Chapter 18 - Face to Face
|
CRACK!
The heavy safety glass of the rear patio door shattered inward under the force of a breaching charge, spraying sharp fragments across the hardwood floor.
The three masked intruders poured into the dark living room, their weapon-mounted flashlights cutting sharp white beams through the shadows.
“Find the master server hard drives!” the lead intruder barked, his voice muffled by his ballistic mask. “And locate Vance! The client wants him quieted permanently!”
I was standing behind the heavy oak pillar near the dining room threshold.
I didn't hesitate.
I raised my handgun and fired two precise shots into the shoulder of the lead intruder. He let out a muffled scream, dropping his weapon, collapsing onto the floor.
“Ambush! He’s armed!” the second intruder screamed, raising a suppressed submachine gun, spraying a volley of bullets into the wooden pillar above my head.
Splinters of oak exploded around me.
I rolled across the floor into the shadows behind the grand piano, firing three rapid shots into the second intruder’s chest. His heavy body armor absorbed the force, but the kinetic impact knocked him backward off his feet, crashing into the glass coffee table.
The third intruder—the largest of the group—dropped his firearm, lunged forward through the darkness, and tackled me hard around the waist.
We slammed onto the hard marble floor together. My handgun knocked loose from my grip, skidding across the polished floor into the pitch-black hallway.
The massive intruder pinned my arms to the floor, pulling a long, serrated combat knife from his tactical vest.
The blade caught the dim reflection of the storm lightning outside.
“Vanessa Reed sends her regards,” the man growled into my ear, raising the heavy knife above my chest.
Before he could drive the blade down, a blinding beam of light hit his eyes from the top of the stairs, accompanied by a deafening, metallic blast.
BOOM!
A heavy blast from an antique 12-gauge hunting shotgun tore into the wall directly above the intruder’s head, spraying plaster dust into his face.
The intruder gasped, startled by the overwhelming sound.
I used his split-second distraction to drive my knee violently into his groin, wrenching the knife from his grip, throwing him off me. I rolled, retrieved my fallen handgun from the floor, and pressed the barrel directly against his chest plate.
“Don't move,” I growled.
May you like
At the top of the stairs stood Clara, holding my late father’s double-barreled hunting shotgun, her hands steady, her face filled with righteous, protective fury.
Outside, the loud, wailing sirens of state police cruisers echoed through the thunderous storm as six patrol cars pulled through our front gates.
