Dead in a Week (Forensic Instincts 7)

Abandoned farmhouse

Ðakovo, Croatia

2 March

Friday, 3:07 a.m. local time

Aidan’s adrenaline was pumping.

Mr. Smoker had just sauntered out of the house and was now leaning against the porch post, taking long, leisurely drags of his cigarette.

One minute. Two minutes.

The kidnapper flicked an ash and shifted position so that his back was to them.

“Now,” Aidan ordered between gritted teeth.

They all moved at once.

Philip raced to the front door, Aidan and Marc to the back.

Before Mr. Smoker had lifted the cigarette back to his lips, Philip was on him, c

racking the butt of his MP5 over the guy’s head, fracturing his skull in one motion. He crumpled to the ground. Philip dealt a second blow to the already-dead man, then checked for vitals. None.

“One down,” he said into his microphone.

Aidan and Marc had reached the back door. Contrary to expectation, it was locked. Marc put the heel of his boot alongside the doorknob and kicked it in. Aidan pulled the pin out of the flashbang, turned his head away, and tossed the grenade inside the farmhouse on the floor.

A deafening bang and blinding strobe lights exploded through the house. Piercing screams echoed as loss of sight, hearing, and balance seized whomever was in range.

Aidan and Marc burst in. In direct sight was one powerful guy who’d been sitting in front of the TV and who’d now dropped to his knees, howling in agony. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his hands were clapped over his ears.

Aidan raised his MP5 and double-tapped him, delivering two shots to the chest. He followed up with one quick shot to the head. The man fell like a stone.

A second guy came screaming out of one of the bedrooms, unaffected by the grenade but scared shitless by the explosion and gunshots.

Marc swerved around, MP5 raised, and took him out, also going for center mass and firing two shots to his chest and a final one to the head.

Two dead bodies. No further activity.

“Two men down,” Aidan said into his microphone. “Room clearing.”

Aidan and Marc did a sweep of the farmhouse, finding all the rooms empty except one.

In the center bedroom, curled up in a ball on the bed and frozen with terror, was Lauren Pennington. She whimpered when she saw them, looking frantically around for a means to escape.

“We’re the good guys, Lauren,” Aidan said gently, purposely staying still and not advancing toward her until she understood. “We work for your father. We’re here to take you home.”

“Home?” Lauren stared at them for a moment and then burst into tears. “But Bashkim… he’s out there. And the others…”

“They’re all dead. You’re safe.”

“Safe,” Lauren repeated, shock making it almost impossible for her to absorb anything.

“Yes, safe.” Aidan felt that tightening in his chest, the one that reminded him he’d saved the life of someone’s daughter.

“Oh my God.” Lauren covered her face, uncontrollable sobs shaking her body as she rocked back and forth on her heels. “Thank you. Thank you.”