Retribution (Secrets & Lies #3)(63)

“I know. At least you're using something you're familiar with,” I whisper, lifting my submachine gun. “What the f*ck is this thing?”

“Heckler and Koch MP7, best in the world, baby. Major Munchak insisted on it. Tiny and powerful. Don't worry, it's zeroed tight. Just hit the red dot.”

I sigh, but f*ck it, I take what I can get. At least I've still got my 1911 in a holster on my leg, that's something I can trust totally. “Fine. We wait until...”

“We've got movement inside,” Buffy interrupts over the radio. “Two... no, three people coming into the kitchen. Two women, one man. Confirm Isis and Peter, the other woman is blonde.”

“That's them,” I call. “Move in. Jackson, Katrina?”

“We're nearly there. Keep them occupied,” Katrina says. “One minute.”

“High shots, don’t hit Melissa,” I order, standing up and squeezing off a burst, intentionally high. It shatters the kitchen window, and we're up and moving.

Harold darts forward first, but Isis is fast and good, returning fire quickly, and he's hit. Whatever she's got, she's accurate as hell with it, the round takes him just above Harold's body armor but below his helmet, his head nearly evaporating in a red splash. Isis yells in triumph, but we can't let ourselves be suckered in.

“Buffy, cover me!” I yell, getting to my feet. My knees ache and my spine is fused glass. I’m not cut out for this shit anymore. Twenty years ago, I could have covered this grassy stretch in seven seconds and not even be breathing hard. Instead, every step feels like I'm running through quicksand, and my pulse is already thundering in my ears.

But I can't send Munchak's people to die if I'm not going to lead them the right way, from the front. They're soldiers, even if they're all mercs now, but more importantly, I'm a soldier.

Buffy, despite her country club name, proves just as good a fighter as Major Munchak promises, her returning fire on Isis tight and disciplined. I see a head duck down behind cover as I run, trying to keep to the dual tire tracks through the overgrown weeds. At least I can be sure those aren't booby trapped, and I duck behind Peter's Porsche just as the first metal ball comes flying out of the window. “GRENADE!”

I jam myself against the side of the SUV as the grenade explodes, the sound tremendous and seeming to slam me against the metal even more. Thankfully, Isis was trying to throw long, and I'm unhurt. Another long rattle of gunfire from up top catches someone, I think it's Jim or Paul, but they're screaming in pain. At the same time I hear another shot, this one from around back, and I wonder what's going on.

“Lincoln found a booby trap,” Katrina replies, her voice dead calm. Jesus, she could have been one hell of a Special Forces operator. “Jackson's going through another window, we see Peter. He's got his rifle pointed down, I think he's got Melissa under his foot.”

“Jim?”

There's a crackle, and Buffy comes on. “Jim's hit. You, me, and Paul. Orders?”

“Fix her, I'm going for the front door.” I get down into a crouch, checking the path to the front door, hoping I can hug the building enough. I'm worried though, it's right underneath the window Isis is shooting out of, and if she drops a grenade out the window, I'm f*cked.

Buffy and I guess it's only Peter now fire again, their rounds peppering the side of the house above me. I'm sure by now Isis realizes she's being shot at with non-penetrating rounds, as she returns fire quickly, and someone else screams, their cries dying off quickly though, she must have hit them somewhere vital. Whoever's left lifts their fire just as I start to mount the stairs when a pistol shot comes from the back.

Isis jumps out the front of the kitchen window, rolling on the ground as I hear Katrina's voice on the radio. “We've got her.”

I trigger my radio, talking quickly. “Isis is out of the kitchen, neutralizing her now.”

Isis hears my voice and spins, the barrel of her rifle pointing straight at me, but she stops, seeing that I've got her covered. She's got me covered too though, and we're in a Mexican standoff.

“Drop it, Isis. It's over,” I say, hoping to God that she doesn't squeeze the trigger on her rifle. “You know that pistol shot was Peter dying.”

“Let's see, shall we?” she says with a soft laugh. “Peter?”

“Not Peter,” Jackson calls from the house. “He’s dead.”

Isis' gun barrel wavers slightly, but still is aimed at me, and I keep my rifle trained on her. “Come on, Isis. You heard him, it's over.”

“Over? In case you haven't noticed, Nathan, there's four dead mercs lying around outside this house and a dead criminal mastermind inside. Oh, and I kidnapped a member of your family,” Isis replies, her voice sounding strained toward the end as she says the word family. “That's not the sort of shit you let people walk away from.”

I nod, half-shrugging. “You're right, but I'm feeling generous. You have a gun on me, let's make a deal. Your employer's dead, you aren't getting any more money out of him. So tell me, how much was he going to pay for me?”

“You?” Isis asks, smiling. “You were the chump change. Half a million.”

Not bad. Not as big as the price on my head twenty years ago when Isis shot me in the ass, but still a good chunk of money. “Tell you what then, you lower the gun and walk away, I double it. One million, I can confirm the transfer before you even leave the property.”