Chapter 7 - The Breach in the Hallway
The man holding me froze, but instead of dropping his gun, he yanked me violently backward, using my body as a human shield as he tried to pivot toward the hallway window.
“Step back or I put a round through her spine!” the operative roared, his arm locking across my throat so hard I choked for air.
Carter didn't blink. His expression remained terrifyingly calm. He didn't lower his gun by a fraction of an inch. “You’re welcome to try, Marcus,” Carter said smoothly, calling the man by name. “Though I should warn you—the two tactical operatives I left covering the perimeter breach cleared your getaway vehicle three minutes ago. You're standing in a dead-end box.”
Marcus hesitated, his eyes darting toward the shattered doorway. The sound of heavy boots echoing up the front steps confirmed Carter wasn't bluffing.
Daniel panicked. He scrambled backward from the burning wastebasket, kicking it over. Sparks showered across the dry carpet, and a thin wisp of gray smoke began to curl toward the ceiling. “Get her out of here!” Daniel screamed at Marcus. “Just kill her and let’s go!”
That was the mistake.
In the split second Daniel’s attention broke to yell at his accomplice, Marcus’s focus flickered. It was all the opening Carter needed.
With blinding speed, Carter holstered his sidearm, lunged forward, and grabbed the barrel of Marcus’s gun, wrenching it upward just as a round discharged, blowing a hole through the plaster ceiling. With a brutal, practiced sweep of his leg, Carter kicked Marcus’s knee outward, sending the operative crashing hard against the bedroom wall.
The gun clattered across the hardwood floor.
I stumbled forward, coughing, as Carter caught me by the shoulders and shoved me back toward the safety of the hallway.
“Secure him!” Carter yelled to the two tactical operatives who flooded into the room behind him.
One of the operatives immediately dropped heavy zip-ties around Marcus’s wrists while the other lunged toward the spreading carpet fire, stamping it out with heavy combat boots before it could catch the baseboards.
Daniel scrambled toward the open window, desperate to climb out into the backyard, but Carter caught him by the back of his jacket collar, hauling him backward and slamming him against the wall with enough force to rattle the pictures on the drywall.
“Let me go!” Daniel shrieked, thrashing wildly. “You have no right! This is private property!”
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Carter leaned in close, his voice dangerously low. “Property? Mr. Whitaker, you just committed arson, obstruction of justice, and accessory to attempted chemical murder. Your property rights expired about ten minutes ago.”
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