Three.
Two.
One—the flash-bang was tossed through the doorway. Both teams angled their bodies away, eyes averted from the blast.
The detonation hit like a physical shove—a blinding white pulse of light followed by a concussive crack that rattled Brian’s teeth even from around the door jamb. The shock wave thumped through his chest, dust shaking loose from the ceiling as the sound ricocheted through the basement. The sharp scent of burnt magnesium and hot metal filled the air, mixing with shouted curses and a female scream.
The team moved before the echo finished bouncing off the walls.
Bowden pushed the door wide. Hawk entered first, cutting right, while Brian followed half a step behind, spinning left, weapon up and steady. Both shouting at the gang-bangers to drop their weapons and get on the ground. “SBI! Drop your weapons!”
The room was in chaos.
Smoke lingered as three men staggered blindly, hands clamped over their ears. Another dropped to his knees, blinking hard and swaying.
Diego was near Tess—still on his feet with a gun in his hand. The cell phone lay on the concrete at his feet, screen lit, sliding in a slow arc before coming to rest. He looked off-balance for a split second—shoulders uneven, knees slightly bent—but he recovered fast. His eyes were unfocused, blinking against the white haze, yet his grip on the pistol tightened. He pivoted toward the doorway. Toward the SBI agents.
Brian didn’t think—just reacted—and fired once. The report cracked through the basement. Diego's head snapped back, and he crumpled to the concrete before he could pull the trigger.
He scanned his side of the room for any other threats, knowing Sean, Rafe, and the others covered his back.
No other shots were fired, but more commands were barked.
“Drop your weapons!”
“Get on the ground!”
“Drop your damn weapons!”
Metal clattered.
One gun. Then another.
“On the ground! Hands behind your head!”
The remaining kidnappers complied quickly, blinking through disorientation. The SRT members moved with practiced precision, kicking weapons away, securing wrists, and forcing bodies flat.
Brian didn’t spare them another glance.
His focus was locked on Tess.
She lay on her side near the west wall, the hood still covering her head, wrists bound behind her, and ankles tied. Despite her eyes being shielded from the flash of bright light, she was still hit by the concussive blast. Her breathing was rapid and shallow as she wrestled with her restraints, trying to escape.
She had no idea what had just happened.
No idea who was in the room.
No idea if the gunshot had come from them—or from someone trying to kill her.
Brian crossed the space in three strides, holstered his weapon, and dropped to a knee beside her. He reached for the hood covering her face, desperate to get it off her but knowing he had to be mindful of any injuries.
“Tess, baby. It’s me. Are you all right? Tess?”
“Better hope your brother did what he was told to do.” The voice of the man Andy had called “Diego” came from somewhere nearby. Too close.
Tess flinched, the words slicing through her already frayed nerves. She swallowed hard, praying Andy had gotten a hold of Brian, who would know what to do.
Footsteps moved away from her. Slow. Unhurried. Confident.