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Walker sprinted through the quiet, muddy streets. She and Eva had an advantage over Blade and his bodyguards. Their equipment was state-of-the art, and the lightweight fusion goggles were more like glasses and not head mounted like the SEALs’. The glasses included infrared, and she could see the heat signatures as she chased their HVT and his men. Their suits, complete with hoods, were also tech-advanced with a waterproof but stretchy, almost alien-like black catsuit, a non-reflective fabric that repelled light with a built-in bulletproof vest and neck guard, the stealth booties on her feet part of the garment, their faces concealed in black mesh to hide their skin tones. This version of the suit was designed for tropical use with built-in, organic ways of keeping her cool. They looked like the highly advanced assassins they were if anyone could actually see them in the shadows.

She followed the three red blobs of movement and increased her speed. “Gotcha,” she murmured. Eva was pacing her a street over, both of them nothing but dark blurs in the deep shadows. Those three men would never see them coming. It is what they did best.

They were just that one step closer to Hazard and Leigh, and she wasn’t going to fail the couple, not now, not ever, especially with the Justice Department dicking around with their lives. Typical. Just casualties in the War on Drugs, like she was a casualty of her mother’s machinations.

She survived, and they would, too, especially if she had a say about it. They couldn’t lose this guy. He was the linchpin in their strategy, and they had no time to start from scratch as Hazard and Leigh’s lives were measured in days. Risking everything was the name of the game. She’d rather go down fighting than lose this dirtbag in the rundown maze disjointly spread out before her.

This slum was nothing but a shantytown, the homes packed tightly together, leaving only narrow alleyways somewhat open, and they became the informal dumping grounds for anything residents couldn’t easily reuse or dispose of properly. Everything was haphazard, from the building materials to the layout.

From the facility, she raced through one alleyway after another, avoiding broken cinder blocks, loose bricks, pieces of corrugated metal, wooden planks with protruding rusty nails, scraps of plastic sheeting, and heaps of tarps, apparently what these residents used as roofing materials. She came to an abrupt stop, up against a dead-end, the stench of household garbage strong, distinctly fruit peels and veggie trimmings.

She could see the blobs of red moving away from the alleyway. Her mind was going a mile a minute, her lungs pumping. She looked around, realizing that the HVT had found a way through that wasn’t open to her. He must have gotten away using a home, or some secret passage, slipping through a solid barrier. She looked up, a makeshift staircase led to a flat roof.

“Koz, I’m heading up,” she said, her throat so dry it hurt. There was no response from her partner, and she swore softly, damning the spotty comms. The sheer volume of buildings must be blocking her signal. She didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t lose that man. She attacked the rickety structure, climbing them like they were made of strong construction instead of spare parts of suspect wood, held together by corrugated metal and rusty nails.

It felt like she was running on spinning logs, and she was way too exposed, her heart racing. The staircase wasn’t made for running up, but she threw caution to the wind. She had to get up and over, catch that scumbag and make him talk. Moving fast and avoiding even more debris on the flat roof—bent rusted metal chair frames, splintered wooden tables and doors, even a washing machine, precariously perched on the edge to her right, she sprinted across, careful not to lose her footing on loose sheets of metal, every step testing her balance. A round came out of nowhere, the sound of it splitting the air over her shoulder. She ducked down, swinging her head in the direction of the shot.

She pressed her back against the low concrete lip of the rooftop, heart rattling against her ribs. Every so often, she dared to lift her head above the parapet—but each time, a fresh bullet hissed across the gap between her and the sniper perched on the adjacent building. The muzzle flashes flickered like lightning in the moonless sky, pinning her in place. She was sure she recognized the silhouette of his rifle—a high-caliber weapon that could easily punch through cheap brick and corrugated tin.

She swore softly, looking for a way to drop down to the ground and continue her pursuit, but the moment she moved, another shot impacted near her. Time was slipping away with every bullet zinging off this ruined rooftop in this shantytown sprawl.

She pulled her rifle from the strap across her chest and aimed. She was a great shot, but the sniper was much too embedded for her to get one off. She was pinned down. She turned her head to look for Koz, but saw a slim red blob surrounded by many red blobs. Fuck. Her partner was in trouble, and Walker was unable to help her.

Whipping her head back, she decided that she would have to expose herself and take her chances. She wasn’t going to lie here while that fucker got away. This would have all been for nothing. Swallowing hard against the emotions rising like bile in her throat at the thought of leaving Eva behind, she hardened her heart, her stomach clenching like her guts were being ripped out.

