Page 3 of Fury

Luke and Reza reached the landing. “Go, go.”

He moved forward.

The door to the first bedroom hung slightly ajar. Davis reached for it. Shoved it open with the muzzle of his M4. Glanced around the room. Faint moonlight fell through the window onto a man lying in bed. His frame was similar to the seller Rafkin had ID’d earlier. Fury trotted over to the bed and sniffed.

Tense for a reaction, Davis eased closer for a better look, M4 trained on the guy. Something felt off.

Adrenaline spiked. He closed the gap. Saw blank eyes staring up. Mouth agape. Davis shoved the muzzle of his weapon against the guy’s sternum a couple times. No response. Davis keyed his mic. “Laurel’s dead,” he said tersely. His gaze stalled on an open plastic container—empty—on the nightstand. “Looks like they didn’t trust the guy.” He indicated to the table. “Fury, seek.”

The sable GSD glided from his side, searching the room quickly. Efficiently.

Luke and Reza entered and went to work. The Malinois sniffed swiftly back and forth, snout tracking.

Davis felt his adrenaline ratchet another notch as he watched. Waited. The MWD made her way across the room. Thrust her sensitive nose into every corner and crevice.

Nothing.

Fury growled softly, shoving past them back into the hallway.

Taking the cue, Davis followed, weapon up, expecting trouble. Saw that sable tail vanish into a second room. Checked it. Still nothing except a bleary-eyed man, who stumbled and brandished a weapon.

Davis neutralized the threat as Reza and Fury headed to the last bedroom, single-minded in their efforts. Under the empty bed. In the wardrobe. Around the nightstand. Frustration coiled and he keyed his mic at—again—coming up short. “Target and buyer rabbited.” Made sure his tone didn’t betray the irritation they all felt. “Likely together. Don’t let him leave the compound.”

The team copied.

“Movement at the front,” Rafkin’s voice warned from his nest on the hill.

Davis bit back a curse.

Fury was still sniffing around. Intensity in the GSD’s body language ramped up. He was lead team. Should be the one heading outside first, but if he had something . . .

Davis turned to Luke. “I’ll finish here. Go.”

Luke nodded. Double-patted his leg, recalling Reza, and they raced down the stairs.

Fury turned to Davis. Wagged his tail. False alarm. “Let’s go.”

They retraced their steps to the lower level. Hustled to the front.

“Nonlethal measures!” Shaw growled into the comms. “We need him to talk.”

Crack! Crack!

Gunfire outside snatched Davis’s attention as his boot hit the bottom step. He booked it to the front door. Paused to clear it before hurrying into the courtyard. Saw Luke engaging Hardy, who seemed to be impervious to the bullets flying at him. Davis drew down on the warlord. Hit his leg and the guy pitched forward. Tumbled. Came up running toward the parked convoy.

Luke slipped the lead off of Reza. “Get him!”

Through the green oculars, Davis watched the Mal charge off with Luke close behind. Hardy lifted a fist near the truck he was closing in on.

What was he holding?

Whoosh!

Even as the fireball erupted, Davis felt himself punched backward amid the bright flash that lit the night. His NVGs were shoved out of place. Black spots dotted his vision.

Boom!

Vibration from the blast shook around him before he collided with a plaster wall. Hot pain tore through his shoulder despite his PPE. He bounced against the ground. Rolled. Came to a stop face up. He opened his mouth. Gasped for air.

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