A loud huffing bang erupted below. Smoke burst out of the vehicle’s open windows. The grenade struck several yards behind the trash bin—its aim thrown off by Tucker’s onslaught.
Still, compressed by the narrow alley, the blast wave sent the bin cartwheeling and rolling down the alley. Tucker got tossed hard into the balcony doors.
As he scurried back, dark smoke smothered the alley, obscuring his view. Still, he saw men swarming the trash bin. It lay on its side, its lid fallen open. Kowalski was dragged out, limp and unmoving. They hauled him toward another truck that rushed into view at that end.
If they’re moving him, he must still be alive.
But for how long?
Elle crawled out, then hands grabbed her, too. She gestured wildly, batting at the men. She momentarily broke free and rushed to the bin, not to seek shelter, but to pull Marco out. The dog stumbled a few steps, then shook off the worst of the tumbling. He kept close to Elle, still following the order to protect her.
His hackles rose, and he growled at the commotion.
Rifles leveled at the dog.
No...
Tucker flashed to when he had lost his other dog Abel—Kane’s brother—during a firefight in Afghanistan. Panic narrowed his vision, choked his throat, leaving him momentarily paralyzed.
Not again...
But Elle dropped in front of Marco, sheltering the dog’s body with her own. She yelled, getting the others to back off. Tucker couldn’t make out what she said, but he knew the enemy wanted her, had been seeking to coerce her into cooperating.
Had she parlayed that into keeping Marco safe?
He couldn’t know.
Still, she succeeded.
The pair were led at gunpoint toward the waiting truck.
Movement drew Tucker’s attention below. Men had bailed out of the first vehicle. One shouldered the RPG launcher, already re-armed with another rocket. Free of the confines of the truck, the shooter swung his weapon toward the balcony.
Tucker twisted around.
“KANE,RUN!WITH ME!”
Tucker burst through the French doors and sprinted down the hallway.
Kane raced at his side.
The grenade struck the balcony in a brilliant flash. Smoke burst past them. Bricks and twisted iron clattered into the hallway. The concussion threw him far, sending him sliding over the tile floor.
He came to a stop near the mouth of a stairwell.
Kane rolled up next to him, then quickly clambered to his paws.
As Tucker pushed to his hands and knees, he heard boots pounding up the steps ahead of him. He reached for his rifle, knowing he only had a few rounds left.
He pointed to an open doorway on the left.
“HIDE,” he ordered Kane.
Together, they retreated out of direct sight.
A moment later, a clutch of dark figures rushed into view on the steps.
Taking advantage of the smoke’s cover, Tucker dropped to his belly and fired at those in front. Men tumbled back into the others, but the confusion lasted only moments. Curses in Russian spat his way. The enemy quickly regrouped on the stairs and shot back at him, using their dead as shields.
