Page 183 of Protecting You
“Down! On your right!”
The words were huffed by Bartlett.
Callan hit the ground, feeling the whoosh of a bullet too close. He saw the gunman running for cover and aimed. Before he fired, the guy went down.
Bartlett crouched beside him. “You hit?”
“No. Did you?—?”
“Yup.”
“Thanks.” He started to get up, but Bartlett gripped his arm.
“You can’t help them if you’re dead. Move slowly and keep cover.”
Right. He was right, of course.
Together they continued toward cabin number eleven, keeping out of the moonlight.
Enemies were streaming out of nearby beach houses.
And going down, one at a time, though neither Bartlett nor Callan ever had a chance to take a shot.
Grant, Gavin, and the scuba team were picking off enemies one by one.
No doubt the terrorists were going to lose this battle.
But would Alyssa and Peri survive?
More miracles, Lord. Please.
They were creeping behind the neighboring beach house when the tiny sliver of light coming from the window widened a second before the lamp inside went off.
A man leaned out the window. Saw them. Aimed.
Callan took the shot.
The man disappeared inside. Hit?
Callan didn’t know.
Either way, they’d been seen. They were out of time.
“Going around front.” Callan made his way toward the space between the beach houses. The ground was sandy and made the movement slow. But muffled his footsteps.
He spoke low. “Emerging from the west of the house.” He needed to alert allies that he wasn’t an enemy.
“You’re covered,” Grant said. Then, as Callan stepped out, “Got you. Shooters inside.”
Yeah, well. He knew that. But so were Alyssa and Peri. Someone had to breach the door.
“No activity at the first window,” Grant said.
From here, he had a view of the beach side of the little house.
A person lay in front of the door. Face down. Dead.
She wore a uniform. A state cop who’d also served in combat.
