Likely Suspects (26 page)

The back door blew open, and two guys in full tactical gear entered the house. I took cover in the stairwell while Martin headed up the steps. They were professional killers as indicated by their gear and assault rifles. I couldn’t afford to be in a shootout since I was outgunned and without the proper body armor. Taking the stairs sideways, I prepared to provide as much cover fire as possible. Martin stopped on the third floor, and I motioned for him to go up another level.

Quickly, I
went into my room and got my back-up pistol, stowing it in the now empty slot on my shoulder holster. Pressing my back against the wall next to the stairway, I cast a brief glance up the steps. Martin disappeared on the top floor, and I hoped he would be safe.

The men
were downstairs, methodically clearing all of the rooms on the second floor. After which, they would either go down to the first floor, or they’d come up to the third, unless more guys had already breached on another level. I pushed the thought out of my head. Focus on one problem at a time. I held my position, waiting and listening. Somehow, I managed to ignore the wail of the security system and focus solely on the two mercenaries.

I heard
them at the bottom of the steps, and I took a breath and waited. If these bastards were going to kill me, I would take as many of them with me as possible. The door to the first floor opened, and I risked a quick peek to see if more of their friends had joined the party. Amazingly, the two men were slowly heading down the stairs to clear the first level. One waited near the top of the steps, only barely in the garage, while the other went to check the area.

I crept down the stairs as quickly
and silently as possible; my window of opportunity was closing by the second. Why the hell didn’t I have a taser, I thought angrily as I got behind the man. I couldn’t fire a shot. It was too loud, and his partner would turn me into Swiss cheese in a split second. Grabbing the man in a firm chokehold, I held on tight as he grabbed at my arms and tried to buck me forward, but his footing on the narrow steps limited his movements. This is an incredibly stupid idea, my internal voice screamed. Thankfully, he began to go limp, and I did my best to set him down quietly. I didn’t know how long he was going to be out or how quickly his partner would finish checking the ground floor.

Taking the
assault rifle from around his neck, I slung it across my body and noticed a few zip ties stuck in his back pocket. At least one of us came prepared. I debated dragging him up the steps and away from his teammate. Divide and conquer; I grabbed the man’s arm and dragged him up the two steps. He was heavy, and I strained to pull his bulk and combat gear just a few inches. Once I managed to get him onto the second floor, I zip tied his hands and ankles and glanced down the stairs.

T
he footsteps of the second mercenary were getting closer. Fuck. I grabbed the downed gunman by the ankles and dragged him into the living room. My back screamed out in protest, but I ignored it. It was only a couple of feet, but it was enough. I just needed to be able to shut the door, but the second mercenary was already at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me.

I swung the assault rifle forward and
fired wildly, spraying the area with bullets. The man took cover, and I shut and locked the door. Shoving the side table in front of the door like a barricade, I knew it wasn’t going to hold him for long, but it was the best I could do. I needed to buy time. As I ran up the stairs, gunfire erupted from below, splintering the wood door and the table. I needed to find someplace secure to hide.

Martin, I thought frantically.
Hopefully, he was holed up on the fourth floor somewhere safe. I couldn’t risk leading the gunmen straight to him, so I took refuge on the third floor. Create a distraction, my mind circled through possibilities, dismissing the unfeasible ones faster than any super computer. I ran down the hallway to the laundry room, looking for something to use as a makeshift Molotov cocktail. Too bad laundry detergent and bleach weren’t flammable. I sprinted back to my room.  By now, the door to the first floor had been broken down, and I had only seconds before the mercenary would be up the stairs.

I ran into the bathroom and found the mo
uthwash and hairspray. Would the alcohol content be enough to ignite? It was my only option. I popped the top off the hairspray and poured it into the mouthwash and stuffed some rolled up toilet paper into the mouth of the bottle. The bathroom drawer contained a matchbook, and I lit the corner of the paper. I didn’t need to hurt him with this. I just needed to create a diversion. Throwing open the French doors, I set the slowly burning bottle on the terrace, just out of sight. I got into the closet, cracking the door open slightly and waiting.

Heavy footsteps were outside the room.
Please check the terrace first, I silently prayed. The armor-clad man entered the room slowly, glancing around cautiously. I held my breath. He circled toward the terrace and the bathroom, his gun poised, ready to decimate any and everything. He checked the bathroom first before going out the French doors. He was barely outside when the mouthwash concoction flared up slightly. Not quite the explosion I hoped for but enough to make him turn and shield himself.

Emerging
from the closet, I rolled for cover and crouched against the bed. I aimed and fired, unrelenting. The bullets made contact but didn’t penetrate his armor. The mercenary returned fire, and I ducked down as feathers and stuffing exploded around me. I fired blindly, hoping to get lucky.

This was a really bad idea, the voice in my head
criticized. I was pinned down. We continued to return fire until I pressed the trigger and heard a click. Empty. I grabbed my nine millimeter from my waistband and took a breath. The sound of the return fire was so loud that the room echoed as white fluff and feathers flew through the air like macabre confetti indicating the death of hundreds of birds. The moment the bullets stopped flying I knew I had only a second while the man reloaded. Leveling my gun at him, I used what was left of the mattress to steady my shot and pulled the trigger. I fired twice, initially missing. The second shot made contact with his neck, and the impact sent him tumbling over the balcony to the ground below.

Unsteadily, I
made my way to the balcony. The mercenary was lying on the ground, not moving. The pool of blood around his head was spreading across the concrete walkway that led to Martin’s Infinity pool. One down, I thought. If there were only two guys, one was dead and the other may still be unconscious on the second floor. I was going to check on the first guy when I heard a sound from above. Racing up the stairs, I had to get to Martin before it was too late.

