They had less than twenty seconds.

He studied the man’s movements and watched a pattern emerge. At each cabinet, the gunman pulled the door open while pointing his gun into the space, then closed the door. Pull. Point. Close.

His enemy was halfway through the kitchen now.

Ten seconds.

Pull. Point. Close.

Nathan took slow, deep breaths. All tension gone. Them or us. Definitely them.

Three seconds.

One cabinet remaining ahead of theirs.

Pull. Point. Close.

The vertical crack of light between their hiding place and the outside world expanded.

Like a slow-motion python, the black silencer of an MP5 eased toward his face.

Nathan shoved the cabinet door, knocking the man onto his haunches.

He centered his laser on two’s throat and pulled the trigger.

The man jerked twice and lay still. The subsonic round wasn’t completely silent and knocking the intruder down also caused noise. It was a good bet this man’s friends heard the disturbance.

He sprang out, pulling Holly with him. “Stay behind me,” he whispered.

The next thirty seconds stretched into a nightmarish melee of violence.

One, three, and four eased down the hall, hugging the wall.

Nathan flashed his own laser three times, hoping to lure them into the open.

It worked.

Three and four entered the living room in a crouch. Visible in the dust and smoke, their lasers swept back and forth in quick motions. Using the bulletproof cabinet for cover, Nathan painted his beam on the bridge of number three’s nose and squeezed off a shot. The man spun and crumpled to the floor.

Two down, two to go.

Thirteen shots remaining.

Surprising Nathan with his speed, number four emptied an entire magazine in the general direction of the shot that killed his partner. He yanked Holly down with half a second to spare.

Even suppressed, the staccato sound of the high-speed discharge ripped the air. Splinters flew. Dishes shattered. Glass flew from shelves. Pot and pans jumped and clanged. The microwave, range, and dishwasher exploded, showering Nathan and Holly with glass fragments. The countertop erupted, sending shards of granite in every direction.

Number four disappeared behind the couch.

Nathan heard him eject the empty magazine and jam another home. He had less than two seconds before a second barrage of bullets slammed into the kitchen.

He straightened up and opened fire, walking his shots along the length of the couch. From behind and above, Holly’s Glock boomed, mirroring his pattern. Her non-suppressed weapon flashed like a strobe light, the reports hammering his eardrums. They were both rewarded with a loud string of Spanish obscenities, followed by another discharge of an MP5. The bullets went high, pulverizing the ceiling.

Nathan yelled, “Holly, cover fire.”