CARRIE'S PROTECTOR Read Free

tile floor, watching them scatter. Then he crossed to the cabinets and stepped in front of Carrie, gun drawn.
    Of course, if he had to shoot, he’d alert every terrorist in the building.
    As he pressed his back to her front, he could feel the tension humming through her.
    “Wyatt?”
    “I’m here to make sure you get out of this.” He wanted to turn around and take her in his arms. He wanted to stroke her back and hair to comfort her, but he knew that facing the enemy was more important than giving her reassurances.
    Down the hall, Wyatt could hear rapid footsteps and doors opening and slamming shut again. When the door to the office where they were hiding opened, every muscle in his body tensed. He saw a shadow flicker on the wall—the shadow of a man holding a machine gun. The guy stood still for a moment, then started across the tile floor toward their hiding place.

Chapter Two
    Wyatt waited, his body coiled for action.
    In a couple of seconds, if the trap he’d set didn’t work, the invader was going to spot them—and shoot. But before he reached their hiding place, the man stepped on the pushpins and lost his footing.
    Wyatt sprang around the corner, reaching for the guy’s gun arm and pulling him forward across the slippery surface. Off balance from the pins and the man yanking on his arm, the gunman scrambled to stay upright while he tried to get his weapon into firing position. Before he could do either, Wyatt kicked him square in the back, sending him sprawling on the tile floor, yelping as the sharp points of the pins dug into his hands and face.
    He was a blond guy, young and muscular, and totally unprepared to be attacked by the quarry he was hunting.
    Wyatt was on him as he went down. As the guy struggled to respond to the changed circumstances, Wyatt raised his own weapon and bashed the terrorist over the head with the gun butt. The man went still.
    “Cover him,” he told Carrie, handing her his Sig while he looked for something to tie the guy up.
    She held the weapon in a two-handed grip. He noted that she was savvy enough to stand a couple of yards away so that the man couldn’t grab her leg if he came to and went into attack mode.
    Wyatt’s glance raked the desk. Grabbing the phone, he yanked the cord from the wall, then disconnected the cord from the phone to the receiver.
    While Carrie kept the gun trained on the guy, Wyatt tied him up using both cords. When he was finished, he took a closer look at the terrorist’s appearance. Definitely not from the Middle East. In fact, he looked like a typical Midwestern farmer with sunburned skin, blond hair and pleasant-enough features.
    “You know him?” Wyatt asked. “Was he one of the men in the park?”
    “No,” Carrie answered.
    “Well, that’s a clue to the scope of the organization. Looks like the initial three you spotted in the park weren’t the only ones involved in the plot.”
    She nodded.
    As Blondie started to stir, Wyatt took back the gun while he debated what to do.
    The man’s eyes blinked open. When he tried to move and found that his hands and feet were secured, he swung his murderous gaze from Wyatt to Carrie and back again. Carrie recoiled, but Wyatt ignored the threatening scowl. “How many men are in the building?”
    “Enough to kill you and the bitch.”
    “I don’t think so.” He wanted to ask how the terrorists had discovered the time and location of Carrie’s meeting with the Federal prosecutor, but he knew that would only be a waste of time.
    The guy smirked at him. “You won’t get out of here alive. And once you’re dead, there won’t be anyone to testify against Bobby.”
    “They have the pictures she took of your meeting.”
    “So what? In this day and age, they could be faked. And—”
    To stave off another smart remark, Wyatt bashed him on the head again, and he went still.
    Carrie made a low, distressed sound. “Why did you do that?”
    “Don’t tell me you wanted to keep listening to his line