The Escape (John Puller, #3)(126)

Knox’s smile faded, and she gave a curt nod and set off.

Puller gazed around one last time. He didn’t like any of this. He had sized up many potential battlegrounds and his instincts had been honed to a fine degree. Everything about this was problematic. Their intelligence about the target was spotty and now the communication chain was broken. They had no idea what awaited them inside the cabin. Knox said it was confirmed that Reynolds was in there, but for Puller there was no real certainty about that.

However, the plan had been set, the forces deployed, the intel was what it was, as was the terrain they were confronting. He checked his M11 and set off, quickly making his way to his designated compass point and then squatting down in the high grass that was situated about fifty feet from the cabin.

He studied the structure in the poor light. One room was illuminated. He was facing the front door. The lighted room was to the left of that. Whether a bedroom or perhaps the kitchen, he didn’t know.

Reynolds’s Lexus was in the small gravel drive to the left of the front door. At least that much was confirmed to him. The cabin was small, rustic, with a front porch that ran about halfway along the front. The door was wood, the siding the same. It was unpainted. What bothered Puller the most about this was it didn’t match what he believed Reynolds to be.

She was a woman who obviously liked fine things and had the money to pursue those likes. So why a crappy cabin in the middle of nowhere? Just as a clandestine meeting place? He didn’t think so. And how could Reynolds have allowed herself to be so easily followed?

Everything about this seemed out of whack, but they were ready to execute. He checked his watch and watched the second hand sweep to the five-minute mark. When it reached it, he pulled his phone and gave a quick flash of the light. A second passed and then he saw a corresponding flash from the right and then the left. They were all in position. He immediately started to count off sixty seconds on his watch. At fifty-eight, he tensed his legs and readied his weapon. At fifty-nine he was starting to move. At sixty he commenced a zigzag trek to the front porch, keeping low and to the side, never exposing himself full on to sightlines from the cabin’s front.

The light in the house never went off. No other lights came on. No shadows moved in front of that light. He could hear no sounds other than the occasional scurry of an animal in the nearby woods, and his own heartbeat.

Then he was on the porch and standing with his back to the left of the front door. It was a simple door lock. Again, that seemed off. He checked up, down, and along the eaves of the roofline. No surveillance cameras. He had encountered no tripwires. If the porch had a pressure plate embedded in it that would trigger an alarm, it must have been a silent one.

He faced the door and kicked right at where the lock met the frame. The door crashed inward and he was through the opening, his M11 making broad, precise sweeps in front of him.

To the left and right he heard glass crashing inward, then footsteps.

An instant later Bobby appeared in the hall to his left.

“Clear my way,” he said to his brother.

They both headed to the right.

They started to run when they heard the shots fired.

“Knox!” called out Puller.

They kicked open doors and cleared rooms until a few seconds later they reached the last room. The door was partially open. And the light was on.

Puller pushed the door open fully and he and his brother filled the doorway, their guns pointed in front of them.

There was glass from the broken window on the floor.

Reynolds was sitting up in her bed, holding her shoulder, and blood was streaming down her left arm.

Knox had her gun pointed at the other woman’s head. She glanced at Puller. “I had the misfortune to fall right into her bedroom,” she explained.

She pointed to the gun on the floor. “She drew down on me and fired, but I’m the better shot, I guess. Even if I’m not an Olympian,” she added, casting Reynolds a snide look. She pointed at the bullet lodged in the wall near the windowsill.

“Never doubted it,” said Puller with a grin.

She eyed Reynolds’s bloody arm. “You want to triage her? I’m no good at that.”

Puller kept his weapon out and walked over to Reynolds.

She looked up at him, pain in her eyes. “She tried to kill me.”

“I’m sure she had a great reason.”

“You broke into my home.”

“Again, with good reason.”

“I’m calling the police.”

Knox barked, “What you’re going to do is confess.”

Reynolds swiveled her gaze to her. “You really aren’t thinking very clearly. I have nothing to confess to.”

Knox said, “It’s over, Susan. The goons you sent after Robert Puller got slammed by his little brother. The cops have them in custody. They’re talking like you wouldn’t believe. Your best bet is to cooperate and get a lighter sentence. But you’re still going to prison for a long, long time.”

Reynolds eyed Robert Puller, who still had his gun pointed at her. “You really should have just left it alone, Robert.”

“How could I? You sent somebody to kill me.”

“Then you should have just died.” She grimaced, grabbed at her arm, and exclaimed, “Shit. You hit the bone.”

“Sorry,” said Knox, though her tone was not sorry at all. “Puller, you better tourniquet it so our star witness doesn’t bleed to death.”