“I learned,” she said, cool as ice. “It’s not a difficult skill, and I have excellent hand-eye coordination.”
“Why?”
“I thought I might have to go to Tiquanna and rescue you. Learning to handle weaponry seemed prudent.”
The idea of Sidney charging into the palace of a Third World dictator gave him pause, but he didn’t dismiss the notion. She was a remarkable woman. “For now, let’s do it my way.”
“I’m tired of people telling me what to do,” she said, “and that includes you, Nick. I’m part of this operation.”
“I won’t let you risk your life.”
“Ditto.”
“We can’t stay where we are.” He nudged her forward. “Stay low and run toward the live oak where Phillips and the other agent are waiting. I’ll cover you.”
“And you’ll follow me,” she said. “Promise that you’ll be right behind me. If you aren’t, I’ll come back for you.”
“Just go.”
As she stepped out from the shrubbery, he dodged to the right and fired into the house through the shattered front window. From the corner of his eye, he saw her make it to the tree. Though he would have preferred heading to the rear of the house, he ran behind her.
Sheltered by the shade tree, Nick took command. “Phillips, you stay here and keep them pinned down. I’ll go around to the back door and do the same. I want to take these guys alive.”
“I assume that Special Agent Phillips has already called for backup,” Sidney said, again surprising him with her savvy comprehension of a dangerous situation. “If we keep the gunmen contained in the house until the others arrive, we’ll have the manpower to take them.”
Phillips gaped at her, and then stared at Nick. “What the hell’s going on with y’all?”
Nick didn’t have time to explain. “Get her to safety.”
“I can help,” she said. “Give me a weapon.”
In her short denim skirt and gingham shirt with her blond hair tucked behind her ears, she looked about as dangerous as Cowgirl Barbie. But he knew better than to doubt her abilities. “There’s no reason for you to take any risks.”
“I could say the same to you.”
But this was his job. He’d been trained for combat. He knew how to handle himself. “I’ll stay safe.”
After another burst of gunfire from the house, Nick separated from the others and emptied the bullets from his Glock 9 into the front of the house. He loaded a fresh clip and ran, returning to the left side of the house, where he ducked down. Remembering the floor plan of their little bungalow, he knew that the windows above him opened onto a dining room that attached to the kitchen. The only exits from the house were the front entry and the kitchen door. He eased toward the rear of the house.
Stark, silvery moonlight glistened across the backyard patio and the waist-high chain link fence. Nick was painfully aware that he wasn’t in a simple village in Tiquanna, where danger was a way of life. The complications of being in Austin were wide and varied. When lights went on in the house next door, he prayed that his neighbors had the good sense to stay inside. From down the street, he heard dogs barking. If this firefight continued, there were sure to be casualties.
Scanning the yard, he decided that the best vantage point for watching the kitchen door would be at the far side of the backyard, but that area offered little in the way of cover, and he wasn’t carrying another ammunition clip. Every shot had to count. His best option was to stay where he was and fire at anyone who came through the door. He wanted to take these men alive, to find out why they were coming after him.
If this attack had been arranged by the underfunded Tiquanna rebels, he didn’t expect sophisticated weaponry. They’d wear bulletproof vests but not body armor. How many of them were there in the house? He’d seen flashes from at least two weapons.
He heard more gunfire at the front of the house. The longer he waited for the gunmen to make their move, the greater the risk that somebody was going to get shot. Nick had to take the fight to the rebels.
Ignoring the chronic ache from a sprained ankle that hadn’t healed correctly, he vaulted the chain link fence and approached the kitchen door. The interior of the house was dark. There were shouts from inside and more gunfire.
From the street at the front of the house, he heard a police siren and winced. He could have handled the situation with two other marines. Now he’d be dealing with cops, Texas Rangers and backup from the CIA...and Sidney. He couldn’t help being proud of her. She’d learned to shoot and had been planning to take on the whole country of Tiquanna to engineer his rescue. He regretted every minute he’d been away from her and every lie he’d ever told her.
Red and blue cop lights flashed like fireworks through the branches of the trees, lighting up the neighborhood. There were shouts and more chaotic gunfire. The situation was slipping out of control. If he hoped to take these guys alive, he needed to rein it in.
A young, fresh-faced Texas Ranger with a handgun appeared at the back gate.
“Don’t shoot,” Nick said. “I’m on your side.”
“Put down your gun.”
Nick couldn’t blame the kid. If they’d traded places, he would have done the same. Another Ranger joined the first. Now there were two of them, yelling at him to disarm himself.
“Stand down.” The order was barked with the authority of a marine. Lieutenant Butler had joined the Rangers. “He’s on our side, boys.”
There was an explosion at the front of the house. It sounded like a grenade, but Nick guessed it was a flash-bang device that made a lot of noise and fired off thick smoke to drive the gunmen from the house.
The kitchen door flung open and two men wearing balaclavas rushed through. Nick was caught between the Rangers and the masked men. He pivoted and aimed at the rebels.
Bracing himself, he shouted, “Drop your guns.” He repeated the command in Spanish. For a moment, it looked as if they might obey. Then three other armed cops came around from the front and opened fire. Nick dropped to the ground.
When the smoke cleared, the two masked men were sprawled facedown on the concrete patio. Two of the Rangers had also been shot. Their cries and moans struck a familiar chord in Nick’s memory. The stink of blood and gunpowder dragged him back in time to other battles, other attacks. Adrenaline pumped up his senses. He staggered to his feet.
He didn’t seem to be injured. By some miracle, he had been spared. Stumbling, he approached one of the downed rebels and yanked the mask from his face. He’d been shot in the head, but enough of his features remained for Nick to identify him. His name was Rico.
Agent Phillips dashed into view. “I don’t want you to worry, Nick. She’s going to be all right.”
Sidney. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.
* * *
SIDNEY WASN’T HAPPY about the blatantly obvious police presence in front of her house. Most of her neighbors were still strangers, and this wasn’t how she wanted to be introduced. Still, making a bad first impression might be the least of her worries. Number one was, of course, that she and Nick had been targeted, which validated Special Agent Hawthorne’s insistence on safe houses. Number two, Sidney had been injured. She sat on the rear step bumper of one of the two ambulances with a bandage wrapped around her upper left arm.
A bullet had grazed her. Though the EMT told her she needed stitches, he also assured her that the wound wasn’t serious. She clenched her jaw, telling herself that it didn’t hurt even though the straight slash across her biceps stung like hellfire. The EMT