t want to sound like a herd of buffalo bearing down on the building.
In our van parked a quarter of a mile away, Pasco ran our communications and Kat ran point. Hayes and Wheeler, along with four other HEAT tactical assets, would enter the building through a ventilation opening at the top of the building.
Normally, Lang or I or both of us would be in the van to monitor surveillance and incoming data, but with a hostage on the ground, our primary, secondary, and tertiary job was to extract her alive and as unharmed as possible. We would go in with the tactical teams, hold our positions until the four suspects were tranqued, then get Ally the hell out of there.
According to the heat signatures we picked up with our infrared scan of the building, there were four more hostages to consider. Once Ally was safe, we would check on the condition of the dogs Riker was holding there. A lump formed in my throat as I realized that if it hadn’t been for Cami, there would have been a fifth dog in there, my own sweet girl. If she’d lived that long.
I swallowed down the lump, got my head in the game, and gave the thumbs up to Wheeler. He threw his grappling hook, anchored it on the top of the building, and scaled the wall. When he reached the ventilation hole high off the ground, he pried off the slatted covering, secured another rope over the outside wall, then dropped inside the building. The rest of us followed, two at a time, up the parallel ropes.
We crouched on the narrow, four-foot-high upper ledge where feed had been stored off the ground. With hand signals, the tactical teams agreed to forego another rope setup, and we instead dropped quietly onto the hay loft below us. The loft ran along three edges of the building, the back and two side walls. I followed Hayes and two of our borrowed teammates to the far side, while Lang stayed with Wheeler and the other two.
We took a moment to assess the situation, settle our heart rates, and allow Lang time to tap out a message on his smart watch. Kat spoke on our comms, confirming she and Pasco had received the details of the scene below us. There was a row of five cages beneath the loft on Lang’s side of the building. Riker’s three accomplices lingered near the animals. A large metal table and various instruments were on the first floor closer to my side. I blocked out what the uses and meaning of those instruments were.
My gaze settled on Ally, tied to a chair near the dogs’ cages. There were three dogs there, whimpering and pacing. If any of those assholes who were holding them knew a damn thing about dogs, they would have been peering up at the shadows that hid us, wondering if they were under siege. And if any of the cruel fuckers had bothered to be nice to the animals, the pups might have sounded the alarm that we were there.
The fourth dog was out of his cage, closer to us. There was blood on the metal table, and adding two plus two, I surmised it belonged to him. Shabby, blood-soaked bandages crisscrossed his belly. He looked out of it, barely stirring, even when Riker shoved him with his foot. I clenched and unclenched my fists.Patience, Rogers, patience.
As Riker and his men argued across the room at each other about what to do next with the listless dog, the other three animals grew more agitated. One of the men shifted, revealing a pistol at his hip. We couldn’t wait any longerbecause those assholes might start firing at each other and catch Ally or the dogs in their crossfire.
Hayes used hand signals to tell the tactical team to aim their weapons. He then tapped his watch, signaling to Kat, and she began the countdown for us. On three, red rifle lasers appeared on inconspicuous spots on each of the four men. On two, a second one appeared on two of the four who were near the cages.
That was totally wrong.
On one, I tried to catch Hayes’s eye, then waved to Lang, who looked as worried as I felt.
And then two shots rang out. Not the quiet thwap of HEAT’s tranq rifles, but the deafening echo of high-powered live rounds. The tranq darts flew a split-second later. The dogs barked and howled and launched themselves against the bars of their cages. Ally sat wide-eyed and frozen in fear.
As three of the men crumpled to the floor, Lang and I jumped from the loft to the barn floor, rolling to lessen the impact, which still hurt like a son of a bitch, and rushed to protect Ally, taking up positions in front of and behind her with our live-ammo weapons drawn because someone had fired shots.
From our first-floor position, we were the first to realize the side door of the barn was flung wide open, banging in the wind. And Riker, as well as the nearly lifeless dog, were gone.
Two tactical agents launched themselves down from the loft and tore off after them, the bright lights of their headlamps illuminating the dark woods nearby.
Our team van squealed to a halt out front and Pasco and Kat, their live-ammo weapons also drawn, approached the building. With me covering Ally, Lang checked the fallen men. He gave the thumbs up on the first two, who were outcold but alive. He gave the thumbs down on the third man, the one who’d been hit with a bullet and had bled out from his gut.
That’s when Ally unfroze and let out an earsplitting scream.
