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THE AMBUSH
Prescott
Prescott Armstrong killed the headlights before turning into a neighborhood where older waterfront homes stood dark in a moonless night. If anything went wrong, he had no one to bail his ass out. He couldn’t shoot up a flare, couldn’t call for back up. He wasn’t just point man for the mission, he was theonlyman.
Three o’clock in the morning gave him the element of surprise.
He drove onto the target’s street, stopped at the curb, and cut the engine. April in Virginia brought a shift in the weather. Residents might have left their windows open, so he had to be stealth, he had to be wicked fast, and he had to take the SOB out before anyone heard him.
I got this.
He pulled on his helmet, flipped up the night goggles, and opened the door of the SUV. The interior light was off, ensuring he stayed hidden in shadow. After quietly closing the door, he opened the back door and clipped the tactical belt around his waist. Next, he slipped the knife into its sheath and tucked both Glocks into their holsters. He pulled a third Glock from the floor of the vehicle, closed that door without making a sound, and made his way down the street, cutting between two homes.
He was fully armed, and he was ready.
After lowering the goggles, he strode from one backyard to the next. Silent, laser-focused, and determined to locate his prey.
Despite his slow-beating heart, his senses were on high alert. Twigs crunched beneath his feet on freshly mowed grass. An energetic fox scurried across his path in search of its next meal.
According to the listing agent, the for-sale property was filled with staged furniture that made the house looked lived in, but not cluttered. The owners had moved away, which gave Maul the perfect nighttime hideaway.
Prescott’s blood ran cold.
Terrence Maul had jumped to the top of Z’s list the second he found out that Maul had staged a riot, then shot his way out of the maximum-security prison. There was the FBI’s Most Wanted, and then there was Z’s Most Wanted. If you made it onto Z’s list, you got a bullet between your eyes.
The end.
And since this kill hadnotbeen sanctioned by ALPHA—for reasons Z hadn’t revealed—that meant the off-the-books hit would be handled by Prescott. AndonlyPrescott.
I can’t fuckin’ wait.
As he approached the large home at the end of the street, he slowed. Like the others, it stood dark. The back door was locked. Seconds passed while he slid the pick into the keyhole in search of the pins.
Nice and easy.
The lock released.
Inside, he was met with silence. After a quick sweep of the finished basement, he made his way up the stairs. No Maul on the first floor, so he strode to the upper level.
While his controlled breathing remained slow and steady, adrenaline pumped through him. This mission had to be executed without error.
One mistake, and he was a dead man.
With a Glock in each hand, he cleared all four bedrooms. No fugitive. He entered the master bathroom and his stomach dropped. A woman lay on the floor, her body surrounded in a thick pool of blood.
Fuck, he took out the realtor.
Fury thundered through him. Maul had killed her, then bolted.
Back in the basement, he made his way toward the door. With his gaze sweeping left and right, movement caught his eye.
Someone jumped out of the shadows, his eyes wild, a knife in his hand.
POP! POP! POP!
The guy dropped as two armed men emerged from a back room.BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
