Out of Time Read online

  He wanted to stay angry. But he couldn’t ignore her intentions or that she’d tried to stop it, saving lives—his life—at the risk to her own.

  That had to count for something.

  If they were going to get out of this, Scott knew that he had to start using his head. Where was the that infamous cool under pressure that made him one of the best at what he did? The levelheaded thinking and judgment that made him always know what to do? He had to tamp down the anger—and the lust. But when it came to Natalie that was easier said than done. He’d never been cool or rational about her. Nothing about his feelings for her had ever made any sense.

  He dried his hair before putting on his clothes. He probably should apologize.

  After tying his shoes, he looked out the window again and then headed down the stairs. She’d been out there a long time. He glanced at his watch, surprised to see that it was almost 2100 hours.

  She must be starving—he was. Maybe he’d make her a sandwich as a peace offering. Although with his culinary skills, he’d probably be better off taking her some of her own leftovers.

  He flipped on the light in the kitchen and suddenly everything went dark.

  He swore. The power must have gone out. He guessed it shouldn’t be much of a surprise. As run-down as this place was, faulty wiring was pretty much a given. But it was still a pain in the ass, especially as he hadn’t noticed where the breaker box was.

  He hadn’t noticed candles or a flashlight, either. It was also a moonless night and dark as hell out here in nowhere land.

  As his burner phone wasn’t equipped with a flashlight, he retraced his steps to the living room—there was a little more light in there from the big windows (or maybe his eyes were getting adjusted)—and located the gear bag that he’d left in the hallway. He found the small flashlight but wished his NVGs weren’t at the bottom of a Russian river. Instinctively he also grabbed his Glock.

  It was a good instinct.

  He’d just finished tucking the gun into the back waistband of his shorts when he caught a flash in the hall mirror that sent him diving to the floor right as the living room window shattered behind him.

  * * *

  • • •

  That cold rationality that he’d been looking for? Scott found it, thanks to the person who’d just tried to put a bullet in the back of his head. Instantly Scott was in full-on battle mode as he low-crawled across the floor, ignoring the glass and the bullets as whoever was shooting at him sprayed the building with gunfire.

  Which was actually a positive. It meant the shooter was impatient and undisciplined. Scott would rather have one overanxious blast-’em-up shooter with an automatic weapon than a well-trained, patient sniper.

  The rapid gunfire also told him the general direction of where the gunman must be. Scott put him at somewhere in the fields to the right of the driveway.

  But that cold rationality that he depended on in battle went out the window as soon as he heard the scream. Not just any scream. Natalie’s scream of what sounded like his name. It turned his blood to ice and all his SEAL discipline went out the window. The only thing he could think about was reaching her.

  He wouldn’t let himself think that it was too late, or that these guys clearly meant business, or that he hadn’t heard her scream again.

  Heedless of the guy still Butch Cassidying the crap out of the living room, Scott got to his feet and raced in a low crouch through the kitchen and out the back door.

  He didn’t stop even as a second shooter, who must have been covering the back, started firing. Unfortunately this guy was more patient and precise. He sent one bullet whizzing close enough to Scott’s ear for him to feel the rush of air as it passed by.

  Scott was pretty much a fish in a barrel, but he didn’t care. Instead of a plan, he was relying on instinct that had been honed by years of experience.

  Ace. He sure as hell hoped he had something up his sleeve. It wasn’t his first time being pinned down, although the stakes had never made him feel so . . . vulnerable. Christ, his pulse was racing and his heart was hammering with something he hadn’t felt since he was a kid watching a scary movie or going through a haunted house.

  The guy who’d kept his cool in any number of hairy situations—including when his gun had jammed just as he’d entered a cave that happened to be occupied by about a dozen ISIS militants, when he’d gotten stuck in barbed wire dumped on the seabed while doing an underwater recon of a Somalian pirate ship holding an American hostage in Eyl, Puntland, with his tank out of oxygen, and even when he’d come face-to-face with a great white in the Pacific ocean during BUD/S (for the record, punching a shark in the nose was a hell of a lot easier said than done)—was pretty much scared out of his fucking mind. The guys would never believe it.

  Scott didn’t have time to stop, go through his mental checklist, assess, mitigate, and come up with a plan. Whoever was after them wasn’t stopping to ask questions. They were shooting to kill. If Scott didn’t get to her, Natalie was dead.

  If she wasn’t already.

  Fuck. He wouldn’t let himself think that. But the barn that was only fifty yards or so from the house felt miles away.

  It had to be the Russians. But how the hell had they found them? The only explanation was one he didn’t like. Had she been right to fear them finding her? Had Scott led them to her?

  He cursed again. Not just at himself, but at the appearance of three shadowy figures all in black tactical gear and all heavily armed rounding the darkened but still blaring-with-music barn and heading toward the open doors. Operatives, he realized. More professional than he’d hoped, given the guy blowing away everything in the front. Crap.

  Despite the precariousness of his situation—and the second bullet that would have given him a third eye if he hadn’t zigged his direction at that instant—Scott felt a swell of relief. Those guys heading into the barn meant that Natalie was probably still alive.

  Outmanned and seriously outgunned, Scott knew their chances of getting out of this weren’t looking very good. But he attempted to better their odds by one, getting off a decent-enough shot at the third Tango as he entered the barn. Figuring they were probably wearing body armor, Scott aimed for the head. He didn’t waste the bullet: the guy dropped.

  Scott prayed that Natalie was hiding and that his presence was enough to distract at least one if not both of the guys who’d gone into the barn for long enough to stop them from finding her.

  He reached the barn and pressed his back to the wall on the side of the building perpendicular to the entrance. His heart was pounding so loud that it took him a minute to realize that the cacophony of bullet spray in the front of the house had stopped.

  Which wasn’t good. The guy must be repositioning. Scott didn’t have much time to figure out how to get in that barn. But there wasn’t much of a play here. With one guy in front of him and another behind him probably closing in, and two in the barn waiting to take him out as soon as he appeared in that entryway, Scott needed some kind of distraction or surprise. Some old rusted farm equipment through the loft opening might work or—

  The sound of a police siren tore through the still-blasting music. It sounded close and was moving toward them.

  Hallefuckinglujah! Scott had never been so glad to hear anything in his life. Talk about timing! A second later the two guys came back out of the barn shooting, presumably at Scott. He peered around the corner and fired back. He thought he might have clipped one of the guys but they’d disappeared into the darkness of the overgrown fields.

  Under normal circumstances, Scott would have gone after them. But these weren’t normal circumstances. He didn’t think his heart beat or his lungs took in any air for the terrifying few seconds that it took him to get into that barn, having no idea what he’d find.

  He couldn’t recall ever praying on a mission before, but he thought he might have utter