Devin hadn’t thought of her parents, or even his dad, for that matter—because he’d had no idea any of this would happen. He’d come to terms with the possibility that he might have to hide his dad and sister at some point but figured that was weeks away. Plus, Berg had said he could help with that, especially if Devin could convince his dad to fly out to Los Angeles. Apparently, Berg knew a crew out there that specialized in hiding people. But tonight’s events had come as a complete surprise. He should do the same as Marnie and call his dad. Get him on a red-eye flight to Los Angeles. Same with Marnie’s parents.
“You might not want to hear this, but Karl knows some people in LA that can disappear our parents for a while,” said Devin. “I’m going to make my dad take that option. Karl said it would be an entirely comfortable experience. Not some desert bunker somewhere.”
Devin’s attention shifted from Marnie to a dark SUV speeding into the intersection. Shit. His satellite phone rang a moment later, the name KARL appearing on the screen.
“Sounds wonderful,” said Marnie. “I’ll let you explain to them. I’m sure they’ll—”
Devin slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt well short of the black SUV.
“What the hell, Devin!” said Marnie, bracing her arms against the dashboard.
He detected movement in his peripheral vision, his eyes shifting to the driver’s-side mirror. A sedan parked itself diagonally across the two-lane street behind him, blocking most of it. He briefly considered turning left and driving into the park, but the doors flew open on both vehicles as a second SUV screeched into the intersection in front of him. If he turned the vehicle, he’d expose the sides of his car to gunfire.
“Russians. Get down!” said Devin, ducking below the dashboard and opening his car door. “Take out the guys behind us first. We’ll use the car as cover until help arrives.”
“How do we even know—” she started, the windshield instantly spider-cracking from several bullet holes.
“That’s how!” said Devin, sliding out of the car and staying low. “Get behind the car!”
He drew the M&P9 from the concealed holster on his right hip and sighted in on the masked attacker who had just jumped down from the rear driver’s-side seat. He fired as he moved toward the back of his car, pressing the trigger five times in rapid succession and knocking his target against the back of the sedan. He shifted the pistol’s sights to the driver, who had dropped to both knees—arms by his side, pistol clattering to the street. The man’s head snapped back before Devin pressed the trigger, Marnie finishing him off.
Bullets from the intersection snapped inches overhead and to his side as he emptied the rest of his magazine at the shooter who had crouched next to the sedan’s rear bumper. The man pitched forward and caught his fall with both hands, his pistol still clutched in one of them. Devin ejected the spent pistol magazine and grabbed one of the spares concealed on his left hip, his brain doing the math. Time was not on his side.
His reload was quick and flawless, but the man had his gun up and pointed in his direction before he’d thumbed the slide release and chambered a round. Devin should have reserved a few bullets and assessed his first volley. He’d made a fatal error. Gunfire exploded in his ear, the heat from repeated muzzle blasts warming the side of his face. The shooter next to the car’s bumper slammed against the street, his arms giving out beneath him as several bullets peppered his body. The business end of Marnie’s Sig Sauer suddenly appeared in Devin’s peripheral vision, its barrel smoking.
He released his pistol’s slide and scooted behind the car, bullets fired from the intersection chasing him around the bumper. Devin searched the sedan for movement, finding none at the moment.
“Any left back here?” asked Devin.
“No. I took out the driver, front passenger, and the guy that was about to shoot you,” said Marnie, reloading her pistol. “This is my last mag.”
“I thought you were a helicopter pilot,” he said.
“Marine first. Helicopter pilot second,” she said.
A burst of automatic gunfire raked the sedan. Glass blasted across the top of the trunk and rained down on their heads, the car’s metal chassis thumping from multiple bullet hits along its side. Devin risked a look around the corner of the car, drawing more automatic fire, a few bullets punching through the trunk near his head. He counted at least three attackers moving in on his side.