Forced to Kill nm-2 Page 10

  At that moment, his phone rang. Holly. He considered letting it go to voicemail.

  “Hi, Holly.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You back home?”

  “Yes.”

  He sensed unease on the other end.

  “Want to talk?”

  “My TV remote lost an argument.”

  “I’ve got tons of vacation time accumulated.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You aren’t asking.”

  “I’m okay, really.”

  “I’m still coming down there.”

  “I’ll come get you.”

  “You’re in no shape to fly anywhere. You’re exhausted. I can hear it in your voice. I booked a flight earlier this afternoon. I figured Salt Lake might be kinda rough. I’ll be arriving at Lindbergh tomorrow morning, just after eight. She gave him the info.

  “Thanks, Holly.”

  “Try to get some sleep.”

  Chapter 17

  He spotted Holly right away. Dressed in designer jeans and a blue silk shirt, she looked beautiful.

  Holly waved and quickened her pace down the concourse.

  What can she possibly she see in me?

  Outside the security barrier they hugged. The female TSA guard smiled. Nathan wondered if she ever got tired of seeing such reunions.

  She took his arm. “You look exhausted.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “Not much. I can’t get Montez out of my head. I keep thinking about Nichole Dalton and her daughters. Like a feedback loop, it keeps running again and again. I can’t turn it off.”

  “I feel it too. When we get to your house, you’re getting eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

  “Yeah, that’s sounds about right.”

  “Do you have something you can take? Over-the-counter?”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  Holly insisted on paying the parking fee and drove onto North Harbor Drive, heading east toward I-5.

  “So what now?” Holly asked.

  “Exactly.” Nathan sighed. “What now? My next move is to call my father, as much as I’d prefer not to.”

  “I thought you’d patched things up.”

  “That’s not it.”

  She waited.

  “I’m worried Montez will catch wind of our pursuit and disappear forever, especially as more people get involved.”

  “Do you really think that’s possible or even likely? Wouldn’t he need someone deeply embedded at a high level of government?”

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t put it past him. If he’s got such a source, the Dalton family is dead. He doesn’t leave loose ends.”

  “That’s a terrible thought.”

  “It kept me up most of the night, but my instincts are telling me he’s not finished yet.”

  “You think he’s going after more people?”

  “Yeah, I do. A lot more. Maybe we should take a closer look at Nichole Dalton’s past. Montez might be interested in someone she knows or has worked with. She’s got two daughters, but is she married? Divorced? Does she have a boyfriend? Who fathered her children?”

  Holly fell silent for a moment. “It’s likely the San Diego PD has already made those types of inquiries. I wouldn’t be surprised if Henning has a copy of the police report. I’ll find out.”

  He closed his eyes and rested his head.

  “When we get to your house, you’re getting some sleep.”

  Nathan crashed most of the day. He didn’t like losing the hours, but it couldn’t be helped. He still abided by his personal Marine Corps adage: Sleep when you can.

  Now it was Holly’s turn. Curled into his shoulder, the darkness hid her face. She looked so unguarded and yet strong. Somehow this woman had slipped through his defenses. She felt like the missing piece of a puzzle. They’d talked for hours, sharing each other’s lives. Nathan had talked about his loneliness and quick temper. The nightmares. The anger and dark thoughts. The other. His need for privacy.

  Holly had reciprocated and told him about her troubled childhood and high school years, her bout with drugs, and her tequila-shooting, can’t-remember-how-she-got-home days. She admitted to looking for love, but never finding it. It seemed they shared a few things in common.

  They’d spent the day at his La Jolla home. She really loved its architecture and the collection of Civil War relics and weapons. She’d been especially taken by his dogs and vice versa. After dinner, they came over here, to his Clairemont home. She wanted to see where he spent the majority of his time. She liked this house too, said the modest scale and furnishings somehow fit him better, made him more-

  The red LED on the security panel next to the front door began flashing.

  Someone just tripped the motion detector in the rear yard.

  The low whistle of the alarm coming from every room in his house confirmed it.

  “Holly.” he whispered, giving her a firm shake.

  She opened her eyes.

  “We’ve got company. Someone’s in the rear yard.” Nathan put a forefinger over his lips.

  She needed no other prodding. Within seconds, they were both in the bedroom, where he punched a sequence of numbers into a small gun safe on his nightstand. Holly put a hand on his back as the metal hatch silently popped open, revealing his Sig 9-millimeter. He retrieved the weapon, suppressor, and two subsonic round magazines before grabbing his night vision scope from the nightstand drawer.

  “Where’s your service weapon?” he whispered, screwing the suppressor into place.

  “In my hand.”

  “You’re with me. On my six.”

  Dressed only in underwear, Nathan and Holly advanced down the hallway into the den, where vertical blinds covered the sliding glass doors. Standing off to the side, he cracked the slats just enough to see out. He activated his NV scope and scanned the yard.

  Nothing. No movement at all.

  He backed away from the blinds, returned to the hall, and stood perfectly still-listening. He inhaled deeply through his nose. No smell of anyone or anything. No faint cigarette odor, or cologne, or leather. Nothing.

