Hardy whipped his head around and darted to the front window. He drew back the curtain. “It’s too late, sir. They’ve found us. We’ve got to go now.” Hardy disconnected the call and jammed the phone into his pocket.
Having joined him at the window, Special Agent Cruz eased back the other curtain. Three vehicles were lined up at the tree line, facing the house. She counted twelve men fanning out and approaching the house. “Even if we could get to the Charger in time, they have the only escape route blocked.”
Hardy spied the sectional sofas. “Give me a hand.” They slid one sofa in front of the front door and dragged the other two to the window. Tipping them on end, they leaned them against the window. “That should slow them down.”
Running into the dining area, he hauled—Cruz pushed—the heavy wooden kitchen table toward the back door. Hardy joined her and they lifted the table and let it fall against the door. “That’s all we can do. Let’s go.” He raced toward the stairs. Cruz grabbed her duffle bag and followed.
Charity was standing at the top, dressed in Cruz’s clothes—shorts, t-shirt and tennis shoes. “What’s going on? Aren’t we leaving?”
Hardy jabbed his forefinger over her shoulder. “Change of plans—we need to shelter in place. Get to the bathroom.” Stopping and pressing his body against the handrail, he grabbed Cruz’s arm and pulled her past him, “Get her to safety,” before bounding down the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“I forgot to get the lights.” Hardy moved from lamp to lamp, breaking each bulb. The main floor was in near darkness. With the lights out, they were on a more level playing field. Hardy’s team knew the layout, but the opposing force did not. He took the stairs two at a time and joined the women in the bathroom.
Hardy threw back the shower curtain and motioned toward Charity. “Get in the tub and lie down. It’s not perfect, but it might help stop bullets.” He helped her into the tub and held her arm, while she got on her belly. “Make yourself as flat as possible.”
Cruz drew and checked the status of her pistol. “How are we going to play this?”
Hardy motioned toward the stone chimney. “You take a position behind the chimney.” He tilted his head toward the opposite end of the hallway. “I’ll be over there.” He made an ‘X’ with his forearms. “We’ll set up a killing field and get them in the crossfire. We need to maintain the advantage of height and keep them on the first floor.”
Hardy ran to the end of the hallway, while Cruz knelt by the chimney. He wanted to ask her how long before her men arrived, but he knew the answer—too long. His phone vibrated. “We’re kind of in the middle of—”
Jameson cut him off. “The team I sent will never make it in time. We’re going to plan ‘B.’ Backup will be there in ten minutes.”
Hardy crouched and got as low as possible. “I’m not sure we have ten minutes, but copy that.” Changing the rate of fire on the MP5 to single-shot, he spied Cruz. “Okay, let’s make every shot count.”