She crouched with her Glock and faced the dark garage. She stole a look over her shoulder as Harvey examined Nathan’s scalp wound and took his pulse. He poked Nathan in the shoulder. Hard. Nathan stirred a little and moaned. She recalled from her first-responder medical training that Harvey had just performed part of a Glasgow coma scale assessment.

Harvey looked up. “Stay alert, Holly. He should be okay. How many attacked you?”

“Four. One got away.”

“Wait here. I’m going to retrieve their weapons. You okay?”

“Nathan said there’s a severed finger in the den. He wants me to take it.”

“I’ll get it. Where are your spare mags?”

“The bedroom on the nightstand.”

“Nathan’s gun?”

“Near the den.”

Harvey pulled his Sig from the small of his back. “I’ll be right back. You sure you’re one hundred percent?”

She nodded.

“If anyone other than me comes back through this garage, shoot to kill. Clear?”

“Clear.”

She heard sirens approaching and figured they had less than two minutes before the scene swarmed with SDPD.

“My clothes are in the hall closet.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back. Your defensive area is the front of the house. I’ve got everything else.”

“Understood.”

Thirty seconds later Harvey returned, carrying three MP5 assault pistols, her spare magazines, clip holster, and thankfully, her clothes and shoes. He set the weapons down. “I’ll cover us while you get dressed.”

She wasted no time. Next, she clipped her service weapon holster to her belt and changed magazines in the gun. “Good to go,” she said.

“I’m going to stash these guns in my trunk. I’ll give you a warbling whistle just before I reappear. Give me about thirty seconds.”

She watched Harvey disappear down the sidewalk. Alone now, with Nathan at her feet, she reflected on what just happened. It seemed surreal, like a Dalí painting. She had a difficult time believing it had actually happened. Sure, she was an FBI agent, but she wasn’t SWAT trained, and she’d never fired her weapon in anger, let alone killed anyone. Had she really just fought a vicious firefight against four mercenaries armed with submachine guns? She wanted to pinch herself. It seemed crazy. Everything happened so fast. Given the circumstances, she thought she did pretty well. It seemed little consolation. Nathan was lying on the concrete, bleeding from a head wound.

Keeping her mind focused, she kept scanning Nathan’s front yard and the surrounding neighborhood for threats. A few people had turned on porch lights. The wail of approaching sirens was much closer. She heard Harvey’s whistle and called out, “Clear.”