Page 23 of Raven's Hunt
She rolled her eyes but ambled over to the sofa, sinking into the cushion farthest from the door. Not because she felt safer there, but she knew Buck wouldn’t settle if he didn’t have a direct sightline across the pier. If he couldn’t be her first line of defense if someone suddenly burst through the door.
Buck plopped down beside her, tucking a pillow behind both of them before tossing a blanket across their laps. He lifted his arm, pulled her in close when she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his heart easing the lingering tension.
He relaxed back, holding her close as the night settled, the ocean still surging in the background. “Sleep. Nothing’ll sneak past Dalton. Promise.”
She mumbled a reply, fading into an uneasy sleep. Dalton returned a couple hours later, moving like a damn wraith as he grabbed more coffee, then planted his ass in the chair beside Buck. She watched him for a few minutes, noting the furrowed brow and dark circles. The kind she saw reflected back in the mirror most days and knew, he wasn’t quite as polished as she’d thought.
He simply hid his demons better.
The night wore on, the wind picking up outside, howling past the windows as a late spring storm rolled in off the ocean. A flash of lightning cracked across the sky, jolting her upright as thunder rumbled in the distance, rattling the glass before gradually fading.
Buck had his Sig out a heartbeat later, sweeping the room as Dalton scrambled onto his feet, eyes narrowed, gaze scanning the room. She jumped when another bolt forked out of the sky, breathing through the boom that followed.
Buck exhaled, brushing her hair off her shoulder, looking as if he wanted to kiss her, again, when Dalton charged at them, tackling them both over the arm of the sofa just as a suppressed thut sounded in the aftershock. The window in front of them cracked, a spiderweb of lines quickly eating up the surface before the entire pane exploded inward in a shower of glass and mist, the roar of the ocean echoing through the room.
Static crackled somewhere below, followed by the crunch of boots on gravel and the hollow drum of movement on the boathouse roof. Red dots jittered over the ceiling, climbed the far wall, highlighting the hole where the first round had punched into the drywall.
This wasn't one shooter taking a chance in the dark. Some random drive-by. This was an army, and they’d already boxed them in.
Chapter Seven
Buck crouched on the floor, Tierney pinned under one arm, his Sig in his left hand. Dalton crawled over to the window, sighting lines out of it as rain blew in through the shattered glass, the air thick with sea salt and cordite.
Red lasers painted the ceiling, finally working down the wall, the mist highlighting the beams like wavering bits of crimson string. More thumps sounded above them, the occasional voice working its way in.
Dalton chanced a quick peek, ducking when the first line of suppressive fire sparked off the frame, cracking the bits of glass that hadn’t shattered, yet. He cocked his head, cursing under his breath. “I’ve got movement on the stairs. More men circling around back. No way we’re going in either of those directions.”
Buck nodded. “Roof’s out, too. And staying is just putting us in a coffin for them. Which means we’re either jumping off the deck, hoping we hit water, or finding a way into the boathouse beneath us.”
Dalton pointed to the mat by the sliding door to the deck. “There’s a hatch under the rug. It drops into the slip they added when they rebuilt this place after it got destroyed with those RPGs, but I’m pretty sure Saylor has one of her Zodiacs tied up inside. Something about Zain putting a few bullet holes in it. We might be able to drop onto the canopy.”
“As long as it gets us clear, we’re in.”
“I’ll cover. You and Tierney go first.”
Buck grunted, but he knew better than to argue. Overlooking the fact Dalton had always been his team’s overwatch, the man was ten kinds of stubborn, and nothing short of biblical intervention would sway him from being their last line of defense. “Don’t you fucking die on me.”
Dalton snorted, lining up the door with his Sig, rifle slung over his back, though Buck knew the man would be sighting down the scope before the night was through.
Buck grabbed Tierney, moving with her over to the glass doors. Bullets stitched through the room, cutting a path through the drywall as photos dropped and shattered, more glass splintering across the floor.
Tierney tugged the mat aside, twisted the latch, then opened the hatch. A blast of diesel-choked air slammed into them, mixed with brine and wet concrete. Hulking shadows laced the room, the steady patter of rain echoing throughout.
Buck motioned to the opening. “Doesn’t sound like it’s been breached yet, but… I’d shoot first, worry later. And watch your six until I get down there.”
Tierney looked as if she might argue the order before sliding into the opening, boots kicking at the air. She palmed each side, then pushed off, hanging for a moment before dropping into the dark. A dull thump sounded a second later followed by boots scuffing on fiberglass.
He waited until a hushed, “Clear,” carried up to him, before twisting to face Dalton. “We’re clear. Get your ass over here before they bust through the door.”
Dalton waved him on. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Buck grunted but palmed the lip, dropping down just as the door crashed open, a group of men charging through. Shots boomed overhead before something clicked across the floor, erupting a moment later in a blast of white light that flashed through the hatch, a shrill tone rattling through his skull.
He rolled, legs hanging off the Zodiac’s roof, working out how to jump back up once his brain stopped shaking, back Dalton up, when his buddy slid through the hatch, landing on the roof with a firm smack.
Buck grabbed Dalton’s wrist before he continued off the other side, cracked his head on the concrete slip, pulling him clear a second before a spray of brass poured out the opening, punching a line through the Zodiac’s canopy. Tierney returned fire, capped one of the mercs, left him hanging partway down from the ceiling.
They scrambled off the boat, water from the slip sloshing against the lip, masking their footfalls as they paralleled the wall, slipping into the shadows. Flashlight beams from the pier bore through the gloom, lighting up the windows as the door to Saylor’s office burst open, an alarm wailing through the building before cutting off.