These were the decisions that had to be made, and she was going to make them.

She went to rise, but movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. It was a dark green, sleekly fast, red-lit blur.

At first, she thought it was more hostiles. Then she realized it was Bones —Skull’s lean, agile Belgian Malinois. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the uniform harness reflecting in the distant glow of a streetlamp. Skull must have deployed him to her as backup. Either way, it was a lifeline she hadn’t expected.

She stole another glimpse. The sniper fired again, sending a chunk of crumbling concrete flying near her shoulder. The dust momentarily clouded her NVGs, and she coughed, debris and gunpowder stung her nostrils as she hugged the flimsy corrugated barrier on the rooftop—only thing standing between her and the sniper’s next shot. Her heart pounded in her ears.

The strobe-like muzzle flashes from across the alley told her he was reloading, taking aim again. One breath, two… she exhaled slowly, trying to still the adrenaline roaring through her veins.

The dog, undeterred by the gunshot, darted between piles of busted cinder blocks and twisted rebar on that rooftop. Even from across the gap, she could see every muscle in his body tense with purpose.

Her mind reeled. Bones is going to try to take down a sniper? Alone? This was going to be hairy, no pun intended.

The sniper must have heard it, too. He shifted position, leveling his rifle at the shape weaving through the rubble. She silently pleaded for Bones to disappear behind cover. Instead, the Malinois sprang onto a half-collapsed ventilation box, nails scraping metal. Debris skittered off the edge, tumbling into the alley below.

Time slowed. The sniper’s rifle angled upward—aiming at Bones. She scrambled to do anything, anything to help.

She had to buy the dog a second. She slid to the edge of the rooftop, exposing herself to the sniper’s aim. Sighting through her scope, and bracing her arms, she squeezed off two quick shots in the sniper’s direction. Her muzzle flashes lit the night.

Bones raced across the flat structure jumping debris with the kind of agility that made her breath catch in her throat. She held her breath, her mind scrambling on how the dog could have gotten on the adjacent rooftop by himself. He was clearly alone, and she wondered where Skull was, momentarily concerned for his safety. But that was also something she couldn’t dwell on.

She spied a gap…a big gap that seemed impossible for the dog to breach, her heart missing a beat, but Bones was going for the enemy like a heat-seeking fur missile.

The sniper jerked, momentarily distracted by her shots, and that was all the Malinois needed. With a powerful coil of his hind legs, the dog rocketed over that gaping hole in the rooftop’s corrugated surface. It looked as though the rusted edges would crumble under his weight, but the dog soared across, like a freaking spring-loaded projectile, his muzzle pulled away, revealing his sharp, lethal teeth. He landed precariously on a sliver of stable ground just a few feet behind the sniper. Bones crouched, snarling in a low, guttural growl. His powerful body was primed for action, assault, and mayhem, and the sniper knew it.

The sniper twisted, belatedly aware of the threat behind him. He tried to bring the rifle around. Too late fucker. The Malinois launched again, bridging the distance in a single, unnervingly graceful bound straight into his torso. Even across the gap, she heard the snarl as the dog latched onto the sniper’s arm, wrenching the rifle away from his shoulder. The man staggered backward, smashing into a low pipe. The rifle clattered out of reach, skittering across the roof.

The man wrestled, flailing to dislodge the dog, but his jaws stayed locked, chewing at his flesh, clamping down to the bone. The man fought, the sounds of his painful cries loud in the night. Lights came on, and Walker rose in one swift movement. While the fearless Malinois kept the man’s full attention, Walker aimed and hit the man with a headshot. The cries ended and Bones lifted his head, his muzzle dark with the sniper’s blood, his ears perked, scanning for more threats. A triumphant bark cut through the still night.

She finally exhaled, letting her arms drop, peering at the battered form of the sniper and the dog beside him. This whole mission hadn’t turned out the way she planned, but at least she was free to continue her pursuit thanks to a fearless four-legged operator who made a daredevil leap when it mattered most.

And from her vantage, pinned down and helpless, it was the most impossibly bold takedown she’d ever witnessed.

She owed him some huge treat. What an amazing animal. There was more movement, and she swiveled her scope toward it, but then dropped the rifle. Talk about another amazing specimen racing onto the roof from a rooftop hatch, his rifle primed and ready as relief spread across his face. It was Skull and she only gave herself a moment before keying her comms. “Koz is in trouble. Help her.”

