Spy Games (Tarnished Heroes #1)(80)

He reached around, aware of the hum of the electrical wires. If he touched the wrong thing he’d be a fried turkey.

“Easy, easy, easy,” Andy chanted.

Rand’s muscles screamed. He managed to get a hold of the other clamp. His hands were sweaty, his fingers slipping a bit.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He worked his knees up a little farther to give him more room. His jeans slid across the worn wooden surface, and he slipped down nearly a whole foot before the sling grabbed the pole and he jerked to a stop.

The transmitter, their piggybacking device, and the camera clattered to the street below, smashing into a hundred tiny pieces.

“No,” Andy whisper-wailed.

Rand grasped the electrical pole, staring at the bits spread out on the asphalt. That’d been their only hope. The only way they knew how to track down Sarah.

Rand worked his way down the pole. Now what did they do? Noah was doing what he could. They couldn’t trust their handlers, even Hector. Someone had sold Sarah out from the beginning and he could no longer make allowances for people who might be on the take. Even Noah and Andy were a risk.

By the time Rand reached the ground, his arms and legs were jelly. He sat on the curb behind the car Andy had picked him up in and stared at the bits of the transmitter.

“I knew I should have gone up there.” Andy shook his head.

“Andy, shut the hell up.”

“I’m just saying—”

Rand stood and swung, clocking his friend in the jaw. It felt good to hit something, better that it was Andy’s flapping mouth.

Andy staggered back, one hand cradling his face, fire in his eyes.

Fuck. Rand shouldn’t have done that.

Andy’s gaze flicked over Rand’s shoulder. “Get down.” Andy crouched behind the fender of the car, peering toward the house at the corner of the street diagonal from them.

Rand ducked and turned.

“Movement. Neighbor’s yard.”

“It could be Mr. Neilson, he’s an early riser.”

“Nope. Radio your friend.”

A slim figure dressed in dark colors slid from between the big, well-manicured hedges. Rand, Matt, and Sarah had played in, around, and under them as kids, much to the horror of Mr. Neilson.

He picked up the radio from where he’d left it on the sidewalk and pressed the button. “Matt, you’ve got incoming. North side of the house. Looks like he’s headed for the basement window. Move into position and hold.”

“Copy,” Matt replied.

The radio chirped softly and died. They’d go silent until otherwise noted.

“I’ll go around to the back. You watch the front.” Rand slid his holster back over his shoulders.

Now that the cameras were off-line, he wouldn’t have to worry about staying out of the frame. He waited a second longer than necessary before sprinting for the other side of the house, leaving Andy to watch the street for backup.

How many times had he made this same jog to go see Matt and catch a glimpse of Sarah?

Now, he’d have to hope he could save her life.

Rand skirted the house and let himself into the backyard. Ideally, Matt would hold position on the stairs until Rand flanked their guy and Andy followed the same path as the would-be murderer. It made sense the Chinese would use Sarah’s family against her, and this guy was their go-to.

He cut across the patio and peered around the corner. Andy was at the other end, watching for him. Rand signaled with his free hand.

In unison, they both crept forward.

Shit. Boxes were piled in front of the rear window. Rand moved up behind Andy, who signaled for him to go first.

Figured. That was probably for the punch.

Rand went to a knee. The basement was dark, quiet, but every so often he heard a bit of sound. The guy was a pro, that was for sure. He’d slipped in fast. Rand hoped to be half as quiet, but his size was going to work against him.

He went to a knee, gun aimed to where he saw a flash of light, and dropped his leg down to the work table below. The sturdy old thing didn’t budge or squeak under his weight, but he did grunt a little, fitting through the window casing.

Matt was a darker bit of shadow in the stair alcove, just out of sight.

Rand made it inside, Andy behind him. They moved forward, Matt sticking to the left wall, Andy the right, and Rand coming up between the wine rack and junk shelves.

The same slender man stood with his back toward them, a light aimed at the wall.

“Hands where I can see them,” Rand said, hoping the guy had a decent grasp of English because his Mandarin sucked.

The build was all wrong for Wei, so Rand had to assume this was someone else. Someone expendable.

The man’s hands came up slowly.

What the hell was he doing?

“Rand.” The tone of Matt’s voice, that high pitch at the end, couldn’t be good.

Andy lunged forward, grabbing the guy by the arm and shoving his gun up against his head.

“Shit. Matt, get everyone out.” Rand holstered his weapon.

“I’ve got him,” Andy said.

Matt’s footsteps pounded up the stairs.

The green blinking light on the detonator attached to the gas line wasn’t what Rand wanted to see. The device was already halfway off the line.

Fuck this.

Rand grabbed the explosive and yanked it off, tape ripping. He took three long strides and jerked the detonator free from the C4, throwing it through the open window. In the split second between activation and detonation, he folded his body around the C4 and ducked. The electrical blast was weaker than the backfire of a car.