Page 9 of Delta Mission
“No!” Lyle clawed at her hand.
But she wedged the knife tighter. A trickle of blood oozed down his neck, proving how sharp that blade was.
“Drop the gun,” she yelled at me in Dari Persian.
Speaking her language, I said, “Okay. Okay. Here, look, I’m putting my weapon down. Take it easy.”
I lowered my gun to the dirt.
“What are you doing, Makenna?” Lyle shook his head; his eyes screamed his fear.
We had both witnessed a man die by having his throat slit. It had been via satellite footage, yet it was still gruesome and shocking. A cruel way to die.
Lyle was not going to die here. Not like this.
I raised my hands, trying to calm the woman. “We’re not here to hurt you. We just want the drugs, that’s all.”
“You’ll never get them.”
That confirmed the drugs were here. It also meant this woman would kill both of us to escape.
“Just let him go, and we’ll leave.” I met Lyle’s eyes, trying to portray calm. But my heart thundered in my ears. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to do something.
My only other weapon was my knife, but the woman had the upper hand. One move from me, and Lyle was dead.
Where was Channing? That asshole was supposed to be protecting me.
The rat-tat-tat of AK-47 bursts echoed down the street. I'd heard that sound way too many times and it was as loud as the shouts from the soldiers.
The situation was getting out of control.
With one eye on Lyle and my heart jammed in my throat, I glanced out the window.
The Hummer exploded. Metal and glass shot in all directions. I ducked down.
The woman shrieked, sliced the knife over Lyle’s neck, and tossed him toward me.
“No!” I lunged at Lyle, catching him as he collapsed.
We landed in a tangle of legs and arms on the cushions, and I pulled Lyle onto my lap.
He clutched his neck. Blood oozed through his fingers.
“Oh Jesus, Lyle! No. No. No!” I clamped my hands over his, trying to stem the blood flow.
The woman had vanished, leaving the bloody knife on the dirt. But she’d made a mistake. The trapdoor in the floor that she’d gone through had a cushion wedged into the gap, stopping it from closing.
I’m going to kill you, bitch.
Lyle mumbled something.
“Just keep still, Lyle. Help! Someone help!” I increased my pressure on his neck, but not too much that I would strangle him.
Tears pooled in his eyes. “Makenna.”
His voice was barely a whisper.
I leaned forward, bracing to hear what I hoped weren’t Lyle’s final words.