She shut out his response, not giving an inch. One command from Skull, and Bones paced her. Skull had to retrace his steps. He couldn’t cross that gap. She didn’t focus on the dog. He was obviously being directed by Skull. She never looked back. After picking up the red blobs still moving steadily, she took off like a shot in hot, relentless pursuit across the unstable rooftop.

She ran like she was drunk, forced to slow at a spot where the tin sagged dangerously. Bits of shattered tiles underfoot threatened to skid her right off the edge, and her arms windmilled to keep her upright. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to move faster, but if she mis-stepped, she’d go crashing into the alley below. Still, her mind kept chanting: Don’t lose him. Don’t you dare lose him.

Gunfire rattled from behind her, maybe the sniper’s backup. A bullet sparked off a metal gutter mere inches from her head. She flinched and pressed herself against the crumbling wall, adrenaline flaring. No turning back now. The HVT was one block away. She mentally apologized to the tall, sleek dog’s handler for leaving him behind with the sniper, but that was the job. They had to divide and conquer.

Jumping onto the adjacent roof with a grunt, she slid awkwardly on loose debris. Her ankle twisted, sending a sharp flare of pain up her calf. She bit back a curse, refusing to let it slow her down. She had to keep going.

Slipping through a gap in a rusted chain-link fence that someone had installed haphazardly at the roof’s edge, she dropped onto a lower section of corrugated metal. Ahead lay the labyrinth of shanties and improvised walkways. Winding alleys. Countless hiding spots. The HVT could vanish in a hundred directions. Her heart thudded in her chest.

But she could still see him , ducking around a corner to the right. One final leap across a three-foot gap to an adjacent roof, and she landed on a concrete block, stumbling forward but still on her feet. Her lungs burned and her mind set on a single objective: run him down.

The memory of that pinned-down sniper flicked in her head. Thank the stars for Bones, or she wouldn’t have even made it to this point. Now it was up to her to secure the man who held the key to locating Hazard and Leigh. She drew on every ounce of training, ignoring the dull ache in her leg and the rattling in her chest.

Keep going, Walker. Don’t lose him.

She forced herself into a faster sprint. One more roof. One more jump. And the HVT, in her sights, running out of places to hide in this tangle of metal and concrete. If she had to tackle him to catch him, she would. Because failure wasn’t an option, and she was done playing defense.

At the ledge, she peered down. A narrow stack of crates led to a rickety balcony a few feet below. It was her only path forward. She swung over the edge, dropping onto the top crate. It gave an ominous groan but held. She hopped down to the balcony and spotted the HVT again, his red blob receding into the maze of the next cross street.

Walker clutched the rickety balcony railing and scanned the cramped shantytown below, heart hammering in her chest. The labyrinth of tin-roofed huts, makeshift stalls, and tangled alleys had swallowed Blade and his baddies moments ago. Her eyes caught a flicker of movement near a dimly lit intersection—her target. She recognized those three fast-moving red blobs just enough to spur her into a continued desperate chase.

She dropped down from the balcony, landing in a crouch on the hard-packed dirt. She ran full out, needing to catch up with the fleeing HVT, skidding down a slope in the rough road that made up a street in this tumbledown town. She was on the main road leading out of town, and the HVT blobs were running for an advantage. Vehicles .

Fuck! If they made it to them, that would be the end of this chase.

She came to a three-way junction when several of those red blobs who had been converging on her hit their axis. Five men flooded into the open area at the far end of the alley. Four more loomed behind her.

She was surrounded, and she cursed scornfully. She didn’t have time for this. She might be outnumbered and outmanned, but she had been in much stickier situations. Confident in her skills, she knew there was never a guarantee, but she was determined to go down fighting for Hazard and Leigh, giving no quarter, and risking her life for their sake.

“Ice, Strekoza is in trouble,” Skull’s voice came over the comm. The team was running full out a bit behind Skull and Bones.

“Where is she?” Iceman asked, and Skull gave him the coordinates.

“Boomer and GQ, go get her and rendezvous with us. We’re heading to the north. HVT is high tailing it out of town.”

“We’re on it, Ice,” Boomer said, confirming the location, while GQ mapped out a quick infiltration route, taking into account the compounded difficulty of navigating the labyrinth of the slum’s maze in order to get to Strekoza as quickly as possible. They peeled off from the main group, slipping down an alley that crossed over to the other side of the city.

Spying a cluster of red blobs, he and GQ switched direction and headed toward the group and a small square that looked like it was part of the town’s marketplace.

