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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T hat afternoon while Alyssa worked, Callan had studied satellite images that showed the layout of the property. The house was relatively close to the street, which gave the impression that the lot was small.

Not even close.

According to city records, the structure sat on a little over two acres. The lot was about a hundred feet wide but very deep. An eight-foot fence bordered the backyard on two sides.

Callan could easily scale an eight-foot fence, but could Alyssa? Probably, considering how tall and fit she was, but probably wasn’t good enough.

He’d discounted going over the fences.

He and Alyssa wouldn’t get ten feet from the house if they tried to escape down the driveway.

Which left one option. They would have to take the longest route—across the expansive backyard, through the garden, and then into the forest.

It was close to three hundred yards, but according to satellite images—and Malcolm’s reconnaissance—the only thing separating this property from the one behind it was a low rock wall. No doubt if Ghazi had owned this property, he’d have extended the fence along the back edge, but he didn’t.

The escape should be easy peasy.

As long as they weren’t spotted leaving the house. And as long as there weren’t cameras he and the team hadn’t seen. And as long as nobody noticed they weren’t in their room.

Don’t get caught.

Alyssa’s words were still resonating when he pointed to bushes that marked the far edge of the garden. Between here and there were nothing but grass and a long, narrow mulched flower bed, where spring bulbs poked out of the ground.

Once they made it beyond the bushes and into the cover of the old forest, they should be safe.

“Run straight over the flowerbed to the bushes and into the woods. I’ll be right behind you.”

She nodded, her eyes wide, not with fear but focus.

“Go.”

She bolted, and he followed.

Alyssa stopped behind a couple of trees about fifteen yards into the forest. She was breathing hard.

He caught up with her. “Fast but quiet, emphasis on quiet. I didn’t see any guards this deep, but that doesn’t mean they’re not here.”

At her nod, Callan started forward. The ground had been cleared of brush, making it easier to move through—and easier to see through. He jogged carefully, not willing to risk being seen or getting injured. He did his best to keep trees between them and the house.

It was easier than he’d expected. Ghazi had bought their little act?—

A shout carried from behind. Arabic words that shook him to the very core. “They’ve escaped!”

Another man responded. “Find them!”

Lights came on—landscape lights high in the trees that he hadn’t seen from the bathroom window.

They might as well have been spotlights.

“Go!” He urged Alyssa in front and stayed on her heels.

They were deep enough into the woods that they shouldn’t be seen, shouldn’t be caught.

But below the squishing of leaves, the snapping of twigs, the whooshing of branches pushed aside as they ran past, he picked up another sound. A low buzz, growing louder.

He had a bad feeling about that buzz.

A figure bolted toward them from the right, a guard who must’ve been posted deep in the woods.

Alyssa gasped, shifting away. But the guy had the angle on her. She wouldn’t outrun him.

“Take this!” Callan shoved his backpack forward, and she grabbed it. “Remember your promise!” Not waiting for an answer, Callan ran straight for the guard.

The man shouted. “Over here!” It was Benson.

Callan barreled into him, and they both tumbled onto the soft, damp earth.

Benson landed on top.

Callan tried to add momentum to their roll to gain the upper hand, but Benson saw the move coming and stuck out his leg, bracing them both. He straddled Callan and reared his fist back for a punch.

Callan landed a sharp jab to his chin, which knocked his head back. He attempted to buck him off, but Benson was trained and prepared, clamping his knees tightly against Callan’s sides.

A punch came out of nowhere, landing on the side of his head.

He saw the second coming through blurred vision.

He fought back, fought hard, but this guy was strong and capable.

Callan landed punches of his own. But more enemies would be coming. Regardless how hard he fought, he would eventually lose. He could beat Benson, but not in time to escape.

Didn’t matter.

All Callan needed to do was keep him busy until Alyssa made it to the rock wall.

She’d be safe.

He wouldn’t worry about himself. If he didn’t survive this…?

Peri.

His daughter’s image floated across his mind. Long brown hair that perpetually needed to be brushed. Big brown eyes always filled with sadness and worry. Peri had already endured so much heartache.

She didn’t need to bury another parent.

Regret landed heavier than any punch Benson could throw.

Too late, Callan realized that for all his trying to protect others, he’d failed to protect himself.

And therefore, failed to protect his daughter.

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.