Page 72 of Honor Code

"Roger that," whispered Blade.

"Negative contact on my side," whispered Boomer, which meant the hostiles must have approached across the golf course. Right now, he knew Boomer would be moving to cut off their escape route, while Pat and Blade would be closing in from the flanks.

Then everything happened at once.

The door flew inwards, breached with a portable battering ram. These guys were professionals. Two masked men entered in a tactical stack, weapons at the ready. They scanned the room, one gestured to the other, then they moved deeper into the house.

"Freeze," whispered Phoenix, pressing the muzzle of his suppressed Glock against the back of one of the intruders' heads.

The man froze, his arms going up.

"Don't move a muscle, or it'll be the last thing you do."

The man complied.

Silent as a wild cat, Blade slunk up behind the other intruder. There was a brief scuffle, then a thud.

Two down.

Outside, they heard a muffled pop and exchanged glances. That was a suppressed gunshot, which none of them had fired.

"I'll check it out," Blade darted back outside, leaving his suspect zip-tied on the floor in the main bedroom.

Phoenix cuffed his suspect, then secured him to a chair before going to restrain the one Blade had knocked out.

More shots rang out, and Boomer dashed in, clutching his shoulder. "Goddamn it. Henderson shot me."

"What? Henderson’s here? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just a through-and-through. Pat's in pursuit. He's going to need backup."

Knowing he was no good as a shooter with his injury, Boomer stayed to guard the suspects while Phoenix took off after Pat. Blade was nowhere to be seen.

"Blade, come in?" Phoenix called over the comms. He only got static in response. He tried again, then Blade's voice came through, garbled and broken. "Suspect is heading toward the ninth fairway… I'm cutting him off at the dogleg… Need backup… Over."

Shit.

Phoenix had gotten the gist of the fragmented message and made his way around the putting green, keeping to the tree line until he reached the ninth fairway. There, he saw Pat chasing Henderson, who zigzagged across the fairway like a pro soccer player. The oil boss was fit.

No way he was getting away. Phoenix charged out from behind the trees. He tackled Henderson on the fringe, sending him flying then lunged after him. The two men grappled on the ground.

Phoenix wrenched the gun out of Henderson's hand and tossed it into a nearby bunker, out of reach.

"You bastard," Henderson muttered. "I knew this was a sting."

"Surprised you showed up then," Phoenix growled, pinning him down on the rough. The man was crushed under his weight, but Phoenix didn't ease up. In fact, he might have been intentionally making the murderous scumbag even more uncomfortable.

"I came to see what trap you'd laid for my men."

"Your men? I see. Now I know who's calling the shots."

A snort.

Pat came running up the fairway. "Bastard gave me the slip." His gray eyes were almost luminous in the dark. Pat didn't take kindly to being outmaneuvered. None of them did.

"It was easy. I knew you'd go for my guys, which is why I sent someone up to the hotel to look for your little girlfriend." Henderson snarled at Phoenix.

His blood ran cold.

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