They increased their speed, coming onto a beleaguered Eva who was fighting for her life. These looked more like opportunists rather than part of the cartel, town residents who found it beneficial and probably profitable to capture an operative. The cartel would be generous for their assistance.

With his gut tight, Boomer watched the tall, slim blob retreat into a crouch behind some cover. As they approached her location, Boomer’s NVGs caught the flickering overhead lights, casting patchy illumination over the empty, closed booths, their tarps fluttering in the faint breeze. They scanned for her but couldn’t see her in the maze of corrugated metal stalls.

“Come out, come out, bitch. You can’t get away. So, drop your weapon and this will go easier on you,” he said in Spanish.

Through his goggles, Boomer noted her situation was bleak. There was nowhere for her to go, her escape routes were blocked by more armed men stealing in from all sides.

Eva’s voice came over the comms in a stream of words and static in a hushed urgency. “Trapped, need backup. HVT is getting away. Hummingbird is alone.” Her voice was calm, but Boomer, being a battle-tested SEAL, could detect the tension underlining her words.

Boomer replied. “No, she’s not. Skull and Bones are backing her up. Hang on. We’re almost there, Strekoza,” he said as gunfire erupted just ahead of them, increasing his pace as the men fanned out. The operative was clearly outnumbered. Coming up behind several hostiles, Boomer and GQ took them out as they rushed toward her location, and a couple of other combatants fell to Eva’s precise shots, then she moved low and fast away from the surefire retaliation, using the shadows and cluttered stalls for cover.

She was an impressive woman.

Moving in single file, GQ covering their rear, he and Boomer took out three men blocking their way, running into the square, and crouching behind stalls, and the hostiles shouted warnings that they had company.

The surviving tangos converged on Eva’s position, cornering her near a large wooden stall, a man rushing at her with a machete, and Boomer lost sight of him. “Cover me,” he said, as GQ positioned himself for overwatch, picking off anyone who was a threat to Boomer. Boomer rounded the stalls, firing unerringly at the combatants, while Eva grappled with the machete-wielding tango.

The man was too close to Eva for a shot, so Boomer dropped his rifle, the strap catching it and sending it against his side, and rushed toward the guy, pulling his combat knife. Before he could strike, Eva brought up a dark object in her hand, cracking the man hard against his temple, and he went down hard.

She lowered what he now saw was a blackjack, her weapon of choice and a very effective one in her capable hands. “Ah, the cavalry,” she said, her voice still tense, but with a layer of relief in it. “Let’s get out of here, and back to our HVT.”

“We have more company,” GQ said as he came up to them. “We’re trapped in a maze with all the rats.”

“This way,” Eva said, heading toward the back of the stall to a branching alley cutting away from the marketplace, debris thick with stacked crates, trash bags, and half-collapsed stalls. As they ran toward hopefully an exit, men spied them and started to chase. When they came to the end of the alley, more hostiles blocked their narrow exit.

“Up,” Boomer said to her, nodding toward a rickety ladder. She expelled her clip and frowned.

“Low on ammo.”

Boomer removed his sidearm and handed it to her. She tucked the suppressed gun into a holster at her side, then looked at them, concern in her expression—something he’d never seen on the cool, collected operative. “What about you two?”

“We’re going to take these guys out and cover your kick-ass butt. Now move,” he ordered.

GQ grunted a quick laugh at Boomer’s words and shouted, “Frag out!”

Throwing a crash-bang toward the approaching men, he and Boomer ducked behind some crates. The sound grenade exploded with a loud, disorienting blast of noise that caused the men to cover their ears. GQ opened fire, while Boomer was heading toward the men blocking their exit. He took out the cluster of men peering down the alley, unable to see him moving toward them like a juggernaut.

Once they were dispatched, he looked up, his mouth tightening as he saw that several men now chased Eva across the rooftop. “GQ, they’re after her. I’m going up. Cover us from the ground.”

“Copy that,” GQ said, moving toward him as Boomer grabbed an awning, flipped himself up and onto it, then gripping the side of the metal, climbing as fast as he could. Reaching the flat roof, he hauled himself up and started after the fleeing woman with three assailants on her tail.

Their stances were aggressive, but Hummingbird could see they weren’t leveling guns at her head. Not exactly. They wanted her alive. That was their first lethal mistake.

Her mind raced. CIA training was so ingrained that she immediately scanned for Tasers, batons, or other less-lethal devices. Either way, the result would be the same if she let them close in. She’d be out of the race for her HVT, and capture and torture was never on her agenda.

