Page 23 of License to Kill

“Jake keeps a Glock or a Beretta on him and a spare magazine. Takes too long to reload, so he likes dumping the entire magazine instead. If he’s expecting trouble, he’ll have enough ammo for three or four magazines stashed away, too. His mother’s Glock is fully automatic with thirty-three rounds, and I don’t know if she keeps a second magazine with her. I have no idea what his father would be carrying, but it’s probably a Glock. They have Berettas, but they’re FBI to the core and like their Glocks.”

I missed my Glock.

“Probability of them opening fire if we get close?”

“I’d say probably close to a hundred percent. Jake’s HRT trained.”

“That’s good. He’ll be able to identify FBI movements inside the building, then.”

“Maybe our appearance will astonish them so much they won’t shoot at us.”

Amelia chuckled. “Don’t count on it. Let’s clear the building and go rescue your mate. Watch our backs, and if you have to choose between you or me taking a round, I’m more likely to get back up in a few hours.”

“I’ve been shot enough for both of us lately, so let’s make this a clean run.”

I spotted a pair of guards on the floor below, and I nudged Amelia with my elbow, nodding in their direction. The woman lifted her gun and took aim, and I followed her lead.

Both men wore vests over t-shirts, and they watched the factory floor, their rifles pointed at the ground. They spoke to each other, too soft for me to make out what they were saying. “I don’t think they’re from the FBI.”

Amelia nodded. “Take the one on the right. Think you can get a headshot?”

“I can.”

“Let’s try to fire at the same time so it sounds like only one round, one shooter. After the count of three,” she ordered.

I leaned against the wall, switched to semi-automatic mode, braced the rifle against my shoulder, and aimed, sighting in on my target’s forehead. “Ready.”

At her count, I fired, and our marks dropped to the floor. The concussive blast of gunfire echoed through the building.

Hell broke loose, leaving no room for anything other than move, fire, move, and make myself as small of a target as possible while following Amelia through the building. I balked at the grated steps leading down to the next level, but like she had every other time I’d encountered a staircase or height I couldn’t handle without flinching, Amelia grabbed hold of me and yanked me down after her without skipping a beat.

At the rate I was going, I’d end up jumping down them to keep her from pulling me along like a living doll.

I handled the killing while Amelia drew gunfire, and I had no idea how she avoided being hit with the number of rounds fired at us. The first bullet to hit me grazed my left arm. The second hit a little deeper but went clean through, and I snarled a curse.

My entire body throbbed, but the pain reminded me of one important fact: I still lived. I glared at the wound a few inches above my elbow. It would hurt, it would bleed, but it would heal quickly enough, assuming I didn’t die from blood loss first.

“I thought I told you not to get shot,” Amelia hissed.

Someone came around the corner, and after confirming it wasn’t an Agent Thomas, I aimed, fired, and dumped the magazine before reloading the gun. “Less talking, more finding the FBI agents.”

“They’ve heard the gunfire outside, and they’re about a minute from launching an offensive.”

“I’d say that’s great, except it’s not.” I clacked my teeth together and nodded in the direction of the man I’d just killed. “Let’s try that way.”

Amelia nodded, and we hurried across the factory floor to the corpse. Pulling out her knife, she tore away a strip of his shirt and bound it around my arm. “Better than nothing.”

“We better hurry before HRT storms the castle.”

With a lot of luck and some fast talking—and raised hands—maybe we’d even survive when they came barreling in to rescue three of their own. Then again, probably not.

The FBI didn’t take kindly to rogues of any sort, and that’s how I’d classify until they learned the truth, that I had been as much of a victim as Pops.

I wasn’t going to place any bets in my favor.

“The FBI’s entering the building,” Amelia warned me.

“Bail?”