CHAPTER 51
Cliff Road, north of the Wilson Estate
Si was ten yards away from the figure he’d spotted in the front yard. He strained to hear what the person was saying.
What would Nat or the team do in this situation? he asked himself, trying to decide if his pounding heartbeat could be heard from thirty feet away.
From the shadows along Cliff Road, Si saw the silhouette of a lawn truck parked in the Courville driveway. As if gunfire on the island wasn’t odd enough, a lawn-service truck parked in a Cliff Road resident’s driveway overnight was completely out of the ordinary.
He set a goal: make his way to the far side of the vehicle undetected.
He looked again at what the figure was holding. Is that a weapon?
It was now or never. Instinctively he moved toward his left in a low crouch, then sprang from behind the hood of the truck. In a return to his ice-hockey days, he lowered his head and shoulder, then rushed toward the figure standing just three paces away.
He felt his shoulder strike the unknown person’s torso just above the beltline.
The perfect check. His feet kept moving, momentum propelling Si and his target forward into a natural somersault, with Si tumbling almost perfectly into a mounted position.
He raised his hand to punch the face of his prey when suddenly he stopped.
Rowan Anderson?! Was Senator Harrison back home? Why else would the head of his Secret Service detail be here? What was going on?
Even with her hands in close, Rowan Anderson managed to hook Si’s leg and buck her hips, throwing him onto his side.
She let his momentum carry the two of them to the same position, except now she was on top.
Then the agent clutched Si’s shirt collar tightly against his neck and started to twist the fabric.
As Si’s air supply shut off, he began to panic. He swung both arms wildly at the agent’s head and face, but each blow only glanced off her shoulders harmlessly. He could feel himself losing consciousness.
“Rowan, please,” he wheezed. “It’s me, Si Wilson.”
At the sound of her name, the Secret Service agent paused momentarily in her automatic combat response. The skirmish stopped as quickly as it had started. Rowan Anderson released Si’s collar and rolled off to her side, breathing deeply.
“Where is Nat?” she demanded, fumbling for her phone and her gun. “It’s the senator, Si—I know where he is. We have to get to Nat or they’ll kill Harrison.”