She drew her suppressed sidearm and aimed center mass at the closest figure. His eyes flicked to it, yet he continued forward, slow and steady, as though challenging her to pull the trigger. That was his second lethal mistake, not recognizing that she was his grim reaper. In the green light of her NVGs, she saw the outline of a baton in one attacker’s hand and the faint glint of a stun device in another’s.

They were forming a ring, herding her into an open courtyard of packed earth flanked by corrugated metal walls, pushing this no-holds barred gladiator into a showdown with a pack of lions…an arena of sorts.

One man muttered something in Spanish—“ Tranquila . We just want you to come with us.” Another tried to close the distance from behind. They were creeping in carefully, cautious of her drawn weapon. “You can’t shoot all of us.”

She exhaled, forcing her mind to stay analytical. Seven steps to the east side. A stack of wooden crates could be a good advantage or a barrier. Over there, an overturned cart might offer fleeting cover, but it trapped her in a corner. If she ran, they’d close ranks, but if she stayed, they’d outnumber her within seconds.

A sudden commotion from her left caught her attention. Bones’s guttural snarl sliced through the air, followed by a sharp yelp and the sound of splintering wood. She risked a glance—the snarling Belgian Malinois bounded into the courtyard. Skull was nowhere to be seen, but she heard a faint shout echo down an adjacent alley. The word was guard . That maddening man had sent Bones after her to protect her. Her heart softened, then hardened again. There was no time for weakness or emotions.

For half a second, the men froze. Their formation faltered—none of them had expected an MWD to explode into the scene. Capitalizing on their confusion, she fired two quick rounds into the nearest attacker’s chest. He tumbled onto his rear and then fell over.

That broke their containment. She wheeled toward the next closest threat. He lunged with the baton in a wide arc, and she ducked underneath, letting his momentum carry him forward. Stepping into his side, she rammed her shoulder into his ribs and gripped the wrist that held the baton. A quick twist—a seasoned move that she used in countless fights—and the baton slipped free into her hand.

Before she could pivot to face another attacker, she heard Bones again—a furious bark, the scrape of claws on dirt. One of the men raised a Taser toward him, but the dog sprang. It caught his arm, latching on with a snarl. The man’s shout drowned out the rest of the scuffle.

She whipped around, baton in hand, just in time to block a stun rod someone tried to jab into her side. Sparks crackled. Her arm went numb where the rod grazed her, but she held on, slamming the baton across her assailant’s forearm. He cursed and staggered back. She brought up her weapon and shot him.

Still outnumbered, she felt the tension in her chest tighten. Bones was a mad, snapping wild card—he held one attacker at bay, but there were more trying to circle behind her. Shots rang out in the distance. Skull? Something in her softened for a moment, grateful for the possibility of his backup.

A new attacker slid in low, likely trying to tackle her from the waist down. She jabbed the baton down at his shoulder, and he yelped, but his arms locked around her legs. They both hit the ground hard, dusty earth grinding against her face. She lost hold of the baton, scrabbling for anything to brace herself.

Her attacker tried to pin her, but she wriggled her elbow free and smashed it into his nose. A sharp crunch—he reeled back, blood spurting as she shoved him off and rolled away, reclaiming a strong, balanced stance with the possibility of moving in any direction. Her pulse roared in her ears. She raised her gun and fired. His face went blank, and he fell.

Bones barked again, baring his teeth at the last two men standing in front of her. One of them hesitated, uncertain whether to rush her or fend off the snapping canine. That moment of indecision gave Walker the upper hand. She lunged forward with a swift strike to his throat, powering it with her entire body weight. He collapsed, gasping. She finished him off.

The final man had enough sense to turn and sprint, presumably to regroup or call in reinforcements. She was about to aim and eliminate the threat, but Bones, trained impeccably to take down any fleeing suspect, gave chase. She let him do the heavy lifting, leaving him to Skull. Her body ached, but she wheeled around and started for the HVT, praying that he hadn’t made it to the vehicle.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the corner of the alley—finally. Skull, dirt and sweat-streaked and gripping his weapon at the ready, skidded to a halt. Relief washed over his handsome face at the sight of Bones harassing the struggling victim of the dog’s relentless protective instincts, and the fact that she was alive and kicking.“Thanks,” she muttered, though she wasn’t sure if she was thanking Skull or Bones, and while Skull shot the fleeing man, Walker took off again toward those retreating blobs.