Hardy stared at the lifeless body of his former commanding officer, slumped in the chair. Blood was streaming from the entry wound. Hardy’s world had been shattered. His mind went back to the missions he had conducted in the last three years. He thought he had given his life to his country. He had believed he was part of something bigger. Sure, he killed, but he had thought those men deserved what they got. They were enemies of his country, men who sought the destruction of America. Were they? He was not sure. He was not sure of anything.
Hardy picked up Ludlum’s glass of bourbon. He brought the glass to his mouth, but stopped. He examined the amber alcohol. Regardless of how he felt, he had a mission to complete. Ludlum had given him a clue in finding who was responsible for the deaths of his men. Finding their killer, or killers, was all that mattered. He could drown his sorrows later. He set the glass on the desk and walked away.
Before he had taken a step, Hardy heard a creaking sound come from the hallway. It was faint, but he had heard it. The floor in the hallway was made from hardwood boards. No one else was supposed to be in the house. He had cleared it. Hardy stood still and slowed his breathing. He closed his eyes, so he could focus on his hearing. The noise came again. With his Sig Sauer pistol in his hand, he glided across the room and stood behind the open door. He peered through the gap between the door and the frame and saw a figure, a gun. Advancing, the person cleared every room, as Hardy had done. Passing by the last open door, the person was illuminated by the light shining through the doorway. Special Agent Cruz. He holstered his pistol and waited.
As Cruz entered the room, the gun in her hand emerged from behind the door, above the doorknob. Hardy grabbed the gun with his left hand and her right wrist with his right hand. He pushed both downward and the gun discharged, sending a bullet into the carpeted floor. He twisted the gun out of her hand and tossed it behind him. With her back to him, she thrust her right elbow backward and connected with his stomach. He doubled over. The blow was weak, but strong enough to make him gasp for air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another elbow strike coming toward his head. He ducked under it and Cruz’s momentum spun her body around. She was facing him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drove her backward toward a bookshelf that extended to the ceiling. He felt her body go limp, giving him the time he needed to grab and pin both of her wrists to the bookshelf and drive his left leg between her legs. He shoved his body against hers, so she could not move.
Cruz fought back. She twisted her wrists to break free of his grip. When that failed, she tried to knee him in the groin, but her leg barely moved. His body was pressed against her torso, forcing her to draw in her stomach and rise to her tiptoes. The back of her head was aching, having hit the bookshelf in the same spot that had smacked the concrete during the shootout. She tried to push her captor backwards. He was too strong. She relaxed her body and glared at him. “I’m an agent of the United States Government. I order you to release me.”
Their faces inches apart, Hardy gazed into Cruz’s eyes. She was even prettier than when he had seen her in the hospital room. He could see his reflection in her eyes. “We don’t have time for this.” He glanced at her full lips. “You need to trust me. We have to get out of here. They’ll be here any minute.”
Pinned against the bookshelf, Cruz was out of options. She scolded herself for having been disarmed so easily. She knew better than to walk into a room, leading with her firearm. Staring into Hardy’s eyes, she saw the same aura of danger she had noticed at the hospital. This was a man who could kill with his bare hands. She had seen firsthand what he was capable of doing and she was not scared. She stole a quick look at his lips. “Who’s coming?”
“Ludlum sent a team to kill me.” Hardy caught the scent of her perfume. Her chest and neck were perspiring. “They won’t care that you’re an FBI agent. After I’m dead, they’ll put a bullet in you, too.”
Cruz found it difficult to avert her stare from his deep blue eyes. When she did, she saw the slumped body. “Did you kill him?”
Hardy shook his head. “He shot himself with his own gun.” With her attention focused on Ludlum, Hardy admired her features. Above her buttoned blouse, he glimpsed a gold chain and the top part of a gold crucifix. His eyes moved to her slender neck and jawline. A gold studded earring was centered on her earlobe. He finished at the top of her head, where her hair was drawn tightly into a high ponytail. When he dropped his eyes, she was staring at him. He could not tell if she believed him or not. They were running out of time. He needed to make a move, so he decided to take a chance. “We don’t have time for this, Agent Cruz. I’m going to let you go and we’re going to get out of here.” His body did not budge. Professionally, his mind was telling him to release her. Personally, his mind—more accurately his heart—was screaming never let her go.
