As the lights came on, Jenn was up and moving swiftly. Gibson emptied Hendricks’s gun in suppressing fire over her head. Jenn slid into the house, and he kicked the door shut behind her.

The men out front started shooting out the floodlights, plunging them back into darkness.

They moved deeper into the relative safety of the house, huddled around Hendricks, and regrouped. Jenn shifted and helped her partner into a sitting position, shaking him gently as he came to. She brought Hendricks up to speed while he tried to clear his head and wipe the blood out of his eyes. Gibson offered him his gun back.

Footsteps pounded up onto the porch, and something solid hit the floor in the living room. Jenn anticipated it.

“Open your mouth, cover your eyes and ears!” she ordered.

Hendricks reacted automatically. Gibson and Jenn were already curling their heads down into their knees. Gibson yelled at Billy, but he only gaped at them in confusion.

The flash-bang went off in the hallway, but Gibson still felt the change in air pressure in his skull. It was like a car alarm pressed to his ears. He could see and he could hear, if only barely. Billy had taken the brunt and curled into a writhing ball by the time the shooting started.

Gunfire rattled over the radio. Titus stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at the radio as if he could see what was happening. Calista, brow furrowed, kept asking, “What’s happening? What’s happening?”

No one answered her.

It was hard for George to piece together. Several Cold Harbor operatives were down. Of that much he was sure. One was screaming incoherently for his life. Bedlam. He smiled grimly to himself. Jenn Charles and Dan Hendricks had not gone gentle into that good night.

“Breach,” a voice said clearly over the confusion.

Two detonations occurred simultaneously. The blood drained from Calista’s face.

“Flash-bangs.” Titus began pacing back and forth, cursing under his breath as the pitched battle moved inside the house.

Cold Harbor was losing.

“There’s someone else here! Shoot him! Shoot him! What the . . .” The voice was swamped by a wet gurgle. Nothing coherent followed.

“Tinsley,” Calista whispered to herself. “Oh, dear God.”

She took out her phone and dialed frantically.

Titus snatched up the radio and demanded a sitrep from someone. “What is your status? Report! Over!”

Titus caught George’s eye and didn’t like what he saw. He drew his sidearm and stalked over, leveling it at George’s face.

“No,” Calista said.

Titus stopped and glared at Calista. “What?”

“We may need him.”

“The plan was—”

“The plan was your team was competent,” Calista interrupted. “Now I need a new plan.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT