Free Saint/Sinner by Sam Sisavath Page B

had already dropped the MP5SD and drawn his sidearm and was lifting it—
    Allie aimed, praying that she hadn’t wasted all five remaining rounds during her mad dash across the floor, and pulled the trigger.

Chapter 10
    “It’s him, the girl, and the woman. It’s an easy job. You’ll be in the country with no one around for miles. Maybe a neighbor or two. Maybe. It’ll probably be the easiest and most lucrative job of your life. When this is over, you’ll thank me.”
    Jack grunted. Why did he ever think it was going to be that easy? Nothing about his life had ever been that easy. His childhood, his teenage years, even his twenties serving Uncle Sam.
    And yet, and yet, when Walter had driven up in the car and the girl ran into the house, he had allowed himself to believe that yes, this time it could really be that easy. This one time, a job was going to wrap up all nice and tidy, and once they got Walter to do what they needed, he’d take the man outside while Jones dealt with the girl and Jerry took care of the girlfriend. He was just dealing with civilians, after all, not gun-toting mercenaries, or drug dealers, or private security.
    It should have been simple.
    Fucking idiot.
    There were two of them—a big, broad-shouldered man standing next to a thinner but taller one. They were wearing suits, but only the tall one looked like his was tailored by someone who knew what they were doing. They leaned against the black SUV’s open front doors, the lights glinting off pistols clutched in their hands.
    Two more men were using the white SUV as a shield. It was parked slightly behind and to the right of the black one, and instead of pistols, these two were wielding long-barreled submachine guns. Maybe Uzis with suppressors. Either way, they’d definitely come prepared, which boded poorly for him.
    There were four outside in the front yard right now and at least two more at the back of the house. Or there were two more before he let loose with the Sig556. He probably shouldn’t have kept shooting long after the man disappeared in a shower of glass and wood and bullets, and Jack chastised himself for losing control even if it was just for a few seconds. He kept waiting for whoever was still out there to show themselves, either through the gaping hole where the back door used to be, or along one of the back windows, but no one did.
    It had been exactly a minute and a half since he fired, and Jack scrambled away from the door now, keeping his eyes on the back door and windows the entire time. He slipped into the living room, then angled right, toward the bedroom hallway. He shot a glance at the second hallway further back to make sure it was empty before reaching his destination, and slid up against the wall. He paused to take a breath before sneaking a look around the corner and, again, at the back of the house.
    Nothing. Not a damned thing.
    “What’s going on out there?” Walter called from the open guest bedroom door behind him.
    “Everything’s fine, Walter,” he called back.
    “Who’s shooting?”
    “Stop talking and get back to work!”
    He waited for a response, but didn’t get any. He also didn’t hear the tap-tap-tapping that he was waiting for, so Walter hadn’t gotten “back to work” as ordered. Jack guessed he couldn’t really blame the guy. The Sig556 made a hell of a racket, especially when fired inside a building on full-auto.
    But Jack didn’t dare backtrack to convince Walter to resume his task. He couldn’t take his eyes off the living room, the back door and windows, or the foyer for even a second. There were no other ways into the house except through the two doors in front of him. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There were the bedroom windows, but they’d have to pry the burglar bars loose first to come through there.
    He reached down with his left hand, the right holding the assault rifle just out of view of anyone looking in from the back of the house. He pressed the PTT and