Drawn in Blood (Burbank and Parker 2)

“Already on it,” Rich called over his shoulder, his cell phone pressed to his ear.

Derek opened his padlocked trunk, yanking out his enhanced SWAT gear. He had finished suiting up when Rich returned wearing his bulletproof vest and carrying his shotgun.

“The New York Field Office is sending reinforcements and coordinating tactical operations with the NYPD.”

With a hard nod, Derek turned to Sloane. He’d already geared himself up for an argument—one she was going to lose. And there was no time for nice-ties.

“Here’s the deal,” he stated flatly. “You’re not FBI. You have no authorization. You don’t even have protective equipment. You’re a sitting duck. And I’m the lead case agent. So I’m ordering you to stay out here. That’s nonnegotiable.”

Sloane wanted to argue. It was written all over her face. But she didn’t. Every second counted. Lives were at stake.

“Fine. I’ll sit this one out.” She gripped his sleeve. “Derek…be careful.”

He covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a wedding to look forward to.”

Releasing Sloane’s hand, Derek joined Rich, and they inched their way carefully toward the museum, using parked cars and trucks for cover. They shifted impatiently as they waited for SWAT to arrive.

Every minute seemed like an eternity.

The security guard leaped to his feet as the four armed thugs marched into the second-floor reception area. Reflexively, he grasped for a silent alarm beneath the front desk and pressed it. He then raised his quaking arms and informed the intruders that the alarm had been tripped. He half suggested, half begged them to flee before the police arrived.

They laughed in his face. The leader sent a volley of bullets from his MP5K, killing the guard instantly.

Somewhere in Long Island City a panic signal appeared on an alarm monitor. Programmed to respond as if the museum were testing its alarm system, the automatic-monitoring system ignored the call for help.

No alarm-company technicians responded to the problem. Both were lying dead, in rivers of blood, on the building floor.

The museum and its patrons were at the mercy of the intruders.

Derek and Rich heard the burst of gunfire and the shattering of glass. A heartbeat later, shards of the large window rained down on the street below.

Waiting was no longer an option.

Derek grabbed his M4, and he and Rich tore across the street and into the museum.

Inside, Derek could hear the screams of hysterical people coming from upstairs. He and Rich carefully made their way up the circular staircase and past the dead security guard. They paused on each floor for a quick search. Nothing. The first two floors of the museum were devoid of people.

On the third floor, they edged down the narrow hallway. All the gallery areas seemed empty. But on the way back, they passed a small room where the catering company had set up. Hiding beneath the conference table was a terrified server, crouched on the floor in her black-and-white uniform. Derek lowered his weapon and went into the room, bending down and reassuring the sobbing young woman that she’d now be safe.

“Did you see how many men there were?” he asked.

In a state of shock and unable to speak, she held up four fingers.

“Good.” Derek continued to press her. “Do you know where they went?”

She pointed upward, indicating they were on the top floor, jus

t one flight above.

“Thank you.” Derek helped her to her feet, and Rich escorted her to the doorway.

“Just leave now. Quickly and quietly. Don’t even look back.”

The young woman needed no second invitation. She ran out the door, pausing only long enough to whisper, “Thank you.”

Then, she was gone.

Derek and Rich left just as fast, proceeding to the end of the hall and toward the stairway that led to the top floor.