Thank God. She was alive but incapacitated. If she had a hood on, she was most likely restrained as well.
Hawk shifted the mirror again, mapping positions of the gang members with more subtle hand signals—two guys were seated to the right, one pacing the center of the room, one stood along the far wall, and one sat closest to Tess.
As he tucked the mirror back into his pocket, someone inside spoke—self-assured and threatening. “Better hope your brother did what he was told to do, bitch.”
Brian’s stomach tightened as he recognized the voice.
Diego.
There was a faint shuffle. Footsteps. Someone made a hacking noise and then spit.
When Diego spoke again, he was closer to the door. “Time’s up, Bing. Is it done?” He was on the phone with Andy, but they could only hear one side of the conversation.
Brian checked his watch.
00:03:02
The call was early. Most likely, Diego was impatient and decided it was close enough to an hour.
Their time was up.
As Diego cussed Andy out and made threats, Brian met Bowden’s eyes.
Now!
The captain made the small circling motion with his hand. From behind him, Brooks stepped to the side, flash-bang in hand. Brian adjusted his footing, settling into muscle memory. Tess wouldn’t know what was coming. She wouldn’t be able to brace.
Three.
Two.
One—the flash-bang was tossed through the doorway. Both teams angled their bodies away, eyes averted from the blast.
The detonation hit like a physical shove—a blinding white pulse of light followed by a concussive crack that rattled Brian’s teeth even from around the door jamb. The shock wave thumped through his chest, dust shaking loose from the ceiling as the sound ricocheted through the basement. The sharp scent of burnt magnesium and hot metal filled the air, mixing with shouted curses and a female scream.
The team moved before the echo finished bouncing off the walls.
Bowden pushed the door wide. Hawk entered first, cutting right, while Brian followed half a step behind, spinning left, weapon up and steady. Both shouting at the gang-bangers to drop their weapons and get on the ground. “SBI! Drop your weapons!”
The room was in chaos.
Smoke lingered as three men staggered blindly, hands clamped over their ears. Another dropped to his knees, blinking hard and swaying.
Diego was near Tess—still on his feet with a gun in his hand. The cell phone lay on the concrete at his feet, screen lit, sliding in a slow arc before coming to rest. He looked off-balance for a split second—shoulders uneven, knees slightly bent—but he recovered fast. Hiseyes were unfocused, blinking against the white haze, yet his grip on the pistol tightened. He pivoted toward the doorway. Toward the SBI agents.
Brian didn’t think—just reacted—and fired once.
The report cracked sharp and thunderous in the enclosed space. The bullet struck clean and true. The man’s head snapped back, and blood, gray matter, and splinters of bone splattered on the concrete wall behind him like a piece of grotesque abstract art that no one would choose to hang. His body collapsed sideways like a two-hundred-pound sack of wet cement, boneless and heavy, hitting the floor with a dull, final thud.
He scanned his side of the room for any other threats, knowing Sean, Rafe, and the others covered his back.
No other shots were fired.
More commands were barked.
“Drop your weapons!”
“Get on the ground!”