  He put his lips to her ear. “Stay close, I’m going to check the house.”

  Knowing that any security system could be beaten-even his own-he conducted fast-moving reconnaissance, looking in every place big enough to conceal an intruder. In the living room, he picked up their clothes from the floor and tossed them into the coat closet.

  The house was clear.

  A second red light on the panel indicated a front yard motion detector had also been tripped. From the den, he checked the rear yard again. There. Two dark figures. In tactical SWAT-type gear. Moving toward the patio. In the green image of the night vision scope, he saw they carried suppressed Heckler amp; Koch MP5s.

  He approached the keypad by the door and turned it off. If possible, he wanted to take one or more of them alive.

  They hurried back to the bedroom.

  Moving fast, he slipped into a pair of jeans, grabbed T-shirts for himself and Holly, and led her back through the house into the kitchen.

  He handed Holly a shirt and put his on. “We’ll hide in here,” Nathan whispered, and pulled the cabinet doors open. Where there should have been pots and pans, a wide-open space loomed.

  “In there?”

  “Yes.”

  Precious seconds were wasting, he didn’t have time to explain. Once they were both inside, Nathan pulled the cabinet doors closed. Holly ended up sitting with her back to one end of the cabinet with Nathan opposite her in the same position. They were enveloped in near blackness. The only source of light came through tiny holes on the cabinet veneer facing the living room.

  “Nathan, what’s going on?” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated. He was forgetting something, something critical. What was it? Come on, damn it. What am I forgetting? Come on.
>
  Holly’s purse. On the kitchen counter above them.

  He opened the cabinet door, retrieved the purse, and placed it between his legs.

  Low on his left, he turned the knob of a dimmer switch, adjusting it to the lowest setting before pressing the knob to activate a series of night lights plugged into wall outlets.

  The tiny points of light in the cabinet face brightened.

  “Peepholes,” he whispered.

  Chapter 18

  He had to keep Holly calm. Yes, she was a special agent in charge of a major FBI field office, but this situation could rattle even the most battle-hardened soldier. If she made a tactical mistake, they were both dead.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “These cabinet walls are armored with ballistic vest material. We need to stay absolutely quiet. Pretend nobody’s home. We’re just part of the furniture. Inhale deeply. Exhale slowly.”

  “How can you be so calm?” she whispered back.

  “No one’s home. This is an empty house. Inhale deeply, exhale slowly.”

  He heard her take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m okay.”

  They both heard it, a sudden crash of glass.

  “They’re inside. Absolute silence from now on.” He gave her hand a squeeze and pressed his eye to a hole.

  Like demons from a nightmare, four dark figures rushed into the living room.

  In the ambient light, Nathan watched the laser dots sweep through the room. He hoped they were mercenaries, not federal agents. If they were feds, or U.S. military, they’d have a much harder battle on their hands. One thing was certain, he’d never allow Holly or himself to be taken prisoner. One way or the other, this fight was to the death.

  Intruders one, three, and four advanced down the hallway toward the bedrooms, moving with precision and silence. Number two stayed put and crouched down.

  Number two looked directly at the cabinet where they were hiding.

  He gave Holly’s hand another squeeze. After several seconds, Number two looked in the other direction and froze again. Seeing nothing, Number two moved to the base of the cabinet and ended up inches from Holly’s face.

  He watched a red laser beam flash three times on the dining room wall. Number two painted his laser at the same spot and gave three flashes in return, predetermined signals to avoid being blown away by friendly fire. One, three, and four emerged from the dark hallway. Two joined them for a whispered consultation. Good. They weren’t feds. Feds would have used hand signals to implement one of several backup plans.

  Trying to take them now, while they were all together, wouldn’t work because of their ballistic vests. If he didn’t score four head shots, it would be over. Be patient. Wait for a better opportunity.

  One, three, and four disappeared down the hall again.

  Number two advanced toward their position. When he lost sight of the gunman, he aimed his Sig at the cabinet’s door. A rustle of clothing announced two’s pivot around the corner. Nathan imagined the mercenary taking in the empty kitchen.

  Go on. Leave. Nobody home.

  It didn’t happen.

  Through a peephole in the cabinet’s door, Nathan watched the merc crouch beside the base cabinet on the opposite side of the kitchen and begin opening doors.

  They had less than twenty seconds.

  He studied the man’s movements and watched a pattern emerge. At each cabinet, the gunman pulled the door open while pointing his gun into the space, then closed the door. Pull. Point. Close.

  His enemy was halfway through the kitchen now.

  Ten seconds.

  Pull. Point. Close.

  Nathan took slow, deep breaths. All tension gone. Them or us. Definitely them.

  Three seconds.

  One cabinet remaining ahead of theirs.

  Pull. Point. Close.

  The vertical crack of light between their hiding place and the outside world expanded.

  Like a slow-motion python, the black silencer of an MP5 eased toward his face.

  Nathan shoved the cabinet door, knocking the man onto his haunches.

  He centered his laser on two’s throat and pulled the trigger.

  The man jerked twice and lay still. The subsonic round wasn’t completely silent and knocking the intruder down also caused noise. It was a good bet this man’s friends heard the disturbance.

