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“Got it.” She clicks off.
Doesshe have it? A golf cart is being driven down to the front gate. Looks like they expect Tony and Victor to ride in it up to the house.
Sure enough, they’re motioned forward. I keep my finger poised on the trigger as USA decides to frisk them. Likelihood of him finding the patch? I judge it as next to zero.
Right again.
After the search, they’re motioned into the golf cart. I’m holding every ounce of my breath. Sweat beads on my forehead. “Gracie. They’re going in. They’re—”
A nerve-rattling alarm cuts off my words and punches a hole right through the fabric of night and the thinnest of bad plans.
All hell, which had been biding its time waiting for the exact moment to royally fuck us, breaks loose.
Through my scope, I keep my focus on the scattered scene as USA reacts to the alarm. He’s waving his arms, gesturing at his men, who are scrambling into action. As USA motions at them, Tony and Victor get out of the golf cart and get down on their knees.
The young guard with the gun trained on Tony and Victor begins to shout. Young, jittery, and panicked isn’t good.
There’s some kind of exchange between Jittery Guard and Tony. Jittery bends down and hoists Tony onto his feet and gets in his face. Have they identified Tony? What’s fucking happening? Why the alarm? My finger itches to shoot, to get that guy away from my brother, but steeling my unease, I wait and see.
USA steps toward Tony and Jittery, casual-like, a smile on his face, as if there isn’t an alarm sounding, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Who is this guy? He says something to Jittery. Giving directions? Telling him to stand down? I have no idea.
Doesn’t matter anyway, because Jittery isn’t listening. He shoves Tony, then brings up his weapon. He’s going to shoot Tony. Fuck. No time for wait and see, I take a breath, aim, and shoot.
Snap.The bullet strikes Jittery Guard’s temple. His head jerks. Blood spatters. I swing my rifle left, aim and shoot another guard, who’d been turning toward my position.
Adrenaline floods my system and everything slows. I ride the hyperawareness, find USA scrambling away. I shoot. He zigs. I miss. Shoot again. He zags. Damn it. That’s the most I’ve missed in two years.
I return my scope to Tony and Victor and let off a round of suppressing fire as they bolt. Meanwhile, USA, understanding now where the danger is coming from, has zigzagged his ass to the Cadillac, ducked behind it, and swung his gun in my direction.
His first shot misses by a mile. He needs a rifle.
I fire over the car, forcing USA to stay down while keeping clear of where Gracie hides. I don’t need to take chances.
My heart is in my throat, the alarm pounding against my ears, my hope of getting Sandesh dwindling as USA opens the Cadillac’s door.
Damn tinted windows. I shoot again, which is useless because I can no longer see USA.
I switch targets as a black Land Rover with dark windows tears out of the gate. It races up the hill, over brush and stones toward me. I keep firing at it. Doesn’t take long to realize it’s bullet-proof.
Shit.
Someone in the car fires back at me.
I’m definitelynotbulletproof.
The dirt in front of me bursts up.
Too close for comfort.
I duck.
The shots stop. The car doesn’t.
Fuck this.
Surveying my escape route, I reach out to my sister. “Gracie?”
Her voice comes through the headset, clear but soft. “Go. I’ve got USA Ballcap.”
