Forced to Kill Read Free Page A

connected to a library with a large central living room and kitchen beyond. Five bedrooms, each with its own private bathroom, occupied the west wing, served by a wide hall. The security room with the bank of cameras was in the first bedroom on the right side of the hall. A guest bathroom occupied the same wall. And the door to the basement was hidden in a small coat closet off the central hall leading into the living room.
    Time became critical. Ramsland didn’t know how long it would take for his target to notice the absence of his men, or if he was even home. All bets were off in that case. Too many questions with no answers. Only one way to find out.
    He reached for the handle.
     
    ***
     
    Montez entered the living room and turned toward the hall leading to the bedrooms. “Raul. I need your help. Now.”
    No answer.
    “Raul? Are you in there?”
    Silence.
    He walked over to the security room. Empty. So was the guest bathroom. Montez looked at the bank of monitors and saw no sign of his men. He knew Raul smoked. Maybe he’d gone out to the pool with the others. The cameras couldn’t see the area immediately next to the house where they usually lit up. Looking back and forth, he strode through the living room and peered out the sliding glass doors. Nothing.
    Uneasy at finding himself alone, he grabbed a small device that looked like a TV remote from the coffee table. He returned to the sliding glass doors and scanned the rear yard.
    Where were they? Probably walking the Dobermans. He’d trained them to vary their routes to avoid establishing a pattern. And they definitely weren’t supposed to walk both dogs at the same time. He sighed. Good help was hard to find—at least help he trusted.
     
    ***
     
    The study, dimly lit from a banker’s light on the desk, made Ramsland edgy. He didn’t like interior work. It was well outside his comfort zone. Sharp lines, smooth surfaces, and square forms were everywhere. He’d considered cutting the power, but that would immediately alert his target to danger. Normal citizens considered a power outage a pain in the rear, but a trained spook had a completely different reaction.
    He eased to the double doors leading into the living room and heard a male voice say something he couldn’t hear clearly.
    A few seconds later, he heard the same voice again. “Raul. I need your help. Now.”
    Ramsland flattened himself against the jamb and froze. Was this his target and was he coming in here? The voice held a command tone, but that didn’t prove anything. He needed visual confirmation.
    Just outside the study’s door, an indoor palm occupied a large ceramic pot. The base of the palm was surrounded by peat moss material, but the pot was too low to use for cover. He sidestepped toward the open side of the double doors and, inch by inch, peered around the corner. At the same instant he confirmed this man was his target, the man turned from the sliding glass windows and looked in his direction.
    He pulled back. Had he been fast enough?
     
    ***
     
    Montez pivoted away from the window.
    As he did, he saw movement in the study.
    He drew his pistol and, using his best lighthearted voice, said, “Raul, come out of there. I’m in no mood for a drill tonight.”
    Raul didn’t come out.
    A U.S. Marine did, wearing tactical gear and body armor. He recognized the combat utility uniform.
    Montez crouched down, closed his eyes, and simultaneously pressed two buttons on the remote.
    Six interior palm trees exploded, including one by the study door.
    The flash-bang grenades detonated with thunderous concussions and blinding light.
    The soldier dropped to one knee and fired his weapon.
      The sliding glass door behind Montez shattered.
    Knowing his opponent couldn’t see or hear his movements, Montez leapt over the leather couch, flattened himself into a prone position, and pulled the trigger. A forty-caliber armor-piercing bullet plowed into the soldier’s shoulder.
    The soldier grunted