“Stay down!” Caspian ordered. “Don’t move!”
Liesel crawled toward her sister.
Movement toward the front of the restaurant caught Caspian’s eye. Two men were elbowing their way through the crowd of screaming diners. One of them had a pistol in his right hand. The gun was low, his muzzle pointed at the ground, but it was still a threat. Caspian reacted on instinct. In less than two seconds, his hand had moved to the small of his back and had drawn the pistol he’d stuck inside his waistband. Aiming at the man’s torso, he didn’t pull the trigger, hesitating for the briefest moment as he studied the man.
Friend or foe? Could the man and his partner be plainclothes police officers running toward danger? Maybe off-duty cops trying to help? The man with the gun locked his eyes on Caspian, just as a young mother tripped, dragging her crying child into his path. The man swatted them away with a powerful shove. Then he raised his gun in Caspian’s direction.
Definitely not a cop.
Caspian waited half a heartbeat longer, just enough for the muzzle of the man’s gun to confirm his intent, then fired. The round hit center mass, punching into the man’s upper chest and knocking him flat on his back. The second man, who was two steps behind, dove behind a table and rolled out of sight.
Shit!
Caspian stayed low. Getting up now would be suicide. He and Liesel had studied the map earlier and knew the only clear sniper angle came from across the bay.
Somewhere along the cement dock. Maybe a boat.
If he stayed beneath the railing height of the terrace, he’d be out of view. That was the only explanation as to why the sniper hadn’t fired at him. But staying low also meant he couldn’t maneuver cleanly to get a shot at the second shooter.
The first man wasn’t dead, at least not yet. He was writhing, clutching at his chest, one arm reaching out desperately toward his partner.
“What’s Sofie’s status?” Caspian asked without turning.
No response.
“We need to move, Liesel! Now!” Caspian shouted, his eyes and pistol covering the position where he had last seen the second shooter.
Still no response.
He repositioned, shuffling to his right and angling his body in a way that if the second shooter tried to hit Liesel or Sofie, it would be Caspian in his line of fire, not the two women.
“Talk to me, Liesel,” Caspian barked.
That’s the moment the second shooter chose to reappear, but this time, he had taken a teenage boy as hostage. The teen, who was tall and thin with blond hair, didn’t look a day older than fifteen. The gunman held him tightly, the muzzle of his pistol jammed against his temple.
The moment brought Caspian back to Zermatt, to that evening when Florence Aldrich had nearly been abducted. She’d been about the same age, and he had been the only one in a position to save her. He’d acted on instinct that day, not only going against everything he’d been taught at Onyx but also against the direct instructions of his handler. They’d told him to stay away, that it wasn’t the mission, and that to deviate from the mission would lead to consequences that would follow him for the rest of his life.
And they had been right.
His actions in Zermatt had changed everything and exposed truths he hadn’t been ready to face. But he didn’t regret it. Not for a second. He had saved Florence because it had been the right thing to do.
And now, it was happening all over again.
Caspian briefly looked into the kid’s eyes. The young man was trying to be brave, to hold it together, and to project some illusion of courage, but the trembling in his jaw and knees and the tightly clenched fists betrayed how he was really feeling.
Careful, Caspian. One wrong move, and this boy’s dead.
“I’ll let him go,” the man called out. “But only once I’m out of here.”
Caspian tracked the shooter with his pistol, finger on the trigger, but he didn’t have a clear shot. The terrace was still in chaos with panicked patrons fleeing in every direction, knocking chairs and glasses over. Caspian couldn’t afford to miss. One bad shot could mean hitting the young man or a bystander. Still, he hated the situation he found himself in. He was exposed, which made him an easy target for any other shooter out there. Every second felt like a lifetime.
But he couldn’t back off. The boy needed his protection, and so did Liesel and Sofie.
Caspian had to cover them the best he could, even if it meant putting himself in the crosshairs. A blur of motion to the side drew Caspian’s eye. A broad-shouldered man in his mid-forties with short-cropped hair charged the shooter, holding a steak knife as if it was a bayonet.
“Let my son go!”
The gunman, surprised, shifted his aim, moving the muzzle toward the charging father.