I
took the stairs two at a time until I emerged onto the fourth floor. Ducking against the wall, I peered around the corner. No one was in sight. I crouched down and checked again before crossing the hallway to his bedroom. I opened the door and looked around, but I didn’t see anyone inside.

“Martin,” I hissed.
I needed to make sure he wasn’t here before I continued down the hallway. There was no response, so I carefully made my way back into the hallway and down to the next room, which was his office.

Pressing my body
against the wall, I turned the doorknob and crossed to the other side of the doorway before nudging it open with my foot. My gun was leveled in front of me. As I entered, I came face to face with the business end of a shotgun. Martin and I were frozen momentarily, guns raised as the realization dawned on us.

“Thank god.” H
e sighed, lowering the shotgun as I lowered my handgun. “I heard all those shots.” Checking the room, I was trying to determine what caused the noise I heard.

“I got
one of them, and I had one tied up downstairs. But I don’t know if he’s still there.” I was walking toward the window, intent on looking to see if reinforcements were going to storm the castle. Where the hell were the cops? “There could be more, I heard–” I was knocked forward. Something had thrown me full force into the wall. My head swam for a minute, and I blinked away the blackness that was creeping into my vision. My gun was already out and aimed at a third mercenary, who was firing into the office from the hallway.

I knocked
the desk over in one quick move to provide cover. Had I been shot? Where was Martin? I returned fire and looked around. The mercenary had taken refuge in an alcove.

“Oh my g
od.” The words escaped my lips without my permission. Martin was on the ground, and blood was soaking through his shirt alarmingly fast. I shoved the sideways desk over to provide as much cover for him as possible. More shots were fired into the room, and I ducked my head as they whizzed past. I had no vantage point.

T
he blood was pumping out of his body with every beat of his heart. My only desire was to help him, to try to stop the bleeding. But right now, I had to prioritize. If I didn’t take down this mercenary, we’d both be dead in a matter of minutes. I saw the shotgun laying discarded on the floor just beyond the desk.

“Hang on,” I told the unconscious Martin as
I crawled over him toward the edge of the desk. Rolling from my cover position, I picked up the shotgun and pressed myself against the wall, out of sight of the mercenary who was still firing at the desk. Edging toward the doorway, I waited for the burst of bullets to stop, and then I broke cover and fired both barrels. The shotgun bucked, but I held my position. The mercenary was knocked back, and I reloaded as quickly as possible, firing again.

During his return fire, bullets
hit my vest, and I landed on my back hard, knocking the wind from my lungs. I reached for my holstered handgun as I lay on the ground, trying to determine if the shots punctured my vest. The man emerged from the alcove and walked over to me. I was gasping for air, and with each breath I took, my ribcage threatened to explode. He was standing over me now, gun raised.

“Nothing
personal,” he said coldly, aiming his weapon. I lifted my head slightly and without a moment’s hesitation brought my handgun up and fired. The bullet impacted between his eyes, and he went down. I lay back against the ground, unable to move.

Get up, Parker,
the voice in my head screamed. The pain was intense, almost unbearable, as I reached up with my right hand and pulled the Velcro loose and managed to get the vest off. Carefully, I felt around my chest and abdomen. No blood. I forced myself into a seated position. Despite having the vest on, it still felt like I had been hit by a speeding car. Even the smallest movement sent shooting, agonizing pain throughout my body. My breathing was ragged, but at least my lungs were semi-functional again. I crawled slowly back into the office. I had to get to Martin.

“Martin.”
I leaned over him, ripping at the Velcro straps, so I could assess the damage. “Martin.” I kept repeating his name, hoping he’d open his eyes. After getting his vest off, it was apparent he had been shot at an angle. The bullet didn’t go through the vest; it had gone underneath it and sliced diagonally from his shoulder toward his clavicle and downward. I didn’t see an exit wound.

T
he point of entry was on his right side, just below the clavicle and shoulder joint. Blood was pouring out, and I feared the damage was too extensive. My first responder training was limited, but an artery or worse must have been hit. If he had any chance of surviving, I needed to slow the bleeding.

I reached down and grabbed his belt buckle, undoing it as quickly as I could.
“Martin. James!” I practically screamed. “Open your eyes. Look at me, dammit!” I got his belt off and glanced around the room, trying to find a shirt or towel, anything to press against the gaping hole to try to staunch the bleeding. There was a small pile of microfiber towels folded on the corner of another desk, likely meant for cleaning the electronic equipment and monitors. I grabbed the towels and folded one, pushing it against the wound. Then I looped his belt around it and tightened it as best I could to hold it in place.

“Martin.
” My hands were covered in his blood, and I could feel tears forming in my eyes. “Martin.” I grabbed another towel and placed it under his head. He grunted. “Open your eyes,” I pleaded. I saw the telltale green irises flash in front of me.

“Alex?
” He tried to move, but his eyes weren’t focusing.

“Stay still.
I’m right here. You’re going to be okay. Just stay awake.” My voice was shaking. I didn’t know what else to do.

“Are you okay?” He
sounded distant.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”
There was gunfire in the distance, but I had no fight left. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

“Good.”
His eyes closed, and my palms pressed more urgently against the blood-soaked towel. I expected any moment to be taken out by a bullet, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore as I stared at the lifeless James Martin.

“Parker.” M
y name was being called, and I looked up. O’Connell and two tactical support guys were in the doorway.

“Help,” I implor
ed as they entered the room.

O’Connell was on the radio
, calling for the paramedics. They must have been right outside because instantly they were up the stairs. The paramedics pushed me out of the way, and O’Connell grabbed my shoulders and hauled me to my feet. I didn’t think I could stand on my own, and he seemed to sense this because he lifted me into his arms and carried me from the room and down the steps.