Chapter Thirty-One

“ W hat’s the news?” Charles demanded brusquely. He’d given up on expecting good news tonight. That way, if any did come in, he would be pleasantly surprised as opposed to the constant disappointment he’d had to endure over these past few weeks.

“The targets are still on the road to Philly,” Kelly replied. “I’m en route to intercept them.”

He nodded. “Push the bounty to five million before fees but spread it for wide appeal. I want every possible gun in the area pointed at them. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.”

“Of course, Mr. Stafford,” the man replied, as quietly affable as always.

“I don’t want it to be a bullet from a distance,” he said suddenly. “I want it to be up close and personal. I want Anderson to know who is killing him. He has to look them in the eye and know that I’m the one. Understood?”

“Understood, Mr. Stafford. I’ll handle it personally.”

Charles hung up without a final farewell. He didn’t care that he was abrupt. Kelly was a professional and he would understand the kind of pressure he was under. And he would handle it personally. Whether the man meant he would perform the assassination himself—the thought of which made Charles a little giddy—or if he would personally delegate it was irrelevant. All that mattered was that Anderson didn’t survive the night.

“It had better be fucking worth it,” Charles whispered and scowled at the empty decanter.

Savage studied the open area outside their warehouse. Sunrise was still a couple of hours away, which meant the place was murky and difficult to see. Anderson pulled the car in to park a few hundred feet away from the building proper and the operative stepped out first. His alert gaze scanned the entire area before he indicated that it was clear for his boss to exit.

“So…” The ex-colonel looked around and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. “Just how fucked are we if we didn’t get the timing on this perfectly?”

“Right up the ass. With a cactus. The prickly kind.”

“That’s great. Anja, do you know if our people are in position?”

“Terry’s already in position and waiting for you,” she confirmed. “Sam, how close are you?”

“I’m still five minutes out,” she called. “Why the fuck is there so much traffic at three in the fucking morning?”

“Better make it two,” Savage muttered under his breath as he flicked the safety off his pistol. “Because we are about to have some serious company.”

The truth of that statement was immediately evident. A string of cars had already started to pull up on the other side of the damn lot. Most of them hadn’t bothered to stop but headed directly toward them. Savage drew a deep breath and stilled his thoughts to take himself into that dark, lonely place in his head.

“Get in the warehouse, Anderson,” he said. He raised his weapon and stepped into the cover the small electric car offered.

“I can help out here,” the man protested.

“Get in the damn warehouse—now,” he snapped and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t have time to remind him that he was the one these killers had targeted. They didn’t care about Savage as much as they would a bump in the road on their way to some serious cash.

This particular bump, however, would break bumpers and flatten wheels. He liked that analogy. Maybe he’d be able to use it some other time.

The ex-colonel broke away from the car, and Savage breathed a deep breath. The enemy were about a hundred yards away but closing fast. He let the breath out slowly, propped his arm on the car in front of him, and squeezed the trigger gently.

Not having to account for the kick of a firearm was the best, he noted as he fired a pair of needles into the air. At this distance and with the kind of weapon he used, he was surprised that he could even hit the cars. The fact that the needles both seemed to drive through the windshield in the driver’s seat area made him smile. The first car that he’d aimed at suddenly veered off course and cut a couple of the others off as the rest continued their hurtled approach.

Anderson had reached the warehouse and ducked behind the heavy steel door. He used it for cover as he started to lay down fire as well. Between the two of them, the six vehicles that had converged on them now were forced to halt barely twenty paces away, and the men inside piled out. Some carried assault rifles, others had shotguns, and there was a myriad of other weapons. One of them even carried a crossbow.

The operative ducked behind the electric car as they immediately opened fire at him.

“Any time you like, Terry,” he shouted when a spray of glass rained over him as the windows of the car shattered. The owners would not be happy about the condition of their car after this. He would have to think of a way to repay them.

“Roger that, Savage,” Terry confirmed in the distant, distracted voice long-distance shooters used when they had their eyes locked on a scope.

A loud crack echoed above the cacophony of firepower. A bullet pounding its way past the sound barrier was always an impressive sound, Savage thought. Shouts of alarm vented, and the fusillade paused. The operative peered from behind his scanty cover. The brains of one of the men sprayed across the car. Another loud crack split the air and a second head exploded.

Savage resumed firing, although he lacked the kind of pinpoint accuracy the sniper had. Another assassin fell, most of his chest cavity aerated, then another. This one clutched his leg as one of the needles struck home.

The attackers all came to the decision that they wouldn’t be able to attack the warehouse with a sniper breathing down the backs of their collective necks, and that became the priority problem. They had a good idea of where Terry was holed up and, at the risk of leaving Savage and Anderson free to fire on them, they started to lay down fire in the general direction of the sniper.

“Fudge!” Terry shouted through the mic. The sounds of bullets ricocheting around him said that he wouldn’t return fire until he’d moved to his new location. The difficulty presented by the warehouse had been to find a secure position that offered a clear line of sight. Rather than entrench himself in a single hide, he’d chosen two or three of the best to enable him to use each, depending on the situation. He’d rejoin the battle once he’d relocated, but for now, they were on their own.

