Barrett Connolly was furious. What had been a smooth operation had now turned into a complete disaster, and all because of a man with Alzheimer’s, the wind, and a shooter with an itchy trigger finger. He was glad Kevin Oliver was dead. Otherwise, he would’ve been tempted to publicly execute the man in front of the assembled mass of hostages. To make matters worse, there was some unknown element he hadn’t accounted for, some brave or suicidal soul who’d managed to kill four of his men within seconds. Whoever he or she was—it could be a she, although it was unlikely; he’d met some lethal women in his days—had to be trained. He’d engaged his men from the woods at night with precision fire. He was good. Very good. Which was also why the rogue resident had ascended to the number one spot on his to-do list.

The aftermath had been chaotic, as hostage situations normally were in the beginning stages. He’d been through them before, and nothing he’d faced tonight had been an overwhelming challenge. The first order of business had been to regain control of the situation and of the residents of Hidden Refuge. The only silver lining was that half of the neighborhood had already been evacuated and was en route to the elementary school, where they would have a rude awakening as to the true nature of the threat to their well-being. At least they’d have time to process it, unlike the people back in the neighborhood who’d had their eyes opened violently. But the shock that many were still processing helped make them easier to manage, and his team had used it to pull them out of the vehicles and corral them onto the pavilion in the middle of the hub. A few individuals had squirted out of the area, but the families had remained, their instinct to stay together overruling their instinct to flee. He knew it was hard to run away with children—they only slowed you down. He also knew his men would find the ones that had fled. They always did.

Two of his most trusted operators now stood guard over the residents, even as they cried in fear and comforted one another. The family of the murdered elderly man had roared at him in fury and sadness, informing him that Esli, the man they’d killed, had Alzheimer’s and didn’t know what he was doing. He’d felt the briefest pang of emotion for them, but then he’d compartmentalized it. He had a mission to accomplish, and the mission came before all else.