gun up and turned again as more men, these wearing some sort of uniform, appeared at the top of the stairs.
Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She saw more of Phay's men rushing into the back grounds, caught sight of a couple of the uniformed men moving into position to help Michael. She didn't run until she spotted Xavier rounding the corner, his long strides closing the distance between them faster than her heart could pound. With a last glance at Michael and a prayer to the gods, she bolted for the trees.
Chapter Three
Michael didn't have time to be amazed by Rhonda's quick thinking or the way the sight of her with a gun in her hand stupidly sent his blood rushing to his cock. He saw her spin, caught the widening of her eyes and the fear that washed through them. Then she disappeared through the trees. He cursed the full moon for illuminating her every move even as he thanked it for giving him the light to see his attackers. A bald-headed, burly son of a bitch stalked purposely toward the trees. Shit, Michael wasn't the only one to see Rhonda's escape. Dregs was dead. No man could survive a blast like that from a well-aimed AK-47. Soldiers from the Thai special ops arrived in the nick of time. They may not save Michael's ass, but at least he had backup.
Bullets spliced the air from all directions. Michael caught wind of a report through his earpiece. The remaining agents of the DEA, along with the FBI and other Cambodian and Thai operatives, had the Phay Cartel scrambling in the front grounds and inside the compound. That left Michael and his newfound Thai spec ops pals to take out the trash in back. Though it went against his training, he would have to leave the dirty work to them.
He started to run, his intent fully on getting to Rhonda. Movement drew his attention left. He pivoted. Too close. No time to aim. He fired, the shot catching the tango in the gut even as Michael executed a roundhouse kick to the bastard's rib cage. The fucker fell, and, damn it , another stood right behind him.
Michael saw the gun and watched the rest of his life flash before his eyes. He saw the life he wanted with Rhonda at his side to warm the cold and erase the loneness. He wasn't ready to give up on that life just yet.
He moved to his right, felt the sting in his left arm at the same time his foot connected with an unmovable block. The dead body on the ground took him down. He twisted in midfall, taking the brunt of the force in the shoulder even as he got off a shot and plugged the son of a bitch standing.
Pain sliced through Michael's right arm. Stars danced in his vision. His NVGs fell off his head, went skidding across the ground. He lost his grip on his SIG Sauer. With no time to waste, he got to his feet, snagging his sidearm with his left hand, and whirled.
His gaze landed on the bald fucker going after Rhonda. The tango was mere feet now from the tree line. Michael raised his weapon. Hard-edged determination and self-discipline taught him to shoot with both hands. He rarely missed. He aimed, fired, and cursed when the bullet struck a tree a millimeter from where the son of a bitch had been.
"Rhonda." Her name left Michael's lips on a growl of frustration.
"Go!" The accented order came with an accompanying push to Michael's right shoulder. Adrenaline dulled the pain, though it didn't do shit in the way of maneuverability.
He might be accustomed to giving the orders, but that didn't mean he forgot how to follow them. He didn't spare the Thai spec operative a glance as he raced for the trees. Well-honed instincts and years of training made him slow his pace as he stepped into the dense forest. Every sense he possessed leapt to heightened alert as he scanned the semidarkness, listened for any sound, and followed the sweet scent of the tango's wretched sweat.
He did this before in a training op with Team Six. Always looking for ways to improve his skills even as he fed his adrenaline hunger, he
Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She saw more of Phay's men rushing into the back grounds, caught sight of a couple of the uniformed men moving into position to help Michael. She didn't run until she spotted Xavier rounding the corner, his long strides closing the distance between them faster than her heart could pound. With a last glance at Michael and a prayer to the gods, she bolted for the trees.
Chapter Three
Michael didn't have time to be amazed by Rhonda's quick thinking or the way the sight of her with a gun in her hand stupidly sent his blood rushing to his cock. He saw her spin, caught the widening of her eyes and the fear that washed through them. Then she disappeared through the trees. He cursed the full moon for illuminating her every move even as he thanked it for giving him the light to see his attackers. A bald-headed, burly son of a bitch stalked purposely toward the trees. Shit, Michael wasn't the only one to see Rhonda's escape. Dregs was dead. No man could survive a blast like that from a well-aimed AK-47. Soldiers from the Thai special ops arrived in the nick of time. They may not save Michael's ass, but at least he had backup.
Bullets spliced the air from all directions. Michael caught wind of a report through his earpiece. The remaining agents of the DEA, along with the FBI and other Cambodian and Thai operatives, had the Phay Cartel scrambling in the front grounds and inside the compound. That left Michael and his newfound Thai spec ops pals to take out the trash in back. Though it went against his training, he would have to leave the dirty work to them.
He started to run, his intent fully on getting to Rhonda. Movement drew his attention left. He pivoted. Too close. No time to aim. He fired, the shot catching the tango in the gut even as Michael executed a roundhouse kick to the bastard's rib cage. The fucker fell, and, damn it , another stood right behind him.
Michael saw the gun and watched the rest of his life flash before his eyes. He saw the life he wanted with Rhonda at his side to warm the cold and erase the loneness. He wasn't ready to give up on that life just yet.
He moved to his right, felt the sting in his left arm at the same time his foot connected with an unmovable block. The dead body on the ground took him down. He twisted in midfall, taking the brunt of the force in the shoulder even as he got off a shot and plugged the son of a bitch standing.
Pain sliced through Michael's right arm. Stars danced in his vision. His NVGs fell off his head, went skidding across the ground. He lost his grip on his SIG Sauer. With no time to waste, he got to his feet, snagging his sidearm with his left hand, and whirled.
His gaze landed on the bald fucker going after Rhonda. The tango was mere feet now from the tree line. Michael raised his weapon. Hard-edged determination and self-discipline taught him to shoot with both hands. He rarely missed. He aimed, fired, and cursed when the bullet struck a tree a millimeter from where the son of a bitch had been.
"Rhonda." Her name left Michael's lips on a growl of frustration.
"Go!" The accented order came with an accompanying push to Michael's right shoulder. Adrenaline dulled the pain, though it didn't do shit in the way of maneuverability.
He might be accustomed to giving the orders, but that didn't mean he forgot how to follow them. He didn't spare the Thai spec operative a glance as he raced for the trees. Well-honed instincts and years of training made him slow his pace as he stepped into the dense forest. Every sense he possessed leapt to heightened alert as he scanned the semidarkness, listened for any sound, and followed the sweet scent of the tango's wretched sweat.
He did this before in a training op with Team Six. Always looking for ways to improve his skills even as he fed his adrenaline hunger, he
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