was going to say is that I understand. It’s got to be hard for you.”
She looked at me, unsure. “How do you mean?”
“You’re a female FBI agent. You’re trained in hand-to-hand combat and you carry a gun,” I said. “Most guys would be intimidated by that.”
Her look suddenly changed. She was staring back at me as if I’d just tapped into her innermost thoughts. “How did you know that?” she asked.
“Lucky guess,” I said. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m still sleeping on the couch again tonight.”
She started laughing again. We both did. Then we both suddenly stopped.
The cabin had gone pitch black. Every light around us, even the one hanging over the porch outside, had gone dark.
The power was out.
Chapter 89
I WASN’T SURE which sound I heard first, the window shattering or the shots being fired. But I was damn sure I felt the bullet that grazed my shoulder.
“Down!” I yelled. “Down, Sarah!”
My eyes had adjusted barely enough to see the outline of Sarah hitting the floor with me as more bullets—one, two, three—came through the window, the shards of glass landing all over us. How the hell is this happening?
I reached for my Glock and could hear Sarah doing the same. Meanwhile, the shots outside had stopped. Was it over? Or just intermission?
I whispered to Sarah. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “You?”
“Yeah. One nicked me, that’s all.”
“You sure?”
I pressed my palm against my shoulder. There’s bleeding and then there’s bleeding. Luckily, it was the former.
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “Window or door; which one you got?” As in, which one do you want to cover?
“Door,” she said.
I raised my arms toward the window, locking both elbows. The only other window, a tiny one, was in the bedroom, but we were clear of it.
“What’s he got? M16?” I asked. It was my best guess, given the three-round bursts and slightly higher pitch of the weapon.
“That or an M4 carbine,” she said. “Tough to tell, given the distance.”
“At least forty yards.”
“Maybe more,” she said.
“And he cuts the power first?”
“Goggles,” we said in unison. The shooter had to be wearing night-vision goggles.
“Shit, where’s that flashlight?” I asked. We had two of them in the cabin. But where were they?
“More important,” said Sarah, “where is everybody?”
She was right. Where was our backup, the four agents we had around the perimeter? Even with the shooter behind them, they still should’ve located him by now.
Unless he got to them first.
No. No way. Not all four agents.
Sure enough, the two-way radio at my waist suddenly crackled with static. “Anyone hit?” came a hushed voice.
I grabbed the radio, whispering back. “We’re good so far,” I said. “He must be wearing—”
“Yeah, goggles,” said the agent. “Moving in with the same. Two to a side.”
I’d lost track of who was on what shift around the cabin. At least this guy sounded experienced.
“Which one is he?” I asked Sarah.
“Carver,” she reminded me. “Agent Carver.”
Cavalry was more like it.
Chapter 90
THE ONLY THING worse than the sound of all hell breaking loose around us was the feeling of helplessness that came with it.
All of it happened so fast. The bright beam of light outside our window followed by a barrage of gunfire echoing through the woods.
Four against one out there. I didn’t have to be Jimmy the Greek to like those odds. But it was what came after—the stone-cold silence and the feeling of dread sweeping over me—that I didn’t like. Not one bit.
There was nothing Sarah and I could do. Agent Carver’s radio was off. All the radios were off.
I slid across the floor amid the shards of glass, leaning up against the wall next to the window.
“What are you doing?” whispered Sarah, the subtext being that whatever it was, I shouldn’t be doing it.
But I had to look. I had to try to see what was happening. A quick peek, that’s all.
Not quick enough.
My head barely made it past the wood trim alongside the window when—pop-pop-pop!—I nearly caught one between the eyes. My neck snapped back, pure reflex at the sound of the shots, as more glass rained all over the cabin.
“Shit!” said Sarah.
I immediately knew what she was thinking. I was thinking the same thing, and it wasn’t just how lucky I was to be alive.
I grabbed the two-way again, jamming the Talk button with my thumb. “Carver!” I said. “Carver, are you there?”
He didn’t answer.
I tried again, and again all I got was silence. I flipped to the other frequencies, the ones assigned to the remaining agents. Four