A couple of the invaders remained to lay a steady stream of bullets toward the sniper who had already moved on. The rest conferred, no doubt to plan a strategy to attack the warehouse.

Some looked like they were pros. Even in the darkness, they hugged what little cover there was, mostly provided by the cars they had brought themselves. Of the two and a half dozen, though, about half seemed like they were in a hurry to be somewhere else. Some strafed cover fire while their comrades pushed their way toward the building. Their haste left them open to Savage, who was able to pick them off one by one without even needing to break cover.

More glass shattered and a couple of the bullets aimed at him punctured the car’s tires. At this point, the owners would be better off buying another vehicle. Their insurance would cover stuff like this, right?

Those who had tried to rush the warehouse had either started to fall back or had dropped under the crossfire of Savage and Anderson’s positions. The rest, however, were more determined and far more skilled and circled cautiously to use the defender’s cover against them. They worked together to overlap their lines of fire while some moved into a position that would force Savage to peek out from behind his cover and expose himself in order to fire on them.

It wasn’t an ideal situation, he had to admit, but then again, none of this was. They still had one member of the party who was running unfashionably late.

Worse, the little car he huddled behind wouldn’t provide him protection for much longer. The bullets were already blazing through to his side. The only reason why he hadn’t taken any of those holes himself was because he was still hidden visually. The enemy simply battered the vehicle with firepower in the hope that someone would get lucky.

That wouldn’t last long, he realized. He needed to move.

He made a snap judgment. “I’ll need cover here.”

“Reloading,” Anderson called from behind the door. As soon as the former colonel was ready, Savage sucked in a deep breath, put aside the paralyzing fear of being shot in the back, and sprinted toward the warehouse. His partner pulled out from behind the door and fired as rapidly as he could to spread as much lead in the general direction of their attackers as he could. Terry had obviously secured his new position and added his lethal efficiency to the firefight. For a second, the attackers were caught in a flurry of fire from two sides.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to allow the operative to careen into the warehouse. Unable to stop, he pounded into the wall behind Anderson at full speed. He winced as his shoulder twisted with the impact. The pull had left him tender, but not overly so, although his ribs flared with new pain. Still, he was in fighting shape. He’d been in worse.

“Mixon, you need to get out of there,” Savage said and stepped into position where Anderson had been as his comrade reloaded.

“I’m way ahead of you, Savage,” the sniper replied. “I have one more position, but that’ll be the last.” The man would make a final stand and do what he could, but his locations hadn’t been great to start with and two were already compromised. If this took any longer, more cars would join the first group, and he would be even more vulnerable. He needed to get back to the warehouse immediately.

He had been in the business long enough to know when his particular skills became his point of weakness.

Savage narrowed his eyes when the sound of screeching tires shrieked over the now sporadic gunfire. For the worst of seconds, he believed it could be their attackers’ reinforcements coming in. They wouldn’t have the firepower to handle another wave force, not with Mixon relocating.

But as the vehicle hurtled towards the warehouse at breakneck speed, another thought came to mind. He’d watched videos of Sam’s driving, both in courses and in the field. Nobody would be able to emulate the kind of controlled crazy she brought into play when she had a car in her hands. He grinned as she brought it in with no apparent attempt to slow and executed a handbrake turn to yank the vehicle around in a cloud of smoke. For a moment, her ploy provided a welcome screen to protect them from the enemy that now scrambled to regroup. Fortunately, no one seemed to have any real idea who she was. For all they knew, she was one of them.

She shoved the door open. “Anderson, get inside,” she snapped.

“Just me?” he asked with a glance Savage.

“Yeah, just you,” he snarled. “Get inside.”

“I won’t leave you here to deal with all these attackers alone,” he roared in protest.

“What part of ‘they’re here to kill you, not me’ do you still have a hard time understanding?” he asked. “Get in the fucking car, dumbass. Besides, I still have Terry to cover my ass. You need to go.”

He nodded. The man clearly didn’t like being the first out. He was a soldier, through and through, and if there was fighting to be had, he preferred to be in the middle of it instead of running away from it.

Tough luck. He would get out of there alive. Savage reacted to his boss’ hesitation by grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and heaving him into the passenger seat. Anderson voiced little complaint as the operative slammed the car door shut and patted the top of the vehicle to indicate that they were all good to go.

Someone in the ranks gathered beyond the vehicle must have seen something because a single short volley shattered the calm. Sam didn’t need to be told twice and she pressed down on the gas. The tires churned another cloud of impressive—and useful—dust as they hightailed it out of the lot, narrowly missing a few of the attackers who tried to bring their weapons to bear and had to fling themselves aside to avoid injury.

Savage ducked behind the door and his eyes scanned the area around him. Some of the attackers had clearly not received the memo that their quarry was currently in flight. These milled around in apparent confusion and a few arguments ensued between some of the groups. The pros knew it, though, and were the first to sprint to their cars to give chase.

He managed to pick a couple of them off before they escaped, then turned his attention to those remaining. They gradually realized what had happened and decided it was time to flee, while Terry’s rifle barked with deadly intent from his final position to hurry them along.