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He jumped, wrapping his left arm around the shooter’s throat and pressing the flat edge of the knife against the guy’s chin in an obvious declaration of intent to kill if the guy gave him any hassles.
Fortunately, this guy went still, his body utterly relaxed. Not that Gunner took it for surrender. Not yet.
Flipping the knife blade to place the sharpened edge against the shooter’s throat, he used his free hand to key his microphone. He muttered low, “Number Five in custody. Number Six is down.”
Two sets of clicks in his ear were all the acknowledgment he got from Spencer and Drago. Which meant both of them were close behind their own targets. It also meant they were ready to move on to the second phase of this operation—chasing off the remaining targets so they’d have time to question his captive.
All of a sudden, gunfire exploded off to his left, where the ridge sloped down almost to the level of the motel, and from the trees across the street. The man in his arms jolted violently, and Gunner pressed the razor-sharp blade harder across the guy’s throat.
There were shouts and returned weapons fire, interspersed with the distinctive double taps of Spencer and Drago’s weapons.Pop-pop.Pop-pop. Their pace of fire was unhurried, undoubtedly precise, also undoubtedly herding the remaining hostiles toward their vehicles in a way meant to make them think they were vastly outnumbered and needed to retreat if they wanted to live.
Somebody cried out below. Spencer or Drago must have decided to nick one of them. That was a ballsy call, but maybe the hostiles needed a little more convincing to bug out.
It was incredibly difficult to hit a moving target at all, let alone control where on a body a bullet struck. Shooting for the leg or head were stunts that only worked in Hollywood. In the real world, snipers aimed at the center of mass and were happy with any shot that hit a vital area.
Without warning, the guy Gunner was holding let out a shout. It sounded like he said, “Run!”
He tightened his arm across the guy’s throat until the dude was gasping and started clawing at Gunner’s forearm. The man went limp, but Gunner held the choke hold a bit longer to make sure the guy was well and truly passed out.
Then he lowered the man to the ground and worked fast to secure his wrists behind his back with zip ties. He stuffed a bandana in the guy’s mouth as he started to revive and stepped back, pointing his pistol at him. The hostile regained consciousness and glared up at him, testing the zip ties once and then subsiding.
Yippee. This one might live long enough to answer a few questions.
Gunner heard running footsteps and took a quick glance at the road below. Four figures in black were running at full speed in the direction of the SUVs, puffs of dirt kicking up behind them every few seconds. Drago was continuing to shoot at their heels, no doubt to convince them not to stop and circle back for their two missing teammates.
Engines roared to life, and the man at Gunner’s feet struggled violently. Just figured out he’d been left behind, had he? Sucked to be him.
Two large black vehicles roared past, and Drago shot out the rear window of the last one for good measure. Gunner grinned and hoisted his guy to his feet, giving him a little shove along the ridge toward where it dipped down to street level.
“I’m coming up on your left, Gun,” Spencer transmitted over the radio.
“Roger.”
Spencer’s dark shape materialized beside him, and the shoulders of the bound hostile drooped. He’d been planning an escape attempt, had he? Too bad, so sad.
“Take this one down to the room?” Gunner asked Spencer.
“Good a place as any for a conversation.”
They marched the guy down the hill and met Drago coming across the road. Gunner unlocked the motel room door and ushered the prisoner inside. “You two have a chat with this guy. I have a little cleanup to do, and I need to retrieve Chas.”
“Why don’t you pack up the baby’s gear, and when you’ve collected them, go ahead and hit the road,” Spencer said quietly.
“Good idea. For the record, I put the sixth hostile in a throat lock, and he flipped me. I kept my grip and he tried to twist sideways out of it. Snapped his neck before I could let go. He died immediately. I swear I didn’t kill him intentionally.”
“I know you better than that, Gunner. You don’t lose control in a fight. Hell, I wouldn’t offer you a job unless you were a complete professional.”
“Thanks,” he replied gruffly.
Spencer nodded. “Photograph the corpse, police the area for any evidence that would lead back to you, and leave him. He’s their problem to deal with… assuming they don’t leave their own behind. Then you guys get out of here. We’ll deal with this gentleman.”
Drago had already hog-tied the prisoner with ropes he couldn’t possibly wiggle in, let alone escape from.
Gunner nodded and quickly packed his and Chas’s stuff and stowed it in the car. He came back for Poppy’s stuff and efficiently tucked her gear into the baby bag and slung its cloth strap over his shoulder.
“That’s a good look on you,” Drago commented.
Gunner looked up, startled. The guy didn’t sound like he was being sarcastic, and a genuine smile lit Drago’s face.