Chapter 15

Taylor parked the SUV a quarter mile down from the farmhouse, where it was still blocked by a tree line before the ground opened up to the farmhouse and surrounding pastures.

This far out in the middle of nowhere, there were no streetlights, and with the cloud cover above, it was pitch black. Even with that, he could see the path up to the farmhouse had no cover except for a self-standing barn to the left of the surprisingly large one-story farmhouse.

“Looks deserted,” Bonnie remarked. “But it is a trap. They know we’re coming.”

“No shit,” Taylor muttered.

“We should split up, come at them from two directions. In case one of us gets caught in it. Keeps one of us free to back up the other.”

“And give you a chance to screw me over?”

“After everything I have done since we got back to the States, you still don’t trust me?”

“Trust takes time,” Taylor said, but then he paused.

She was right about having a backup. If this guy was as good as Bonnie made it seem, the trap would be well laid and there was a better than even chance that one of them would fall into it.

“But maybe this would be a good first step,” he added.

Bonnie held his stare for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll create a diversion. You go for the house.”

Bonnie melted into the darkness without another word. Taylor waited, counting off thirty seconds in his head before moving. He kept low, using the overgrown grass as cover as he approached the farmhouse.

There were no visible lights on inside, but if they knew he was coming, there wouldn’t be.

He was about twenty yards out when he spotted it; a thin wire stretched taut across his path, barely visible in the dim light. Taylor froze, studying it. The placement was obvious, amateurish even.

A warning sounded in the back of his head. These guys were supposed to be good, so this was what? A decoy? Taylor slowed, easing forward, now even more alert for traps. The only reason to have a decoy was so he would get cocky and overlook the next professional one.

He reached the farmhouse, pressing his back against the weathered siding. Taylor edged along the wall until he reached a window. He risked a quick peek inside. The room beyond was dark, but he could make out the vague shapes of furniture. No movement.

He continued on, rounding the corner of the house. The back door came into view. Taylor approached it cautiously. Just then, a loud crash sounded from the far side of the property. Bonnie?

Maybe. Maybe she tripped a trap. Or maybe she was creating a diversion. Of course, maybe it was just an animal knocking stuff over. Taylor reached across, grabbed the door handle and twisted it. Locked.

Holstering his weapon, he knelt down, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small lock pick set. Whitaker, of all people, had shown him how to do this, he thought as he put the tools in the lock, moving the pins carefully until he felt the satisfying click of the lock disengaging.

Taylor put his tools away before he eased the door open, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. He pulled his weapon, slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He found himself in a cramped mudroom. The smell of mold and decay was prevalent.

In a crouch, he moved into what appeared to be a kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the counter.

He heard a noise from somewhere further into the house. A creak. He froze. Taylor pressed himself against the wall next to the doorway leading into the rest of the house. He steadied his breathing, straining his ears as he took a few careful steps into the next room. Nothing moved. The room seemed deserted. Taylor knew the trap was here somewhere, but he couldn’t see it.

He only hoped that if he triggered it, Bonnie was still out there to bail him out.

As if brought on by his own thoughts, a dark shape burst from behind a doorway. Taylor barely had time to register the attack before a fist connected with his jaw. He stumbled back, his gun hand swinging wide. “Drop it,” a gruff voice commanded from his left.

Taylor’s eyes darted around the room. Two more figures materialized from the shadows, boxing him in. Based on Bonnie’s description, Foster was to his left, a pistol trained at his chest. Presumably, it was one of the twins that mirrored him on the right.

“I said drop it,” Foster repeated.

Three on one. Bad odds.

Taylor dropped his weapon and said, “You still need Bonnie. I brought her.”

“Then where is she?” Foster said.

“I’m not an idiot. I knew you guys would have a trap set for me, and when you had her, my kid was as good as dead. You want her, hand my daughter over. You get her with the exchange.”

“You don’t understand how this works, jackass. You give us the girl, and then we turn your daughter over. But we don’t really need you. In fact, I bet you have her nearby. Which means we don’t need you, doesn’t it?” he said, raising his gun straight out and pointing it at Taylor’s head. “Temi, go kill the kid.”

One of the twins gave a wicked grin and started to turn, heading out of the room.

“Wait! I’ll take you to her!” Taylor said, holding up his hands.

“So we can walk into your trap? I don’t think so. Call her in. If you want your kid, she walks in, hands in the air.”

Before Taylor could say anything, a deafening crack split the air. One of the twins, the one who wasn’t Temi, was thrown back off his feet, painting the wall behind him in red. The man’s body smashed into the wall, sliding down to the floor.

Taylor didn’t hesitate. He dove for the floor, rolling toward his discarded gun. A bullet whizzed past his ear as he snatched up the weapon. He came up firing, squeezing off two quick shots at Foster.

The mercenary ducked behind the door frame followed by shattered splinters as Taylor’s bullets just missed. Taylor scrambled for cover, pulling a small table over on its side and hiding behind it. Bullets followed after him, thudding into the wood.