Chapter 31
It was a warm, quiet night. Phoenix couldn't even hear a rustle from the trees on the golf course surrounding the cabin. It would make it easier to hear them coming.
They'd used a simple trick, scattered Rice Krispies around the perimeter so they'd hear when the bad guys approached. Phoenix was inside the cabin, while Pat and Blade flanked it, and Boomer was hidden out of sight further down the road to provide early warning if anyone approached.
Now it was just a waiting game.
Time stretched endlessly, but on ops like this, it always did. He remembered once waiting nearly forty-eight hours for a high-value target to show at a remote compound in the arid outskirts of Kandahar. The target was a terrorist known for orchestrating devastating attacks across the region.
Phoenix recalled how—as the hours ticked by—the landscape had transformed with the setting sun, casting long shadows over the dry and dusty Afghan terrain. It was during those twilight hours the target had finally appeared—and they'd taken him out.
The hardest part was staying focused for all that time, keeping your breathing steady despite the adrenaline pumping through your veins. It was like that now. Hunkered down behind the door, out of sight of the windows, not moving a muscle.
When the hostiles finally entered the cabin, he'd spring into action, backed up by Pat and Blade, with Boomer cutting off their escape route.
They'd asked the hotel for a manilla folder, which they'd filled with blank printer paper and placed on the coffee table in the center of the room. It was pretty obvious, but these guys would be expecting to find something, so they had to dangle the bait.
It would also draw their attention, meaning they'd be distracted, making it easier to subdue them.
"Don't take them out unless there's a clear and present danger," had been Pat's orders. They didn't engage in unnecessary use of force, no matter how tempting it might be. Phoenix gritted his teeth and thought back to how that one merc had held a gun to Ellie's head. He could still see the terror in her eyes, the tears running down her pale face.
A surge of something intensely protective gripped him, making him tense. He never wanted her to experience such fear again. Nobody should have to go through that, let alone after the trauma she'd suffered in her past.
Which was why they could never be together. Despite what had happened—was happening—between them, Phoenix knew it could only ever be temporary.
This was his life.
Hiding in shadows, taking out targets.
With him, she would always be afraid. If not for herself, then for him. Wondering if he was going to come home safely to her.
He couldn't do that to her.
Phoenix pushed the depressing thought to the back of his mind. There were things to do first before he had to cross that bridge. A hit squad to neutralize, and a corrupt organization to take down.
Then he heard it. The faint snap, crackle, and pop of the Rice Krispies. Simple, yet effective.
"Contact," he murmured into his comms. Pat had equipped them all with state-of-the-art earpieces for secure communication.
"Roger that," whispered Blade.
"Negative contact on my side," whispered Boomer, which meant the hostiles must have approached across the golf course. Right now, he knew Boomer would be moving to cut off their escape route, while Pat and Blade would be closing in from the flanks.
Then everything happened at once.
The door flew inwards, breached with a portable battering ram. These guys were professionals. Two masked men entered in a tactical stack, weapons at the ready. They scanned the room, one gestured to the other, then they moved deeper into the house.
"Freeze," whispered Phoenix, pressing the muzzle of his suppressed Glock against the back of one of the intruders' heads.
The man froze, his arms going up.
"Don't move a muscle, or it'll be the last thing you do."
The man complied.
Silent as a wild cat, Blade slunk up behind the other intruder. There was a brief scuffle, then a thud.
Two down.
Outside, they heard a muffled pop and exchanged glances. That was a suppressed gunshot, which none of them had fired.
"I'll check it out," Blade darted back outside, leaving his suspect zip-tied on the floor in the main bedroom.
Phoenix cuffed his suspect, then secured him to a chair before going to restrain the one Blade had knocked out.
More shots rang out, and Boomer dashed in, clutching his shoulder. "Goddamn it. Henderson shot me."
"What? Henderson’s here? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's just a through-and-through. Pat's in pursuit. He's going to need backup."
Knowing he was no good as a shooter with his injury, Boomer stayed to guard the suspects while Phoenix took off after Pat. Blade was nowhere to be seen.
"Blade, come in?" Phoenix called over the comms. He only got static in response. He tried again, then Blade's voice came through, garbled and broken. "Suspect is heading toward the ninth fairway… I'm cutting him off at the dogleg… Need backup… Over."
Shit.
Phoenix had gotten the gist of the fragmented message and made his way around the putting green, keeping to the tree line until he reached the ninth fairway. There, he saw Pat chasing Henderson, who zigzagged across the fairway like a pro soccer player. The oil boss was fit.
No way he was getting away. Phoenix charged out from behind the trees. He tackled Henderson on the fringe, sending him flying then lunged after him. The two men grappled on the ground.
Phoenix wrenched the gun out of Henderson's hand and tossed it into a nearby bunker, out of reach.
"You bastard," Henderson muttered. "I knew this was a sting."
"Surprised you showed up then," Phoenix growled, pinning him down on the rough. The man was crushed under his weight, but Phoenix didn't ease up. In fact, he might have been intentionally making the murderous scumbag even more uncomfortable.
"I came to see what trap you'd laid for my men."
"Your men? I see. Now I know who's calling the shots."
A snort.
Pat came running up the fairway. "Bastard gave me the slip." His gray eyes were almost luminous in the dark. Pat didn't take kindly to being outmaneuvered. None of them did.
"It was easy. I knew you'd go for my guys, which is why I sent someone up to the hotel to look for your little girlfriend." Henderson snarled at Phoenix.
His blood ran cold.
"What?"
"You don't think I figured she'd be here, did you?" A sneer crossed his face.
Phoenix gripped him by the collar, pressing him into the rough. "What have you done to Ellie?"
"What do you think? She knows too much, which means your little girlfriend is going to have to die."
Was he bluffing? Phoenix didn't know whether to believe him or not.
"Go," Pat said, taking custody of Henderson on the edge of the fairway. "Go to her."
"You're too late," Henderson smirked, his chuckle following Phoenix as he sprinted across the course, making a beeline for the hotel.