The merc landed a blow to Xavier’s wounded shoulder. He let out a grunt and fell back. He reached for his lost knife, just as the merc pulled a pistol from his holster.

Audrey didn’t hesitate and launched herself forward, throwing herself on the mercenary’s back.

Caught off guard, he dropped the gun as he tried to dislodge her. She wrapped an arm around his throat and squeezed, using her other hand to cinch her arm tight as she clung to his back with her legs wrapped around his hips.

She didn’t have the strength to bring him down, but as long as she was behind him and constricting his airflow, his ability to hurt her was limited.

Xavier claimed the dropped pistol, but with the merc’s body armor and Audrey on the merc’s back, she knew he didn’t have a shot.

An elbow to her side loosened her grip, and she let out a yelp. The merc tripped on a root or a rock and fell back, pinning her beneath him on the ground. She released his neck as she tried to scramble from beneath him.

He twisted to grab her, and Xavier struck. A swift stroke of a knife blade opened his throat. Blood spurted from the wound, hitting Audrey in the face.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

In a daze, Audrey entered the lodge a half hour later. The building smelled of gunpowder and singed electronics. The power was out again, and there were dead bodies lined up against the wall in the great room.

One of them was the man who’d attacked her in the woods behind the post office.

In spite of the carnage and destruction, this was still her lodge. Or maybe it was her lodge once again, no longer held by mercenaries who’d seized it without firing a shot.

With George’s groundwork, they’d reclaimed the building, rescued the hostages, and won the day.

Or rather, night.

It wasn’t over. At least five mercenaries remained at large. Three SEALs remained missing. And they still didn’t have communication with the outside world. Two SEALs had been injured in the battle for the lodge, and one of the hostages was critically injured. The injured hostage was a SEAL from the missing Fire Team.

The great room was in a shambles. Antique sofas and wing chairs upended, blood marring the upholstery, lamps shattered.

From the smell, she guessed George had managed to exchange some of the lightbulbs with his ignitors. When the generator powered on, the lights exploded.

She spotted George sitting on the stone lip of the massive central hearth, a medic tending to a wound just above his knee. She crossed the room and planted herself beside him on the side that wasn’t injured, throwing an arm around his shoulders and giving him a grateful squeeze.