The bad news was the chopper hit the house before it exploded, blowing up several bedrooms on the second floor and starting a small fire.
“These guys have damned good equipment,” Deke said, crouched at the window next to them. “But they aren’t well trained—not like my guys.” Ducking beneath a stream of machine gun bullets, he elbow-crawled out of the dining room to check on the rest of his men.
As the battle wore on, a mortar round demolished the laundry room and tore out the back wall of the kitchen. Some of Deke’s men took care of the Humvee it was mounted on, making short work of the driver and the guys manning the weapon, ending the threat before there was any more damage.
The second Humvee exploded when one of Deke’s guys tossed a grenade through the driver’s window.
The whir of blades had Carly looking skyward. “FBI,” she said, reading the bold letters on the side. “Thank God.”
Linc raised his head up enough to look out the window. Along with theFBI chopper, both ICE and DEA vehicles were converging on the scene from two different directions, surrounding Zapata’s rapidly dwindling army.
It was over quickly after that, the various entities taking charge of the attackers, who dropped to their knees and pushed their hands into the air. Carly prayed Raul Zapata was among them.
The sheriff arrived after the fight, which Linc said was a blessing. Agent Taggart had gone to join his men, while Deke’s soldiers, those left inside to defend the house, laid down their weapons and walked out to join Deke and the rest of the security team.
Someone sent word to the staff, who used the outside exit to leave the basement and were now milling around on the concrete decking beside the swimming pool.
A pair of ambulances arrived. The fire department was on its way, but the fire in the far end of the house was still burning and smoke was drifting down the stairs.
Linc stayed behind to collect what few items he wanted out of his study and Carly stayed to help him.
“I don’t think the fire will reach this far,” he said, “but you never know. There are a couple of first editions I’m fond of and these photos.” Pictures of Beau and his brother, Josh, a few other mementos sitting on bookshelves.
Linc tossed the items into his leather briefcase. “Let’s get out of here.”
More than ready, Carly took a couple of steps toward the door before a familiar voice stopped her. Bharat Al-Razi, alias Raul Zapata, alias El Jefe, blocked the carved wooden door leading into the study.
“You are going nowhere,” Zapata said. “You and Cain will never leave this house.”
* * *
Linc should have seen this coming, should have figured a guy like Zapata wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Wearing a black tactical vest over military fatigues, Zapata pointed a big .45 caliber pistol in their direction, but it wasn’t the gun that worried Linc. It was the maniacal smile on his face and the grenade he gripped in his hand.
“You will die here today—both of you! You infidel dogs have causedme to fail in the task Allah set for me.” He coughed as smoke began to curl into the room, drift up into the skylight.
“You still have a chance, Al-Razi,” Linc said calmly, easing Carly a little behind him. “If you leave now, you can escape and try again.”
Al-Razi spat on the floor. “You will die, then I will leave.”
Linc should have seen it coming, should have known Carly wouldn’t go down without a fight. Just as Zapata pulled the pin and rolled the grenade across the floor, Carly’s little pistol appeared, a shot roared, and a bullet ripped through Zapata’s throat. He screamed and clutched his neck.
Linc snatched up the grenade and tossed it back, grabbed Carly, and dived behind his heavy rosewood desk. Carly screamed as the grenade blew up. Metal fragments exploded into the plaster walls and ripped into the desk, showering the room with deadly shrapnel. The concussion made Linc’s ears ring, but the metal didn’t penetrate the thick slab of wood protecting them.
Carly lay trembling beneath him, clutching his shoulders. Linc shoved himself off her, did a quick check to be sure she wasn’t injured, caught a glimpse of the spray of blood that had once been El Jefe, and came to his feet.
“Is he dead?” Carly asked as the door burst open and Taggart and half a dozen FBI agents rushed into the study.
“He’s dead.” Linc caught her hand, pulled her up beside him, and into his arms. “But we’re still alive.”
Weapon in hand, Quinn surveyed the destruction. “Jesus, what the hell happened?”
Linc tipped his head toward the bloody spray of red. “Zapata/Al-Razi or whatever his name is won’t be bothering us again.” Linc stayed in front of Carly, blocking her view. No use putting that ugly memory into her head. “Let’s get out of here.”
The fire trucks had arrived by the time they walked out of the study. Hoses were being deployed, firemen climbing up on the roof. Linc slid an arm around Carly’s waist, keeping her close as they walked out of the smoke-filled, bullet-riddled house. Flames licked through the ceiling in the living room. A stream of water from a big fire hose blew through the window, soaking the velvet draperies, sofas, and chairs.
It was over and they were safe. As far as Linc was concerned, they could let the damned place burn.
