And then there was only pain.
“HOLD IT RIGHT there. I’ve got Quintana in my sights.”
Joaquin didn’t dare to breathe. He’d never seen anyone be so calm with so much at stake. Hunter lay motionless on his belly on the chopper floor, sniper rifle aimed toward the wall of glass at the other end of the patio.
On either side of him, four SWAT officers knelt, ready to rappel.
The helicopter bobbed in the wind. Up a few feet. Down again. Over.
“Hold it. Hold it.”
Time itself seemed to stop, Joaquin’s heartbeat louder than the chopper’s throbbing rotors. Then . . .
BAM! BAM!
The rifle seemed to fire itself. Hunter hadn’t moved at all.
“Go!” Hunter shouted.
The chopper rose, turned slightly, and hovered over the patio.
Hunter and the four volunteers dropped like spiders down thick, nylon webs, friction making the ropes whine. They landed on their feet and dispersed along the edges of the patio, heading toward the door. Assault rifles fired.
Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat!
It took Joaquin a moment to realize that the bullets were headed their way. His friends were going into danger, and once again he wasn’t with them.
Without thinking, he drew his camera strap over his head, grabbed on to one of the ropes, and, ignoring the pilot’s shouts, slid to the patio.
“STAY DOWN AND don’t make a sound!”
With those words, Gabe left her. Natalie pressed herself against the bottom of the tub, her pulse tripping, hell breaking loose around her.
The heavy drone of a helicopter. Zach’s strangled cry. Burst after burst of automatic weapons fire. Men’s shouts.
Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat!
Unable to stop herself, she raised her head just enough so that she could see above the rim of the tub.
Gabe had just shot a man, the body lying in a heap at Gabe’s feet. He raised the rifle again, crouched against the wall, glaring back at her. “Stay down!”
From the distance there came one last burst of gunfire—a high-caliber pistol.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
And then . . .
“Face down! Hands behind your head! Do it!” That was Marc’s voice.
“Clear back here.” A voice Natalie didn’t recognize.
“Clear up here.” That was Gabe.
“Where’s Wulfe?” Marc again. “I saw him in here. Son of a bitch! He’s gone!”
She waited to hear Zach’s voice, waited for him to ask about her.
“Hey, Rossiter,” Marc called, his voice grave. “Get down here!”