switched on the ignition, pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the street, alert for anything that might seem off or unusual. Nothing drew his attention. It was just another weekday morning in Hartley, New Mexico, a town just off the rez in the Four Corners region of the state.
This section of town was industrial, and most of the businesses were oil and gas field related. There were container-storage or building-supply warehouses and the occasional hole-in-the-wall fast-food place or gas station.
Kyle approached Secure Construction’s five-acre, fenced compound from the east, passing the large warehouse and model structures, which were facing the street for maximum exposure. Ahead was the big double gate, parking lot and offices. All the buildings were constructed from the strong, corrugated metal-ceramic laminate components the company had built its reputation upon.
Making a right hand turn through the open gates into the parking lot, Kyle noted two vehicles in front of the office. One was Hank Leland’s Silverado pickup, the same truck Kyle had bugged, followed here from the airport last night and, lastly, to Leland’s home. This morning its travel route had been more direct—home to office.
Just then a man in a light jacket and ball cap stepped out of the office’s front entrance, Leland right behind him. Another man was on Leland’s heels. Behind them, a woman was being forcibly pulled along by a third man.
Kyle recognized the stunning brunette from her file photo. It was Erin Barrett, Leland’s office manager. Either Leland and the woman had just been arrested by undercover cops, or something was seriously wrong. His gut went with the latter option.
Kyle whipped his SUV around and skidded to a stop, placing his vehicle between him and the people coming down the sidewalk.
The man closest to him suddenly raised a pistol and pointed it at Kyle. “Stay in the car!” he ordered.
“Help!” the woman screamed.
Operating on instinct and training, Kyle threw open his door, reaching for his holstered Glock at the same time his feet touched the asphalt.
The men opened fire and he ducked down, moving forward behind the engine block as he heard bullets slapping against the passenger’s side of his SUV. Taking a quick glance around the front end bumper, he saw Hank and the woman trying to pull free of their captors.
All three men had pistols out now, pointed in his direction. As Kyle ducked below the engine block, two more rounds whistled just over the hood. Kyle hit the ground, rolled left, and brought up his .40 caliber Glock.
The kidnappers sidestepped to their right, holding their hostages in front of them. They were moving too quickly for him to get a clear shot, so he rolled back to the right under the open door, jumped up and reached into the SUV. Holstering the Glock, he unhooked the latch holding the M4 assault rifle in place beneath the seat, and brought out the weapon.
Kyle ran around to the rear of his vehicle, still staying behind cover. He fed a round into the chamber, and thumbed off the safety, aiming his weapon as he came into view. The kidnappers had already slipped out of sight around the far corner of the office building, pulling along their hostages.
In a crouch, Kyle hurried to the opposite end of the building, veering to his right, sights on the back corner, waiting for someone to poke their head around.
He went down on one knee, and waited, finger on the trigger. Suddenly someone hurtled into view. His training forced him to ID the target before firing, and in that split second he saw it was the woman, Erin. She’d been shoved out to draw his fire.
“Hug the wall,” he yelled to her, firing at the corner of the building just to the right of her. There was a groan and a man staggered out into the open, pistol falling from his outstretched hand as he clutched his chest.
It wasn’t Hank—he’d known it wouldn’t be. Only the bad guys would have pushed Erin out as a target.
Whirling around to his left, he heard then saw another of the armed men who’d circled back around the front of the building. As the man raised his pistol and fired, Kyle dodged, stepping toward the side of the building and out of his line of sight. The bullet tore off a chunk of building corner, but whistled behind him.
Kyle ran to the woman, who was crouched low, hugging the wall and staring in wide-eyed shock at the man on the ground in front of her. Kyle could tell at a glance that the gunman wouldn’t be getting back up—at least not in this world. “Stay down. They’re going to circle back around to the front!”
Just to be sure, Kyle took a quick glance around the back, and, as he’d guessed, nobody was there anymore. He stepped closer, placing himself between Erin and the front, his M4 in position to take out anyone stupid enough to look around the corner.
“They’ve got Hank!” she whispered, reaching for the pistol on the ground. She pulled back the slide just enough to verify a round was in the chamber, then checked the safety.
Surprised, he looked directly at her. “You know how to use that?”
“I was born and raised in rural New Mexico. Of course I do.”
He gave her a quick grin. Beautiful and gutsy. He liked her already. “Okay. Watch yourself,” he said, never taking his eyes off the corner as he stepped forward.
Crouching low, he inched around and aimed his weapon at the two men holding Hank between them. Both were looking away, one at the far corner, the other at the street.
Silently, he moved across the gravel and managed to outflank them, placing himself in a position to cut them off if they ran for the street exit. “Put down your weapons or I’ll drop you!” he yelled.
Both spun around and fired, one shot shattering an office window behind him, the other tugging at Kyle’s left shoulder, ripping fabric not flesh.
The sudden distraction gave Hank Leland a chance. He broke free and ran for his life toward the street.
Hearing screeching tires as a gray van raced into the parking lot, Kyle hit the ground and rolled. “Hank, watch out!” he yelled seconds too late.
The van’s passenger-side front end suddenly struck Leland head-on, throwing him up into the air. Hank landed with a thud on the asphalt fifteen feet away, right in front of the fleeing gunmen.
As the van skidded to a stop, Kyle rose to one knee, weapon up. That’s when he saw the assault-rifle barrel poking from the driver’s-side window. He only had one quick look at the face but it was a woman, and she looked pissed.
He dove behind a whiskey-barrel planter to his left as a flurry of rounds dug into the ground where he’d been only a few seconds ago.
Prone, Kyle brought his M4 around and aimed it at the van. The men had stopped long enough to grab Hank by the arms and were dragging his inert form toward the van.
Kyle fired two quick rounds, aiming high, not wanting to hit Hank, but hoping to force them to let him go.
It worked. They dropped him and piled into the van.
Kyle rolled behind the barrel just as the woman fired another burst, showering him with chunks of the oak barrel. He moved to the left this time, but his own SUV was in his line of fire now, shielding the van as it backed up.
Jumping
