Page 53 of Dead Drift

“Great,” Kate sighed.

“Better warn your team,” Luke said to Declan. “They will be sitting ducks if they arrive front and center.” It’s exactly why Luke always preferred finding a back way in and always observed first. Thankfully, he’d chosen a good spot, one the snipers couldn’t see.

Declan asked the team’s ETA over the comm. “Roger that.” He looked at Luke. “Twenty minutes out.”

“I’d instruct them to come in the same way we did. No sirens. No lights. Quiet as possible.”

At least the day wasn’t a total loss. They could capture the snipers, and get whatever information they possessed out of them. And there was no time like the present. He shifted, moving low and slow as to not draw any attention.

“Where are you going?” Kate whispered.

“To get the snipers.”

“Are you crazy?” Declan’s brows shot up. “Wait until our team is in place and you have coverage.”

“And risk any other lives or the possibility of losing the snipers when the cavalry arrives?” Luke shook his head. “I’ve got this.”

“It goes without saying, you’re good,” Kate said in a forceful but hushed tone, “but even with your training, taking on two snipers who maintain the tactical advantage is crazy.”

“Aren’t you the one who always told me that everyone needs a little crazy in their lives—it keeps ’em sane?” he asked.

“Yes, but . . . ” she sputtered.

“No time to think.” With a wink, he pressed a kiss to her lips and smiled at her bewildered expression. He’d most likely have to answer for the kiss later, but—one—he would deal with it if he survived and there was a later, and—two—it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.

If there was a chance he wouldn’t survive—and in all probability, there was a high one—he most certainly wasn’t leaving this world without one last kiss from the woman he loved.

Rapidly assessing the layout, a quick plan of attack formed in his mind. He moved up the right rear scaffolding as silently as possible and as he cleared the roof’s edge and climbed on top, the first sniper’s back remained fixed to him, his focus on the ground. His presence was sheltered from the second sniper by the HVAC unit, hopefully giving him enough time to move from one to the other without being seen.

Stalking as quickly and as stealthily as possible, he reached the first sniper and zapped his back with a shock stick, knocking him out cold. Then he moved toward the second target.

Moving quietly didn’t work this time. The sniper rolled over as Luke approached, gun aimed at him—and fired.

Luke bobbed and managed to kick the weapon out of his hand. He lunged for the young Southeast Asian as the man pulled a knife from his leg sheath.

Luke dodged, but the knife slashed his right forearm, stinging hard. He bit back the pain as the man wrestled from his grasp and stood, holding the knife poised for a fight, his gun nearly a dozen feet to Luke’s left.

Boot steps fell heavily across the rock-covered roof, and Luke glimpsed Declan moving for the unconscious sniper.

“Drop it,” Kate said, racing forward, gun aimed at the second sniper’s chest.

His eyes darted to his unconscious mate, and the realization that he was outnumbered flashed across his face.

“Don’t do it,” Luke said, rushing forward, but he was too late.

The young man darted toward the ledge and hurled himself over. A distant thud echoed up to the silent rooftop.

Death before dishonor.

“Medics’ ETA?” Luke hollered, but he knew it was already too late.

“Five,” Declan said, handcuffing the other sniper and holding him at gunpoint.

“At least we got one.” But the likelihood of his talking after the desperate measures his fellow sniper just took was minimal.

SWAT teams, black Bureau cars, and an ambulance arrived within minutes.

Kate insisted Luke get his slashed arm attended to, so he relented and sat on the back edge of the ambulance, the bay doors open. His wound was soon to be one of many scars littering his body. He ignored the stinging as antiseptic seeped into the raw wound. He’d endured far worse.