Just then two men slipped out of the cover of the woods. The first crept to the tree that was near the front door of the house. The other headed toward the Maxima.
“In position across from the door,” a voice said on the radio.
“We have a problem,” a second voice said.
“Like I hadn’t noticed that,” Donovan said.
“More of a problem. I’m at the Maxima. The driver is dead. Bullet caught him right below the ear. Doesn’t look like a random shot to me. He was definitely targeted.”
Quinn blew out a breath. A bad situation had just gotten worse.
“Fine,” Donovan said. “We are still on mission. Dailey, what do you see?”
“The heat signatures are all together, not far inside the house.”
“Is anyone looking out the window?”
“No one’s near any window.”
“Good. Abel, you and Cox move in close. See what you can hear.”
“Copy that,” Abel responded.
The man at the car and the one behind the tree began running in a crouch toward the front door.
“I think I jinxed us with that ‘exciting’ comment,” Nate said to Quinn.
“Yeah. I wasn’t going to point that out,” Quinn said.
“Thanks for your consideration.”
There was a sudden movement from the far side of the car. A third man was heading quickly across the front lawn toward the house.
“Donovan, is that you?” Abel said.
“What are you talking about?” Donovan said.
“There’s someone about thirty feet to my right. He looks like one—”
A muzzle flashed. It was followed almost immediately by the disintegration of one of the windows next to the front door. Another flash. Another window shattered. Quinn saw Abel and Cox dive for cover. When he looked back at the front yard, the third man was gone.
“Shooter! Shooter!” Abel yelled as he and Cox sprinted toward the Maxima.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is going bad fast,” Nate said to Quinn. “Someone’s got to be calling the cops by now, don’t you think?”
Quinn nodded. “We’ll hold our position so we can act as eyes for the others. But if there are any bodies, we’re leaving them.”
Abel and Cox circled the Maxima.
“He’s gone,” one of them said.
“Dailey, scan the yard,” Donovan said. “See if you can pick up something.”
“I can’t reposition that quickly,” Dailey said.
“Fine. Stay on the house. Mercer, anything?”
“No.” Mercer sounded winded. “Someone was just running through the trees, but I lost him.”
“Goddamn it. The rest of you, into the house. Now. I don’t care how you do it. They already know we’re coming.”
The phone in Quinn’s pocket buzzed again, reminding him he had a text waiting. The vibration was loud enough for Nate to hear. He looked at Quinn, eyebrows raised.
Quinn ignored both his apprentice and the phone.
Abel and Cox darted to the front door. Without pausing, Abel kicked out with his right, connecting with the door just below the knob.
Quinn could hear the sound of the wood cracking. More noise pollution. He had seldom seen a job go this bad this fast.
Abel kicked again. This time the door flew inward, then rebounded toward them. Cox took up position against the jamb, aiming his gun into the darkness. Abel nodded, then rushed forward, keeping low.
“We’re in,” Abel announced as Cox slipped inside as well.
“He’s done something to his windows so we’re having a problem getting in at the back,” Donovan said. “Looking for an alternative. Dailey, what’s going on with the targets?”
Targets now, Quinn registered. What a mess.
“They’re at the back of the house, west side.”
Over the radio, Quinn could hear the spit of bullets passing through suppressors.
“We’re receiving fire,” Abel grunted.
“We’re coming around to your side,” Donovan said.
“They’re moving again,” Dailey broke in.
Three more muffled gunshots.
“Into the garage,” Dailey continued.
Several seconds of nothing, then the roar of an engine ripped through the night.
Quinn keyed his mic. “They’ve got a car in the garage. Engine just started.”
“Everyone out front. Now!” Donovan said.
Again, Quinn and Nate held their position. This wasn’t their fight.
Tires screeched, then a tremendous crash filled the air as a large pickup truck exploded through the garage door. Quinn looked at the truck’s crew cab, but couldn’t see anyone. They all must have been hunkered down below the dash.
As the vehicle weaved through the debris, Abel and Cox ran out the front door. A second later Donovan and Beech appeared around the corner of the house.
All four opened fire on the truck. The Ford sped up. As it reached the parked sedan, it swerved to the right, scraping against the Maxima but not slowing down.
“Abort! Abort!” Donovan shouted as the truck raced down the driveway toward Main Street.
“What about the dead man in the car? Shouldn’t we check for ID?” Cox asked.
Good idea, Quinn thought.
“Abort now,” Donovan repeated. “No time. Team four, you’re released.”
“Copy that,” Quinn said. But he held his position as the others disappeared into the woods.
So did Nate.
After ten seconds, Quinn’s apprentice said, “You want the ID, don’t you?”
“The woman was the same woman who watched us in L.A. Wills is going to want to know who these people are.”
“Not our job to get an ID,” Nate observed. It wasn’t an admonishment, just information.
“I want to know who these people are, too.”
Nate rose out of his crouch and tossed the binoculars to Quinn. “Be right back.”
“My idea. I’ll get it,” Quinn said.
“I’m already on my way,” Nate said, but before he could take a step, something moved near the bushes in front of Moody’s house. Nate knelt back down. “The shooter?”
Quinn raised the binoculars. A man skulked around the yard, holding a gun that glowed bright with the heat of a recent discharge. As he took a few steps forward, Quinn was able to focus in on his face.
“It’s Mercer,” Quinn whispered. He must have come back for the attack on the truck.
Mercer snuck his way toward the car, his gun ready at his side. Then, very faint in the distance, Quinn heard a siren. Mercer’s head shot up. After a second, he glanced at the car, hesitated, then he whipped around and ran east toward the woods at the edge of the property. A moment later he was gone. Nate stood again.
“Where are you going?”
“The ID, remember?”
“Police are coming.”
“So I guess I’d better be fast, huh?”
Nate stepped out of the trees, then sprinted to the sedan. Quinn watched as his apprentice opened the driver’s door and leaned in over the corpse. Fifteen seconds later he was up again and running back.
“Find anything?” Quinn asked once Nate had rejoined him.
Nate held up a thin wallet. “This was it.”
The sirens were getting closer now.
“Time to go,” Quinn said, then let Nate lead them through the woods back to their car.
Chapter 11
“Stay down!” Petra yelled at Moody as the truck raced over the remains of the garage door.
Mikhail was behind the wheel, keeping his own head low, aiming the truck toward the street.
Before they’d gone ten feet, a staccato whap-whap-whap of bullets hit the side of the pickup.
“Faster,” Petra said.
“What about Kolya?” Mikhail yelled.
“He’ll have to take care of himself,” she said.