Ten

Michael crossed the dark lawn with confident, long-legged strides, approaching the guard stationed there as if he belonged. The man, hearing his approach, turned but didn’t raise his gun. Didn’t seem worried about him at all. Michael gave him a reassuring smile as he closed the distance, and the guard returned it with a look of annoyance.

“Volver a tu puesto, idiota,” the man hissed, but Michael kept coming, closing the distance between them, the smile firmly fixed in place. The man realized Michael was an intruder seconds before he grabbed him, clasping his chin and the back of his head, giving his neck a violent jerk that snapped it in two.

The guard dropped, and Michael stepped over him to mount the marble steps that led to the front door. Cordova slept in a third-floor interior suite. No windows. No outside access. Getting to him would’ve been nearly impossible without the samples he’d collected from his daughter. Armed with Pia’s prints, his knife, and a few dozen rounds of ammo, the task was almost mundane.

He approached the screen and scanner fixed to the wall and leaned forward. The retina and fingerprint scan had to be done simultaneously or it would trigger a silent alarm that would send every available guard his way. Timing was everything.

He aimed his eye over the scanner just as he began to roll his index finger across the screen. The gloves he wore were outfitted with neoprene tips embedded with Pia’s prints, and the contact in his eye was coded with her retinal signature. The door lock released.

Piece of cake.

He stepped into the dark foyer and his earpiece crackled. “You’ve got one coming toward you—ten yards and closing,” Ben said. Hijacking Cordova’s security feed had taken him less time that it’d taken Michael to kill the guard. From where he was, not only did Ben have eyes on almost every square inch of Cordova’s estate, he was also able to manipulate the feed. Anyone else monitoring the surveillance footage would see nothing out of the ordinary. The kid certainly gave Lark a run for his money for Geek Squad status.

There were two guards per floor. Any who saw Michael had to be dealt with. He ducked into an alcove under the stairs and drew his knife, waiting for the second guard to pass before stepping back into the hall, directly behind him. He held the black ceramic blade tight against his forearm while he slipped the other around the guard’s neck and across his chest. Michael shoved the guard’s shoulder into the wall, pinning his arm at his side while he lifted the other away from his body, driving the blade several times between his ribs, a vicious tattoo into his heart and lungs. He was dead before he even knew he was in trouble. Michael dragged him into the vestibule, out of sight, before dropping him on the floor.

“Where’s the other first-floor guard?” he said quietly, wiping his knife off on the dead guy’s shirt.

“Stationed at the back of the house. He shouldn’t be an issue,” Ben said.

“The second floor?” He tucked his knife away but within easy reach. Ben still hadn’t answered him. “Kid?”

“They just followed Pia Cordova into a second-floor bathroom.”

Shit. What the hell was she doing here? “Can you see them?”

“No, the bathroom is blind, but I’m pretty sure they weren’t heading in there to hold her purse while she pees.” Ben paused. “If she sees you, you’re gonna have to kill her. This is supposed to be a clean sweep. No witnesses.”

Michael ignored him. He’d been assigned to kill Cordova and to tell the truth, he didn’t feel bad about doing it. But killing his daughter was not on the books. Not unless absolutely necessary. Michael lifted a silencer-equipped 9mm from his leg holster.

“You’ve got a clear shot to the top,” Ben said. “Wait … Cordova’s on the move. He’s heading toward you.”

Good. He could get this over with and get out without having to deal with Pia. Michael stepped into the hall and took the stairs two at a time, rounding the second-floor landing. He mounted the third flight and was five steps from the top when Cordova appeared at the head of the stairs, his wide girth swaddled in a silk robe, a cut crystal tumbler in his hand.

His muddy brown eyes widened in shock even as his mouth yanked open to sound the alarm. Michael leveled the 9mm at Cordova’s face and pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession—ssk, ssk—drilling twin holes in the man’s forehead. He lowered the gun before Cordova could make a sound. The glass slipped out of the fat man’s hand as he fell back and bounced down the stairs to smash on the tile below. The sound echoed through the silent house.

“Shit. You’ve got incoming.”

A split-second decision had Michael flying down the stairs the way he’d come. He holstered his gun and reached for his knife as he took the stairs downward. He could hear the third-floor guards running in the direction of their fallen boss, shouting frantically. One of them would try radioing for help. He didn’t have much time before they realized their frequency was jammed and came after him.

He could hear the remaining first-floor guard pound his way toward him. Michael stopped on the staircase and waited for his head to pop up over the shared railing between the two sets of stairs. Seconds later, head and shoulders appeared. Michael gripped the railing and swung toward the guard, driving forward with the blade of his knife. The guard was ready, turning swiftly and taking aim. He got a shot off that slammed into the wall mere inches from Michael’s head. The roar of it echoed in his ear, heat searing the side of his face. He sliced the blade across the guard’s throat, severing his jugular in one clean sweep. The guy tumbled backward down the stairs, and Michael vaulted the banister, landing in the first-floor stairwell in a crouch.

“Move your ass,” Ben barked into his ear.

Adrenaline dumped into his system. He pulled a SIG P238 from the small of his back. The door directly across from him swung open and a pair of guards tumbled out, shirtless, yanking up their pants as they did. Using the darkened stairway as cover, Michael fired. The first guard took three bullets center mass. Blood bloomed across his chest while the other guard took aim. Wild shots drilled into the wall and floor, but one of them found its mark, mushrooming against Michael’s Kevlar-covered chest. The impact knocked him off his feet and he tumbled down the stairs, landing on top of the guard he’d just bled out.

He flipped over and covered the staircase despite the fact that he felt like he’d just been hit in the midsection by a semi. The second guard appeared at the top of the stairs. Michael pulled the trigger again and again, hitting the man in the neck and face. He fell, revealing a half-naked Pia cowering behind him.

Shit.

“You gotta do it,” Ben said in his ear.

He holstered the gun and stood. The third-floor guards were pounding down the stairs, but it didn’t matter. They’d see safeguarding Pia as more important than chasing him down. He hit the door as fast as he could and did what he did best.

He disappeared.