“Um, I really don’t know,” he said. Never moving from the open doorway, Si looked around for Rowan Anderson, averting his eyes from the two bodies on the floor. He didn’t know whathad happened.Had the Secret Service agent stopped those terrorists from raping the senator’s wife?
The sound of footsteps on the stairs broke through Si’s trance of fear and uncertainty. Anderson appeared with a couple of blankets to cover the corpses.
Much better,Si thought to himself.
“Si, I’m going to sit with Mrs. Harrison. Why don’t you close the front door, take this, and walk around inside the place—make sure it’s safe and secure.”
The agent held out a Glock by the barrel, allowing Si to grab it by the grip. He pulled the slide back to inspect the magazine for ammo. Displaying the basics he’d learned from Nat and Team Rhino was a confidence boost. The pistol felt good in his hand.
Satisfied, he nodded. Si Wilson was ready to begin his patrol. He decided to start with the grand living room, its magnificent Atlantic vista much like the view from his own house—or it would be, he assumed, were it not still the middle of the night.
Surveillance would do little to keep any bad guys out, he knew, but he had his orders. He was checking the window locks when he saw a flash of movement on the bluff. Possibly someone who’d earlier walked down to the beach to look for traces of the ferry explosion now all over the local newsgroups.
Whoever it was didn’t seem to be heading this way, but Nat had told him that writing down observations was important. Si reached into his pocket for his phone and its Notes app, only to find that he’d drained the battery.
He’d report the sighting to Anderson instead.
Si found the Secret Service agent and Senator Harrison’s wife deep in what seemed to be a hushed but serious conversation.The two women appeared pissed off at each other; both were gesturing intensely with their hands.
“See anything?” Anderson asked as Si approached. “Are we good?”
“A guy walking up the bluff, but nothing else,” Si said. “All the windows are locked. I still need to check the back door and the garage.”
Without waiting for an answer, he walked back through the living room, stepping over the blanketed bodies, and entered the kitchen, where he spied Anderson’s cell phone lying next to a charger. He plugged in his own phone, then continued to the mudroom.All secure.He marched to the rear of the house and reached for the backdoor knob.
He had just touched the handle when he heard the distinct sound of gunfire and shattering glass.
CHAPTER 62
Iturned the Defender off Cliff Road and into the driveway of Elise Courville’s house. Like every other 10,000-square-foot place on the island, it stood big, gray, and empty.
No sign of Josiah, the senator’s widow, or Rowan.
By the time JP’s voice registered from the rear passenger seat, he had already squeezed off two rounds. The gunshots had been painfully loud inside the car.
“Two o’clock, one KIA, hopefully,” he shouted as he ran from my vehicle toward the house next door.
Fuck, I’d turned down the wrong driveway.JP had just stitched somebody in Courville’s yard. Meg was hot on his heels, while Wolf and Oliver sprinted toward the front porch.
I hit Reverse and punched the gas, burning rubber all the way to the Courville place. I didn’t hear any more shooting, which was always a good thing.
Meg was pointing her weapon toward the body on the ground, which lay next to a semiautomatic rifle that lookedRussian-made. JP kneeled next to the body, searching it with his hands. Oliver and Wolf had already gone inside.
I trotted to the dead guy—his head was a mess—as JP stood up.
“Shit, dude—that’s pretty gross. But a head shot from a moving vehicle twenty-five yards away ain’t hard,said no one ever.” I gave him a nod and winked at Meg.
“Offhand, too, Nat,” JP added. “Just throwing that out there.”
JP wasn’t being conceited. He’d been scanning from the vehicle, spotted an immediate threat, and instinctively reduced it. I really did have to give him extra credit for the offhand shot with an MP5 at that distance. I’d buy him a case of beer for that one.
“Seriously, though,” JP continued, “nothing on this guy at all except for the SKS here. All tricked out with a big-ass scope and bipod and shit. He was here to do some killing, that’s for sure—the widow, I’m guessing. Looks like he got a sympathetic round off on contact, but he was a dead man shooting.”
“How the fuck did he get here?” I asked. “You guys wanna bag everything up and take a quick snoop around, see what you can see?”
When I turned around, there she was. Special Agent in Charge Rowan Anderson.
She was standing in the doorway, talking to Wolf and Oliver, then raising one eyebrow at me as I approached. Even with ripped clothes and mud-streaked hair, she looked amazing. And she was still a pro. No smile, no pause in the action.