“Well,” she said. “Are you going to let go of me?”
Hardy relaxed his grip and backed away from her. He half-expected her to mount another assault.
She lowered her arms and straightened her blazer. Maintaining eye contact, she moved to where her gun was lying on the floor.
Hardy’s eyes flicked toward the weapon. Moment-of-truth.
She bent over and picked up the weapon, racked the slide to eject the empty case and chamber a new round. She paused for a moment.
Hardy could see she was contemplating her options.
After a few seconds, she holstered her weapon.
Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Cruz pointed at the dead man. “Now, tell me what happened here.”
Hardy brushed past her and into the hallway. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere, until you give me some answers.” She followed him down the hall and past the living room. “Why did Colonel Ludlum shoot himself? What happened in that SUV? Who are you? What—” her barrage of questions were interrupted when Hardy turned on her.
“When we get out of here, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” They were really pushing their luck at this point. He wanted to get out of the house. The desperation was apparent in his voice. “Right now, we really need to—” Hardy saw a red dot appear on her groin and move to her chest. He charged Cruz and tackled her. They landed behind a leather sofa. Cruz was on her back. Hardy was lying on top of her.
Cruz pushed his chest and tried to roll him to her left. “Get off me,” she shouted before the wall behind the sofa was riddled with bullets, sending pieces of wallboard, wood and dust toward them. Hardy dropped his upper body on her, trapping her hands between their bodies, while he raised his hands to cover her head. They jerked their heads away when another round of incoming fire strafed the wall.
Hardy got to his knees. Straddling Cruz, he twisted his upper body, brought up his gun and fired several rounds toward the front door. Cruz wiggled out from under him, drew her pistol and prepared to return fire. Hardy grabbed her arm and yanked, dragging her from behind the sofa. He led her toward the laundry room. When they got to the door Hardy had used to enter the house, he saw three men coming from the woods, dressed in black tactical clothing and carrying MP5 rifles. He pointed his gun toward the men. “We’re trapped.”
Cruz saw them. “What now?” Bullets hit the wall opposite her. She stuck her gun out and fired three rounds at their assailants.
Hardy opened the door leading to the garage. It was clear. He gestured toward the men at the front door. “Keep them busy. I’m going to circle around from behind.”
She nodded. Pressing her back against the wall, she drove out her gun and let loose a few rounds toward the front door.
Hardy exited the garage through the door that led to the front of the house. He crept forward and saw the men at the front door. There were three of them, each with silenced MP5 rifles. He saw one of them giving the other two hand signals before reaching for a stun grenade on his vest. They were preparing to rush Cruz and kill her. Hardy had to act fast. He took aim at the one in charge and shot him once in the back of the head at the base of the skull, instantly dropping him. He swung his pistol to the left and shot each of the other two men, aiming for the same spot. They fell to the concrete porch.
Hardy ran inside and rounded the corner of the living room. He skidded to a halt and found himself looking down the muzzle of Cruz’s gun. Her finger was on the trigger and she would have killed him, if she had added another three pounds of pressure. She lowered her weapon.
He motioned for her to follow. “The way is clear. Let’s go.” They exited the house, leaping over the dead men and running toward Cruz’s Charger. Approaching it, they saw all four tires had been slashed. A quick look at Ludlum’s vehicle revealed the same thing.
Hardy jerked his head, “This way,” before he and Cruz made a beeline for the trees to the side of Ludlum’s house and went deeper into the woods. Turning to run back to where he had parked the Ford Ranger, Hardy saw the three men in black enter the house through the back door. He did not stick around to watch. He wanted Cruz and him to be gone before the men decided to search the woods.
They emerged from the forest and climbed into the Ranger. He started the engine and sped away, the truck tires throwing dirt and gravel when the vehicle transitioned from the loose stones to the concrete surface.