Chapter Thirty-Five
“That sounds like a chopper,” Quinn said. “You expecting a ride into Dallas?”
“Not today.” Linc spotted the helicopter in the distance, flying over the ranch from the south, heading in their direction.
He looked back at the house to see Deke Logan bursting through the French doors, striding toward him.
“We’re under attack,” Deke said. “We don’t know who, could be as many as thirty armed men.”
“Zapata,” Linc said, without the slightest doubt.
“I’ll call for backup.” Quinn pulled out his phone to make the call, but the feds were a long ways away. The fight could be over by the time they got there.
“They came in the back way,” Deke said. “Wounded a couple of men who were patrolling the road. These guys are driving military Humvees. One’s mounted with an M-2 heavy machine gun. Hell, one’s carrying an M-30 mortar! I’m pulling my men back, Linc. We’ve got to set up a line of defense.”
“Where are Zapata’s men now?”
“They’re forming up, getting ready to make a full-out assault. Fuck, who the hell are these guys?”
“ISIS, maybe. Could be Al-Quaeda or some other group. Turns out Raul Zapata has terrorist connections.”
“Fuck,” Deke repeated.
“The house is solid stone. Why don’t you set up your defensive position here?”
Deke glanced around at the opulent stone mansion. “You sure?”
“Damn sure. Get your injured men inside and take them down to the basement. Mrs. Delinski’s a retired nurse.”
Deke spun and raced back through the French doors, heading for his men. Turning to Carly, Linc caught her shoulders. Her face looked pale but her jaw was set.
“Carly, honey, gather up Mrs. Delinski and the rest of the staff and get them downstairs to the basement, out of the line of fire.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Go, baby.”
She nodded, turned, and raced into the house. Linc and Quinn strode after her. As they stepped into the family room, he could hear her shouting orders, saw the housekeeper running for the entry to bring the gardeners inside.
“There’s a gun safe in the study,” Linc said to Quinn, striding in that direction. “I keep a Nighthawk .45 for protection, a little .380, and a couple of hunting rifles.”
Quinn jerked his pistol out of the clip holster on his belt. “Standard FBI issue, Glock .23, forty cal.” Dropping the clip, he checked the load and shoved it back in, slid the gun back into his holster.
“FBI’s on the way,” Quinn said. “Sheriff’s been alerted. Should be some deputies out here in the next few minutes.”
“Howler’s an idiot. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get his men killed.”
They started out of the study just as the front door burst open and armed men in camouflage and tactical vests poured into the marble-floored entry, with Deke Logan in the lead.
“Mendez, Conners, Wash, and Cisco—cover the windows across the front of the house.” Deke pointed in that direction. “Ash and Castillo, get the injured men downstairs, then go with Brewster and Finn to cover the back.”
Deke turned to Linc. “Cain, you’re with me. We’ll take the dining room.”
Linc didn’t argue. Logan was former special ops. He knew what he was doing, and defending the ranch and its occupants was what he got paid for.
“I’ll meet you there,” Linc said, regretting his decision to give Marino the next two days off, though they were well deserved. Striding into the study, he opened the gun safe and took out the weapons, checked the load in the Nighthawk, and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans.
When Carly ran up, he didn’t tell her to wait in the basement with the staff—he knew damned well that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, he handed her the. 380. “It’s this or a rifle.”
She took the smaller weapon, shoved it into the pocket of her jeans, and grabbed one of the rifles, an older model thirty ought six. “I’ll take both.”
Linc’s mouth edged up. He couldn’t resist pulling her in for a quick, hard kiss. “Stay close,” he said, and Carly nodded.
Linc grabbed the remaining rifle, a thirty-thirty that had been around the ranch for years. Taggart headed for the living room while he and Carly ran for the dining room, where Deke had turned over the huge mahogany table and shoved it in front of a window.
Carly surveyed the opulent surroundings the same way Deke had. “When these guys start shooting, it’s going to destroy your house.”
Linc flashed her a grin. “Yeah, that’s too bad.”
Carly laughed. He couldn’t believe it. With Zapata’s army bearing down on them, a helicopter armed with God-only-knew-what circling overhead, and the house about to be blown down around her ears, she managed to laugh. If he wasn’t already in love with her, he’d be crazy in love with her now.
They dragged a couple of heavy wooden dining chairs up to the windows and tipped them over, then settled in to wait.
“You ready for this?” he asked.
“No.” She tilted up the rifle, used the barrel to smash out one of the windowpanes, and rested the gun on the sill. “I am now.”
His mouth edged up. He wanted to tell her he loved her. Almost spit out the words. Might have if the rattle of machine gun fire and a barrage of bullets hadn’t shattered the window above their heads. Shards of glass flew across the dining room.
Armed with an AR-15, Deke returned fire. Linc could hear shots being fired into the house from a dozen different locations, hear shots being returned from the living room, billiard room, ladies’ salon, and rooms at the rear of the house.
The fight was on. Now all they had to do was survive till the cavalry got there.
