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Callum pulled the car over and climbed out. “You drive,” he told Elle, who scooted across to take the wheel. He hesitated. “Do you know how to drive this?”
The car had been modified for disabled users, with the accelerator and brake as levers instead of pedals.
Elle gave him a look of disgust and revved the engine.
Callum left her to it and strode to the back of the car. He popped the boot and took out their weapons bag. He handed Ryan a Beretta with an extra clip and took one for himself. He was just about to close the trunk when he realised that once Ryan and he had gone in to rescue Joe, Elle would be left vulnerable. He gritted his teeth. This was why he should have stayed with the military—no civilians to worry about during an op. But then the SAS hadn’t wanted him when he’d lost his legs, so his choice of teammates had been greatly reduced.
“At the first sign of trouble,” Callum told Elle when he climbed back into the car, “leave and head for the hotel where the others are staying.”
Elle eyed the gun in his hand. “Why don’t I get a gun?”
“Because you’d probably shoot yourself,” Ryan said. “Or worse, one of us.”
“What makes you think I don’t know how to use a gun? I work for a security company.”
Callum turned to stare at her. “Well?”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how to fire a real gun, but I’m freaking awesome with one in Grand Theft Auto.”
Callum turned to look back out the windscreen while Elle took the corner into Joe’s street.
“Fantastic,” Ryan said to Elle. “Next time we’re in trouble in an online game, we’ll call you for help.”
“Slow down,” Callum ordered.
For once, Elle did as she was told. They scanned the dimly lit street. Unlike the crowded area they’d left a moment ago, this was deserted.
“There.” Callum pointed, and they craned to see.
Peeking out of a doorway about two-thirds of the way down the street was a huge guy. With a gun.
“I thought he said they were short?” Elle said. “How did he miss this guy? He’s Goliath around here.”
“He isn’t even trying to blend,” Ryan said in disgust.
“He doesn’t need to.” Callum scanned the street. It was shut up tight. “The locals have scattered. Ryan, you get out. Take this side. Elle will drive past and drop me at the other end. Then you park around the corner and wait. Got it?”
He got a round of agreement. Elle pulled over, long enough to let Ryan slip out before she was back in motion. As they passed the house Callum suspected held Joe, he spotted three men. Two flanking the building, hiding in doorways and aiming at the house. The third was sneaking along the perimeter wall, aiming for a window low in the building.
“There.” Callum pointed to a particularly dark section of street.
Elle slowed for him to get out. “Don’t die,” she said cheerily before he shut the door and the car continued down the street into the darkness.
Callum wondered again what the hell he’d been thinking when he’d bought into Benson Security, then he put all of that out of his mind and made his way towards Joe.
There was one window into the basement. The one Joe had been forced to climb through when he’d been cornered. The interior door had been barricaded from the other side. Judging by the locks on the door, the barricading was a standard security habit of the homeowner. Great for the guy who owned the house; not so good for the idiot trapped in his basement.
This whole thing was one huge screw-up. He should never have taken Julia and Patricia to talk to Juan Pablo. He’d buried his damn primitive streak, the one that screamed he had to protect Julia, just so he wouldn’t freak her out. And where had it gotten him? Yeah, he was trapped in an empty house, with a knife wound in his side and a busted lip. Not to mention the bruises that would hurt like a bitch in the morning. But the worst part, the part that was driving him insane, was that he didn’t even know if Julia was safe.
He heard a scraping in the courtyard outside the window. Courtyard. He silently scoffed. It was a strip of dirt between the perimeter wall and the house. The guy attempting to sneak up on him wasn’t trained worth a damn. Experienced, yes. Trained, no. A rookie marine would make less noise than this asshole.
Joe scanned the room behind him, looking for something to board the window, or to hide behind. There was a sink in the corner, piles of woven cloths and a tonne of rodent droppings, but not a whole lot else. He was a sitting duck.
He inched across the room and crouched beneath the window, aiming his gun upwards. If this guy had any sense, he’d hold steady at the window and let his friends creep in to cover him. That was the only way they’d get Joe, if they worked as a team. Otherwise, he planned to pick them off one at a time until Callum arrived.
A stillness overcame him as he waited for his prey. Unlike the men after him, Joe had been trained for this. Not only trained, he’d lived it. Day in, day out for over a decade. He felt emotion drift away and logic take its place. He was ready. He would get out. He’d get back to Julia, and then they were going to have a long talk about following orders in the field. He’d heard her shouting for him. Heard her fighting to get to him. Heard Ed drag her away. As much as her actions warmed his heart, they made the rest of him turn cold. What if she’d been hurt? No. He couldn’t think about it. Not now. Later.
A noise above him. Joe looked up and saw the idiot’s gun poke through the window. He almost shook his head at the stupidity. Reaching up, he grabbed the idiot’s arm and, using all of his upper body strength, pulled his pursuer into the room.
