Between the ten I’ve neutralized and the eight Gage caught off guard inside, we have at least seventy-five percent eliminated. The few remaining survivors will be infiltrating all the nooks and crannies of the house now.
I move from my position and swing myself down to the window I cracked open. In case anyone is hiding out in there, I throwsome flash-bangs through the slit, push it wide open, and slink inside with my night vision goggles on. My gun has an EOTECH holographic sight, which is night-vision enabled. The NVGs color everything in my field of vision green, and the sight paints a perfect round circle with a centered dot wherever I aim. Gage has the same.
He never goes anywhere without a shitload of handy tools to share, in case he needs backup. So, while I was prepared, he had the means to take us up a notch, essentially transforming our puny team of two into an unstoppable force. That’s the benefit of our SEALs background. We’re trained to clear a house in minutes. Like Gideon’s measly crew decimated a camp 450 times their size.
“Tango twenty down,” Gage chirps. “I’ve got six ladies. Two tangos unaccounted.”
“Copy that,” I answer, checking beneath the bed and inside the closet. Clear.
I move through three other bedrooms and two bathrooms on this level. Nothing. But a creak in the walls tells me someone is nearby. There’s a skinny door at the end of the hall that likely holds the air-conditioning unit. I haven’t cleared that yet. That’s a decent hiding spot because there’s no great angle to approach it that doesn’t afford him a shot on me.
If I was one hundred percent certain it wasn’t another girl, I’d simply shoot. But I won’t take a chance, so I bang on the open bedroom door to the right of it while simultaneously kicking the wall to the left of it—so he can’t discern where I am—and step into the open threshold of the bedroom, swinging open the air-conditioner closet door. He shoots immediately in the wrong direction, so I return it, and he tumbles out onto the floor.
“Tango twenty-one down.”
“Tango twenty-two down,” Gage volleys. “Performing a final walk-through of the lower level and backyard. I’ll douse the fire.”
“Level two all clear,” I say as I head downstairs to help with the ladies. They’re all piled on the couch, trembling in terror, so Iquickly address them in a stern but soothing voice. “There’s a car for you at the corner. Keys in it. It’s yours to keep. Not one word. You were never here. Understood?”
One of them nods, rises, and drags the others up while keeping her eyes planted on me. “We understand,” she says, and they all scurry out of the house.
This was fairly painless. Although as I survey the carnage, it’s anything but. York is going to have quite a job on his hands. He’s not fond of situations that have more than a dozen bodies. Maybe calling it in to Terrance Vargas, our FBI contact, would be better. He’ll be pissed, but he’ll do it. He’s been our guy since we were first erased, but even if he wasn’t, we have enough shit on him from that black book—a ledger of corruption a dirty judge created that Celeste’s brother stole and left for her—to make him dance any tango, foxtrot, or rumba we choose.
Gage announces, “All clear,” and sends the signal to our power company contact.
The lights instantly pop back on for us to assess the mess, so we both flip up our goggles and glance around.
“Nine minutes,” he muses. “Not bad. We’ll get you back to your Little Moon in no time.”
The mere mention of her has my face lighting up involuntarily, but I force myself to focus. “York or Vargas?”
He chuckles as we stroll through the utter disarray in the main area at the front of the house. “Both are gonna be pissed.”
I’m about to respond when my vision snags on a guy slumped near the front bay window. Dead from a chest wound, but his face is intact. And one I recognize.
“What the fuck?” I hiss. “That’s Braxton, one of Balzano’s guys. He’s come to two of the meetings—never inside, but he accompanies him.” My heart rate ratchets higher as my mind races, trying to make sense of this.
“Yep. Why the fuck would he be here?” Gage growls, tromping over to the guy and searching through his pockets. He retrievesa wallet from his pants, and upon flipping it open, he proclaims, “Braxton. Fucking. Balzano,” which we already knew, but the corroboration still sizzles my veins.
“Goddammit,” I bellow as bile blasts up to burn my esophagus. “This is so fucking bad. Tell me these aren’t Balzano’s foot soldiers.”
Crunch.
“Maybe Braxton is just an unfortunate victim here. No one can hold us accountable for the guy being associated with rapists. How the hell would we have known to look for Balzano’s men here?”
That is flimsy fucking reasoning at best, but if Braxton is the only Balzano present, we could spin it.
Sifting through the information I have stored in my head regarding the two guys I killed, plus the one I swiped a wallet from at the club last night, and what we found in our checks, I mutter it aloud. “Enzo’s last name was Sanford. We ran our checks. There were no connected families with that name. Maxim’s last name was the same, and Sebastian’s was Forner. None for that name either. Everything we turned up—rap sheet, job history, relations—showed them to be some low-level gang.”
Gage collects another nine wallets, opening each and spouting off names. For the first six, it’s all good, but then he hits another.
Squeak.
“Anthony Balzano.” He drops it into the pile with a grunt before reading and discarding the next few. Then, he’s off to search for more while I examine the Balzano IDs more closely.
Braxton was in his late twenties. Anthony was only nineteen. My gut is already confirming my suspicion, but when Gage stomps inside with another ID in is hand, the house topples around me.
“He must have them for illicit dealings. The Balzano family used to be rough, but that first resort they opened soared to success, and Balzano’s father invested well.” He spouts the historywe’re both familiar with, obviously attempting to sort through this like I am. “I’d say they didn’t completely abandon their old ways. That’s enough to defend us with KORT. They’ll be livid if they know he’s risking everything with this piddly shit. And we’ve already got him by the balls because of the Noires.”
