Deadly Game (Fortress Security #5)(73)

“Yes, sir.” Hard Hands walked to the front of the plane.

Rowan chose two seats at the back. The idea of one of these guys sitting behind them left her uneasy. Once she and Alexa were belted in, the plane taxied down the strip. A moment later, they were airborne.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


“Turnoff to the compound is on the right, Eli,” Jon said.

Brent unstrapped his seatbelt, dropped the ice pack, and leaned forward. Up ahead, a police barricade had been set up. “Slow down. We don’t want the cops to open fire on us.” Their rides were reinforced, but he couldn’t afford extra time explaining to ticked off cops why they hadn’t slowed down or stopped at a manned barricade. Brent wanted to save his favors for situations he couldn’t control. Hopefully, this delay wouldn’t take more than a minute.

Eli slowed to a stop. Brent climbed out and walked toward the officers, hands out to his sides, clearly visible. “I’m Brent Maddox from Fortress Security.”

“ID,” snapped the senior officer, his hand resting on his weapon.

Though chafing at the delay, Brent complied. He couldn’t afford to be shot again. The cemetery sniper had shattered the ceramic in his vest and Brent hadn’t commandeered a replacement. He’d been too anxious to find Rowan. Handing over his identification, he waited until his credentials were examined and confirmed.

The cop motioned for his fellow officers to allow them to pass.

Brent returned to the SUV. “Go, Eli,” he snapped before closing the door.

“An SUV just left the compound,” Jon said. “There’s a dirt road through the woods at the back.”

“Rowan?”

“She’s in the SUV, Brent. Her tracker is showing movement away from the compound.”

“Go, Eli.” Brent contacted the drivers of the other two Fortress SUVs and instructed them to proceed to the house on the off chance Alexa had been left behind. He couldn’t imagine Rowan willingly leaving her niece behind. She may not have had an option. Alexa was the bargaining chip to keep Rowan’s cooperation.

As soon as they cleared the tree line and saw the compound, the Volunteer militia opened fire on them from all sides. Eli pressed down on the accelerator. He guided the SUV through a sharp right turn and barreled toward the forest road.

Two militia members exited the woods near the man-made road and stood in the SUV’s path. “Stupid move,” Jon murmured.

Brent agreed. If these guys thought Eli would veer off and risk hitting a tree, they were mistaken. Playing chicken with his operatives could have deadly results for the challenger.

Eli stayed on course for the road ahead. At the last moment, the men dived out of the way with shouted curses and gunfire at the vehicle. The SEAL didn’t slow down as he steered onto the road.

“Jon?”

“Still on the move.” His fingers flew over the keyboard. Seconds later, the second half of the screen shifted to a satellite view of the area. Jon magnified a section, growled.

“What is it?”

“Activity on the airstrip.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Phillips is heading for the plane.”

“The question is, will he take Rowan and maybe Alexa with him?” If Phillips learned Brent’s identity and what he did for a living, the man would run scared and use every bargaining chip at his disposal to save his miserable hide.

His jaw flexed. Keith Phillips should be afraid. The man had put his hands on the woman Brent loved. The militia leader was going to pay for that as well as for using an innocent girl as a pawn in a game of cat and mouse.

Eli swung hard to the left and the SUV leaped forward, the tires gaining traction on an asphalt road. Brent scanned ahead. Nothing, not even the taillights of the vehicle carrying Rowan away from him. “Lead time?”

“Too much,” Jon said, his voice grim.

Eli glanced in the rearview mirror. “Brent, we have company. A pickup truck is coming up on our six, moving in fast.”

Brent turned, bit back a groan as his ribs protested the movement. Two headlights shone through the back window. Full-sized truck. Movement on the left side caught his attention. One of Phillips’ cronies leaned out the window, weapon in hand. “Jon, do you have your sniper rifle?”

“Black case in the hatchback.”

He grabbed the case. “Jake, open the hatch.”

The medic pressed the button to raise the hatchback, then drew his own weapon.

“Keep them busy.” While Jake fired shots to discourage the militia man from firing into their SUV, Brent readied Jon’s sniper rifle, adjusting the scope for his own preferences. “Eli, hold it steady.”

He focused on his target through the scope, drew in a breath, partially let it out, held, then gently pulled the trigger. The windshield of the truck following them shattered and the driver slumped to the side. Despite the passenger’s efforts to wrest control of the steering wheel, the vehicle swerved off the road and slammed into a guardrail, throwing the would-be shooter across the hood. He skidded across the asphalt and lay still.

“Good shot,” Eli said as he maneuvered the SUV through a hairpin curve. “Haven’t lost your touch, boss.”

“Can’t let Jon or our other snipers show me up on a mission.” He returned the rifle to Jon’s case and the cargo area.