Page 43 of Circle of Death
“They would have found another way,” she says, “another time.”
“I can’t lose anybody else,” Maddy sobs. “Iwon’t!”
I get the distinct feeling that I’m really not needed here. Or maybe it’s my discomfort at seeing Maddy in pain. It cuts me to the core. I can feel myself inching back toward the door. Margo looks up and nods, giving me permission to go. Or maybe asking me to.
As I ease the door closed, I see Maddy lie back down again. Margo slides onto the bed and folds herself around her, like a mother around her baby.
I walk across to the other side of the hallway. My throat is burning from the brandy—and the anger. I agree with Maddy. I want payback. I’m standing in front of the hall window that overlooks the front of the house. The only light outside is from the lamps near the front door, and from the sliver of moon overhead. The air is still. No movement in the trees.
That’s when I spot them.
Two figures rustling a row of juniper bushes.
In a split second, my drowsiness evaporates. My bloodstream spikes with adrenaline and my vision sharpens. I look again. No mistake. There’s somebody out there.
I take the stairs three at a time. I head down the back hallway and down into the basement. When I reach the exit to the front lawn, I open the door slowly and slip outside. Invisible.
The figures haven’t moved. Two of them. Maybe looking for a clear shot through one of the windows, or getting ready to detonate a bomb. Whichever it is, they picked the wrong night.
I move quickly along the hedgerow until I’m close enough to feel them breathing. Then I reach through with both arms. My hands close around their collars and I pull both intruders through the branches to my side, landing them on their backs.
“What thefuck?” one of them shouts.
The other one whips his head side to side. But there’s nothing to see.
They’re military types, dressed in camo from head to toe. Their faces are painted in broad strokes of gray and green. They’re looking at each other with wide eyes, not understanding what’s happening. There’s no one to fight.
They both scramble to their feet, but I take them down again with kicks behind the knees. The guy on the right gets up again and takes an aimless swing. I pound my fist into his solar plexus and he goes down again. His partner pulls a knife from his belt and slices the empty air in front of him. I kick the knife out of his hand and then deliver a roundhouse to his temple. He drops next to his buddy. They’re both alive, but barely conscious.
I grab their chins and turn their faces toward the light. Then my heart freezes. I take a step back, breathing hard.
The two men lying on my lawn are Tapper and Hawkeye.
CHAPTER 53
BY THE TIME their senses start to come back, I’ve got them both tied to chairs in the parlor. I roused Jericho and Burbank and they’re standing alongside me, staring.
“Gentlemen, meet Hawkeye—and Tapper.”
“Holy shit,” says Jericho.
“The missing links,” says Burbank.
I start pacing the room, furious and fuming. “I invited them to join our team, but they apparently decided to come after us instead.” I lean into the prisoners’ faces. “I caught them outside the house. Myhouse!” I’m so raw from losing Moe, I could snap their necks with my bare hands.
“Hold on,” says Tapper, straining against the ropes. “We got your goddamn invite.”
Hawkeye twists in his chair. “We weren’t in a position to reply.”
I lean in. “So what were you doing in my bushes with high-powered rifles?”
“Waiting for daylight,” says Tapper. “We figured you had the place trip-wired.”
“We should have,” says Jericho.
“So where have you been?” I ask. “I tracked you both to Zurich.”
“Right. We were there,” says Hawkeye. “Spying on the Command.”
