“Hey!” he shouted.
Rorro raised an assault weapon, peppering him with bullets, and his foot gave out again as he pivoted to find cover. Cursing, he hit the ground and rolled behind a decorative brick wall before returning fire in short bursts. Rorro grabbed his older cousin, used him as a living shield at the same time as a bullet came from nowhere and skipped off the top of Jacinto’s head. They both collapsed.
Gabe peeked over the wall to see who had saved his neck. Quinn stood not twenty feet away at the edge of the yard, pistol in hand and a quirk on his lips. He holstered the weapon, closed the distance between them, and held out a helping hand.
“Man, you ever get tired of me saving your ass?”
Gabe clasped the offered hand and climbed to his feet. “Never.”
Another bullet ripped into the earth near Quinn’s boot and he stumbled backward with a shouted curse as Rorro, covered in his cousin’s blood, crawled out from under Jacinto’s body and fired wildly in their direction. Gabe let loose a short, controlled burst from his own weapon and Rorro crumpled face-first into the blood-soaked ground.
“Okay,” Quinn said and huffed out a breath. “Now we’re even.”
“Never,” Gabe repeated. “I’ll always have your six, buddy.”
All around, the gunfire came to an abrupt halt, a chilling silence spreading out in its wake. Gabe whistled between his teeth and waited, praying….
Five whistles bounced back and he breathed a soft sigh of relief. His men had stopped firing because the tangos were dead, not because they were. Now, as per the plan, they’d rendezvous at the helo.
Quinn slung an arm around his waist. “C’mon.”
He hobbled across the yard with Quinn’s help, met the rest of the team at the edge of the neighboring property, and performed a quick head count as everyone climbed aboard the helo. Yeah, it was very Mother Hen-ish of him, but it made him feel better to know Marcus, Ian, Jean-Luc, Jesse, and Harvard were safe and sound.
Gabe shut the door behind him and circled a finger in the air. “Let’s go.” He moved through the crammed confines of the helo’s belly and crouched down beside Jesse, who was still working over Bryson Van Amee. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s awake,” Jesse said. He had started an IV and squeezed the bag every few seconds, pumping fluid into the drowsy man’s veins.
“Yeah?” Gabe pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “Mr. Van Amee, can you hear me?”
Bryson’s brown eyes, so very much like his sister’s, focused blearily on Gabe. “Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper of sound, and hearing him over the rotor was impossible, but Gabe nodded.
“All right. You’re safe now, and someone really wants to talk to you. Audrey,” he called into the phone over the noise of the helo. “Say hi to your brother.”
Chapter Twenty-two
LOS ANGELES, CA
It was over.
The call came in that Bryson Van Amee was safe and headed back to the States as soon as doctors stabilized him, and a cheer rang up from all the federal agents in the room. They high-fived, congratulated each other and Frank Perry like they’d all had a hand in the op that saved Van Amee’s life.
Danny Giancarelli just shook his head and pulled on his coat. He had no doubt Perry the Prick would make sure his face was all over the top media stations today, basking in the glory of the success.
Well, let him.
Gabe Bristow and his men sure didn’t seem like media whores, and all Danny wanted was to spend the final night of his so-called vacation with his wife and kids.
He passed his partner in the foyer.
“Gonna try to make it to the coast?” O’Keane asked.
“Yep.”
“Traffic will be a bitch.”
“Probably.”
O’Keane looked toward the great room, where the other agents were packing up equipment. “Crisis averted. That was something, wasn’t it?”
Danny didn’t bother pretending he had no clue what O’Keane meant. “Yeah. Something.”
“Can’t help but wonder,” he mused. “All those phone calls you made last night? They wouldn’t have had anything to do with this privately funded rescue operation…”
Danny gave him a friendly thump on the back. “See ya Tuesday, buddy.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I figured.” He lowered his voice. “Whatever you did, you saved the man’s life. Good job.” As another agent walked by, he plastered a smile on his face and said normally, “Give Leah and the kids my love.”
Giancarelli stepped outside. The morning air was crisp and cool, the sky a gorgeous cerulean with feather-like wisps of clouds. It promised to be a beautiful day, perfect for stretching out on the beach with his wife while his kids played in the surf. He couldn’t wait.