Free Alicia myles 1 - Aztec Gold by David Leadbeater

and blew apart. Alicia saw a shadow cross one of the headlights. Bad mistake. She squeezed her trigger and heard a gratifying scream. When an enemy started taking casualties it always slowed them down—assuming they were relatively sane that was.
    Russo scuttled behind her, now the last man. Alicia took the opportunity to help Caitlyn along, practically flinging her into the kitchen. Crouch had upended the tall refrigerator and pulled out the oven, and was now standing over it.
    “What?” Alicia stared. “You cooking bacon and eggs? You really think that’ll help slow ‘em down?”
    “No,” Crouch answered quietly. “I’m turning it on and disengaging the gas pipe. Even the smell should make them think twice.”
    Cruz was approaching the back door. Alicia yelled, “Wait!” and contacted Healey.
    “Where are you?”
    “Out back. I can see Cruz, the idiot. Go now. The coast is clear.”
    “Move!”
    Alicia leaped forward, guiding Caitlyn by the arm. Bullets again slammed into the walls behind them and now came the crunch of broken glass as booted men stepped over the devastated sill. Bloodthirsty shouts followed them.
    Alicia stepped it up. Russo breathed down her neck. Cruz slammed open the rear door and dashed out into the dark, closely followed by Crouch with pistol drawn and poised. Lex came next, moving like a TV caricature of a special-forces soldier, and then she cradled Caitlyn through the door.
    Cool air greeted her. The apartment’s rear was a small grassy yard, bounded on two sides by a scraggly hedge and open to the back. A short wall and rusted gate led to a narrow alley. Healey was already beckoning them toward it.
    “Keep it moving, guys. I have no eyes to your right.”
    Cruz raced straight for the young soldier. Crouch angled right, staying low. Two pops from his handgun told Alicia the enemy were too close. And why the hell weren’t police sirens braying at the night skies? In any other country the cops would be all over this by now. But here in Mexico City . . . business as usual, she imagined.
    Behind her Russo unleashed a burst of fire. A stray bullet passed through his coat, making him grunt, then lightly grazed Alicia’s arm—the touch barely registering—before continuing its flight down the alley. That, as much as anything, told Alicia a fact that she’d assumed from the start—they were being hunted tonight, not warned.
    Caitlyn yelped as if sensing the nearness of the bullet. Alicia sympathized for the girl’s utter bad luck—she had only just arrived after all—but now wasn’t the time. Crouch was engaged ahead, struggling with an opponent. Alicia pushed Caitlyn toward Healey and branched off to help her boss. When the man struggling with him registered her presence, momentarily taking his attention off the battle, Crouch felled him with a jab to the throat.
    Two more adversaries took his place.
    Crouch brought his gun up, but found his arm wrenched sideways. He took a blow to the gut. Alicia stepped in, sidekicking Crouch’s opponent whilst pulling her own into an arm-breaking waltz. The arm was quickly followed by a knee. Crouch swung his weapon up and fired. The two pulled away.
    Healey was already sheltering Caitlyn in the alley. Russo was ahead of them. The sound of breaking glass told her he’d smashed a window, the shape he stood next to, towering over him, told her that it was a van. Both she and Crouch ran for the head of the alley, firing back toward the house to deter their pursuers.
    But by now, several enemy combatants had secured good positions. Bullets blasted through the dark, the position of the shooters clear because of the unsilenced weapons. For Alicia it was a mad, surreal moment; caught out in the pitch black with deadly fire strafing to left and right of her, Crouch at her side, unable to take cover or offer any kind of defense. It was blind luck that they escaped.
    But down the alley they ran, unscathed. Shouts of anger went up from behind. Alicia