ChapterTwenty-Six
Light flared behind the second-floor library window as the first roar of explosives split the air.
Like fireworks, more booms followed, each lighting the night before the other had fully faded. Xavier didn’t know how George did it, but he’d managed to rig his lightbulb igniters in a series so they went off in succession.
Beautiful and deadly.
From his position, he could see the flashes of light from the dining room explosions reflected on the water.
Nine SEALs had breached the lodge—entering from both the octagon window and unlocked bigfoot door. Because he lacked body armor, Xavier was among the SEALs tasked with watching for escaping mercs. The lodge had exits through the game room, deck, ballroom, dining room, plus in the service areas. Too many doors for only four men, but with minimal weaponry, they needed a full force in the lodge to secure the hostages.
Plan B went into action: the main generator went on and interior and exterior lights flared bright, lighting all the dark corners outside the lodge.
A mere fifteen feet away, a suddenly exposed balaclava-clad merc crept along the side of the building. The man stumbled, thrown off by the flare in his NVGs. Xavier took aim with his match gun, which he’d test-fired in the woods before they set out. The reload time meant he only had one shot at this man who wore body armor and carried an AK-47 that Xavier very much wanted to add to their limited arsenal.
The merc dove for cover, and Xavier fired. The makeshift gun was true, and the shot landed above the chest plate, embedding in the merc’s shoulder, just above the right clavicle. Not a killing blow, but an exceedingly painful one.
A Molotov to the chest should incapacitate him to the point where Xavier could claim the AK. As he prepared to light the improvised explosive, a shrill scream split the night.
A woman’s scream.
He didn’t pause to come up with a plan. No time to grab the rifle from the masked merc. He just reacted, bolting for the post office and the woman who meant everything to him.
One minute, Audrey was huddled in a ball listening to the sound of explosions, and the next, she heard glass shattering on the other side of the vestibule wall.
The window inset in the door. It had to be.
She looked through the rows of post office boxes—each had a tiny glass pane at the front—to see into the front room. Light from the lodge—they must’ve gotten the generator going, as planned—lit the opening as a gloved hand reached through the shattered window and twisted the knob on the dead bolt.
Someone must’ve spotted her entering the post office, and now that they were under attack, they’d come for her.
She turned for the back door and threw up the old-fashioned wood beam that barred it. She didn’t take time to grab her pack as she bolted into the forest that backed up to the post office.
The night was no longer pitch-dark. With the generators on, halogen lights mounted to high poles lit up the grounds like a stadium and bled into the forest, reducing her options for hiding.
That had been the plan—a weapon to be employed against mercenaries—but now she was caught in the same trap.
She sprinted through the lit woods, jumping over logs and roots like they were hurdles. This was the race of her life, and she wasn’t a runner. Never had been.
A shot rang out. She mistimed a jump, and she landed hard, face forward onto hard ground littered with rocks and sharp sticks.
She pushed herself up, pressing her palm on something sharp, and was moving forward before the pain registered, before she was even fully on her feet.
Her pursuer was right behind her. He caught her foot, and she went down again, letting out a sharp scream.
He yanked her back. She screamed again. Wondered why she hadn’t been screaming all along. But then, screaming took breath, and she’d been too focused on running to spare her lungs for anything else.
He dropped, the length of his body pressing her into the dirt. Her breath left in a rush, silencing the screams that were her only hope at this point.
He was large. Heavy. His weight immobilized her, no matter how much she bucked against him. She couldn’t draw in a breath. She was utterly trapped.
He spoke in her ear, his accent heavy. “You’re my ticket out of here. The boss wants you alive.”
She tried to buck him off again, her journey to panic nearly complete.
When that failed, she managed to elbow him in the side. He grunted and shifted slightly. She used the opportunity to draw in a deep breath and scream for all she was worth, then head-butted him in the nose.
He grunted in pain. “Just because he wants you alive doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you first.” An arm snaked around her neck, and fingers gripped her throat. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. No one is coming. They’re all inside getting shot. Burned.”