Griffin’s jaw clenched as he ground his teeth in outrage at the insult and the knowledge that his former subordinate had been the one upending every phase of the operation and killing his men.

“And I’ll tell you something else, something I realized after Malta.” And here it is. “Zack should’ve been in charge of the team. He was always better than you because he had the maturity, heart, and the right mentality for it. In fact, he, not you, would’ve made an outstanding director of the National Clandestine Service.”

The cold front fell upon them, the roar building in a crescendo, the trees bending and swaying, branches cracking in the dark woods all around the neighborhood. With the arrival of the sudden windstorm, Griffin Huntsmen snapped and lost the control that he valued above all else.

Brandon never saw his hand move, but he heard the explosions and saw the flashes as the Glock roared twice in his direction. The 9mm slugs struck him in the chest, nearly simultaneously, and he fell to his left, facedown on the damp grass.

The temperature dropped as the wind roared through the center of the subdivision, mixing with the screams of the terrified hostages in the pavilion that had begun at the sound of the shots.

“Griffin, what do we do now?” Barrett asked quietly, having borne witness to his friend’s sudden explosion of violence. “What do we do about the laptop?”

His friend and partner ignored him and stepped closer to the fallen former deputy director of the CIA, the Glock pointed at the ground. “It’s not over,” Griffin replied, more to himself than to Barrett.

Brandon Harper lay in pain, still and quiet, struggling to control his breath without moving. The bullet impacts had felt like someone had struck him full force with a hammer, but the vest had worked, exactly as he’d hoped, and he was still alive. More importantly, his right arm was pinned under his chest, his hand inserted in the opening of the Kevlar vest, gripping the Glock he’d duct-taped to the inside of the back of the vest. He just prayed he’d have enough time to extract the weapon and fire. He tightened his grip and pulled, peeling the gun away from the Kevlar, and steadied himself for what came next.

Brandon Harper would’ve died had it not been for the screeching of tires followed by the explosion of more gunshots. While a breaking branch had condemned and startled Kevin Oliver into murdering the charging Esli Flores, the new diversion had the exact opposite effect, saving Brandon’s life. Mother Nature had been ruthless, but unbeknownst to him, human nature in its desire to preserve life had saved his.