  He sprang out, pulling Holly with him. “Stay behind me,” he whispered.

  The next thirty seconds stretched into a nightmarish melee of violence.

  One, three, and four eased down the hall, hugging the wall.

  Nathan flashed his own laser three times, hoping to lure them into the open.

  It worked.

  Three and four entered the living room in a crouch. Visible in the dust and smoke, their lasers swept back and forth in quick motions. Using the bulletproof cabinet for cover, Nathan painted his beam on the bridge of number three’s nose and squeezed off a shot. The man spun and crumpled to the floor.

  Two down, two to go.

  Thirteen shots remaining.

  Surprising Nathan with his speed, number four emptied an entire magazine in the general direction of the shot that killed his partner. He yanked Holly down with half a second to spare.

  Even suppressed, the staccato sound of the high-speed discharge ripped the air. Splinters flew. Dishes shattered. Glass flew from shelves. Pot and pans jumped and clanged. The microwave, range, and dishwasher exploded, showering Nathan and Holly with glass fragments. The countertop erupted, sending shards of granite in every direction.

  Number four disappeared behind the couch.

  Nathan heard him eject the empty magazine and jam another home. He had less than two seconds before a second barrage of bullets slammed into the kitchen.

  He straightened up and opened fire, walking his shots along the length of the couch. From behind and above, Holly’s Glock boomed, mirroring his pattern. Her non-suppressed weapon flashed like a strobe light, the reports hammering his eardrums. They were both rewarded with a loud string of Spanish obscenities, followed by another discharge of an MP5. The bullets went high, pulverizing the ceiling.

  Nathan yelled, “Holly, cover fire.”

  She fired her Glock into the hallway to keep the fourth man from coming out. Staying in a low crouch, Nathan rushed the sofa and dived to its base. He jammed his gun underneath and fired four more shots. At the right edge of the sofa, he peered around the corner.

  Number four lay on his back, shuddering, the left side of his face gone.

  Three down, one to go.

  Five shots left.

  A sudden barrage of bullets tore down the hallway. Slugs careened off the slate floor and splintered the door leading to the garage.

  A black blur dashed into the den.

  Two seconds later, the wall erupted toward Nathan in a horizontal maelstrom as the remaining merc fired blindly through the wall. Something struck his head. Hard.

  His vision grayed for an instant. Damn it. Through the haze, Nathan returned fire, emptying his magazine through the wall along the same pattern the merc had fired.

  From behind, Holly’s Glock boomed again. Nathan watched chest-high holes appear along the entire length of the wall.

  He ejected the spent magazine, jammed a second home, and thumbed the slide release lever. The first of fifteen more rounds slammed into the breech. Feeling light-headed, he crawled across the debris field toward the den. Gun first, he peered around the corner.

  The merc was gone.

  Cracked pieces of glass still clung to the corners of the sliding door.

  The floor was trashed with drywall dust and tempered glass fragments. He saw it then, a small, dark object several feet distant. Fighting to stay conscious, Nathan recognized its form.

  A severed finger.

  Chapter 19

  Holly felt a severe stinging in her left forearm. In the dim light, she saw an area of torn flesh the size of a silver dollar. What started as a bee s
ting quickly turned ugly. Within seconds, the fire in her arm had doubled. By the time she stood up, it had multiplied by a factor of ten. Damn, this thing’s really bleeding. She was pretty sure she hadn’t been shot, so what had nailed her? Then she recalled the granite countertop exploding. She must’ve been clipped by a sharp piece. Although her arm hurt like hell, she was more concerned for Nathan.

  “Nathan, are you okay?”

  “It’s… not too bad. Just a glancing…” He didn’t finish.

  “Nathan?”

  Holly looked around. The kitchen was trashed. What had Nathan said? It’s not too bad? Bad? What wasn’t too bad? She ran into the den, ignoring the pain in her arm and the debris under her bare feet. She found Nathan on his back with a dark stain spreading into the carpet under his head.

  “Nathan. Nathan!”

  His eyes opened and blinked a few times. “How long?”

  She parted his hair and felt a deep cut along his scalp.

  “How long?” he repeated.

  “Have you been out?”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Ten seconds. You need a hospital.”

  “No hospital. No police.”

  “Nathan-”

  “Cleaner could be coming. You can’t stay.”

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “In the den… a severed finger.”

  “Severed finger?”

  “Take it with you.”

  She felt numb. Everything had happened so fast. Tranquility had turned into chaos. Blood splatter covered everything. The walls. Carpets. Ceiling. The room smelled of burned gunpowder, plaster dust, and the coppery salt of gore. The man she loved-loved? — was lying in a growing pool of his own blood.

  “Nathan, I can’t leave you here.”

  His head slumped to the carpet.

  Part of her wanted to run. Her instinct for self preservation was strong. She looked at the garage door. Beyond it, certain escape. She could be gone within ten seconds, fifteen at the most. She looked at the wound on her forearm. It could have been a lot worse if it weren’t for this man. She could never face herself again if she abandoned him, even if it meant her life.