Linc hunkered down at the window and began pulling off shots.
* * *
By the time the FBI showed up, the house was a pile of rubble. With limited ammunition, Carly took careful aim with her rifle, managed to hit one of the attackers in the shoulder and spin him around, shot another in the knee. Linc took the helicopter down with a couple of well-placed shots through the bubble window, wounding the pilot, who toppled over onto the controls.
The bad news was the chopper hit the house before it exploded, blowing up several bedrooms on the second floor and starting a small fire.
“These guys have damned good equipment,” Deke said, crouched at the window next to them. “But they aren’t well trained—not like my guys.” Ducking beneath a stream of machine gun bullets, he elbow-crawled out of the dining room to check on the rest of his men.
As the battle wore on, a mortar round demolished the laundry room and tore out the back wall of the kitchen. Some of Deke’s men took care of the Humvee it was mounted on, making short work of the driver and the guys manning the weapon, ending the threat before there was any more damage.
The second Humvee exploded when one of Deke’s guys tossed a grenade through the driver’s window.
The whir of blades had Carly looking skyward. “FBI,” she said, reading the bold letters on the side. “Thank God.”
Linc raised his head up enough to look out the window. Along with the FBI chopper, both ICE and DEA vehicles were converging on the scene from two different directions, surrounding Zapata’s rapidly dwindling army.
It was over quickly after that, the various entities taking charge of the attackers, who dropped to their knees and pushed their hands into the air. Carly prayed Raul Zapata was among them.
The sheriff arrived after the fight, which Linc said was a blessing. Agent Taggart had gone to join his men, while Deke’s soldiers, those left inside to defend the house, laid down their weapons and walked out to join Deke and the rest of the security team.
Someone sent word to the staff, who used the outside exit to leave the basement and were now milling around on the concrete decking beside the swimming pool.
A pair of ambulances arrived. The fire department was on its way, but the fire in the far end of the house was still burning and smoke was drifting down the stairs.
Linc stayed behind to collect what few items he wanted out of his study and Carly stayed to help him.
“I don’t think the fire will reach this far,” he said, “but you never know. There are a couple of first editions I’m fond of and these photos.” Pictures of Beau and his brother, Josh, a few other mementos sitting on bookshelves.
Linc tossed the items into his leather briefcase. “Let’s get out of here.”
More than ready, Carly took a couple of steps toward the door before a familiar voice stopped her. Bharat Al-Razi, alias Raul Zapata, alias El Jefe, blocked the carved wooden door leading into the study.
“You are going nowhere,” Zapata said. “You and Cain will never leave this house.”
* * *
Linc should have seen this coming, should have figured a guy like Zapata wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Wearing a black tactical vest over military fatigues, Zapata pointed a big .45 caliber pistol in their direction, but it wasn’t the gun that worried Linc. It was the maniacal smile on his face and the grenade he gripped in his hand.
“You will die here today—both of you! You infidel dogs have caused me to fail in the task Allah set for me.” He coughed as smoke began to curl into the room, drift up into the skylight.
“You still have a chance, Al-Razi,” Linc said calmly, easing Carly a little behind him. “If you leave now, you can escape and try again.”
Al-Razi spat on the floor. “You will die, then I will leave.”
Linc should have seen it coming, should have known Carly wouldn’t go down without a fight. Just as Zapata pulled the pin and rolled the grenade across the floor, Carly’s little pistol appeared, a shot roared, and a bullet ripped through Zapata’s throat. He screamed and clutched his neck.
Linc snatched up the grenade and tossed it back, grabbed Carly, and dived behind his heavy rosewood desk. Carly screamed as the grenade blew up. Metal fragments exploded into the plaster walls and ripped into the desk, showering the room with deadly shrapnel. The concussion made Linc’s ears ring, but the metal didn’t penetrate the thick slab of wood protecting them.
Carly lay trembling beneath him, clutching his shoulders. Linc shoved himself off her, did a quick check to be sure she wasn’t injured, caught a glimpse of the spray of blood that had once been El Jefe, and came to his feet.
“Is he dead?” Carly asked as the door burst open and Taggart and half a dozen FBI agents rushed into the study.
“He’s dead.” Linc caught her hand, pulled her up beside him, and into his arms. “But we’re still alive.”
Weapon in hand, Quinn surveyed the destruction. “Jesus, what the hell happened?”
Linc tipped his head toward the bloody spray of red. “Zapata/Al-Razi or whatever his name is won’t be bothering us again.” Linc stayed in front of Carly, blocking her view. No use putting that ugly memory into her head. “Let’s get out of here.”
The fire trucks had arrived by the time they walked out of the study. Hoses were being deployed, firemen climbing up on the roof. Linc slid an arm around Carly’s waist, keeping her close as they walked out of the smoke-filled, bullet-riddled house. Flames licked through the ceiling in the living room. A stream of water from a big fire hose blew through the window, soaking the velvet draperies, sofas, and chairs.
It was over and they were safe. As far as Linc was concerned, they could let the damned place burn.