Free The Silenced by Brett Battles Page A

THE CORNER OF HER EYE, PETRA SAW MIKHAIL reach for his gun when the light came on.
    “No,” she whispered, not moving her lips. “Not yet.”
    Mikhail left his hand behind his back, empty, but ready to grab his weapon if needed.
    “Motion sensor?” he asked.
    Petra shook her head. If there was a sensor, the light would have come on as they walked up, not after they’d stopped. Someone inside had flipped a switch.
    A muffled voice called out from behind the door. “Go away!”
    Petra took a step forward. “Mr. Moody?”
    “Go away! Leave me alone!”
    She arched an eyebrow at Mikhail. Not a denial .
    “Mr. Moody, we just want to talk to you.”
    “Get the hell out of here or I’m calling the police.”
    His accent was not strong, no doubt tempered by years in the States, but there was still a trace of British roots. Just like Moody would have . It had to be him. Moody was alive. For the first time, she could sense a glimmer of hope. They had gotten to him first. Finally, someone would be able to point them to the Ghost.
    “We’re here to help you, not hurt you. We just want to talk. Can we come in, please?”
    “No.”
    “Mr. Moody. Did you know a man named Ryan Winters?”
    A slight hesitation. “I don’t know anyone by that name. Now leave.”
    “How about Stacy McKitrick? Or David Thomas?”
    Nothing for a second, then the latch clicked and the door opened an inch. It was dark inside, but the light from the porch was enough to see the shadowy form of someone standing a few feet back from the gap.
    “What do you want?”
    Petra focused on where she thought Moody’s eyes were. “They’re dead, Mr. Moody.”
    It was as if all the wind had been knocked out of him. “Dead? All of them?”
    “Yes. And if you don’t let us help you, you’ll be dead, too.”
    “Positions?” Donovan asked over the walkie-talkie.
    One by one, each of his men replied “Set” in the same order they had answered earlier. And again, Quinn and Nate remained silent.
    “Close in.”
    “Leave me alone,” Moody said. “I don’t need your help.” He paused. “Maybe you’re the ones who killed them, and you’ve come to kill me, too!”
    “We’re not here to hurt you.” Petra put her hand on the door. “We’re here to help.”
    “You’re lying. Get the hell off—”
    There was a faint thup followed by the crunch of glass. Mikhail spun back toward the car, but Petra grabbed his arm and pulled him forward just as something whizzed through the air and smashed into the side of the house.
    “Inside! Inside!” she said.
    Moody tried to shut them out, but Petra jammed her foot into the opening before he could. Half a second later Mikhail drove his shoulder into the door, sending Moody flying back into the house.
    They raced inside. Moody was sprawled on the floor, a look of bewilderment on his face.
    “Gunshots,” Mikhail said.
    Petra kicked the door closed. “I think the first hit the car.”
    Mikhail gave her a look that told her they were both thinking the same thing. Kolya . In the driver’s seat. Nowhere to hide.
    From outside they heard the shattering of glass as the porch light went out. But Petra ignored it. They had come for information. She couldn’t chance blowing it this time, worrying about something she could do nothing about. Reaching down, she grabbed the old man by the front of his sweatshirt and pulled him to his feet. She pulled the picture from her pocket and held it in front of his face.
    “Have you seen this before?”
    Moody stared at her like he couldn’t understand what she was saying. He looked scared and old and frail.
    “Look at the picture, dammit!”
    Moody held Petra’s gaze, fear in his eyes, then looked at the picture and gasped. “Where did you get that?”
    “So that’s a yes?”
    Moody gave her a single, shocked nod. “Where … how …?”
    The shot had been taken in what looked like a small restaurant. There were two tables on either side of the image, and a bar that