The three men on the roof dropped back into their defensive positions, this time with no specific direction. They didn’t need to speak. Just a glance let them read one another’s intentions.
Connor crawled across the rooftop, heading for the top of the stairs. The other two spread out to cover opposite corners.
Had the convoy doubled back?
A crossbow bolt thudded into the wooden railing at the top of the stairs, inches from Connor’s face. Not the police, then. Before he could focus on who it might be, his train of thought was rudely interrupted.
“Justin!”
How dare she? There she was, jumping up and down, clapping her hands, while crossbow bolts rained down around him, forcing Connor to roll in a direction he hadn’t intended.
At least she wasn’t giving away their positions. No, these amateurs knew exactly where they were.
“Friends of yours?”
He’d aimed the question at the girl, but it was Bjorn who answered. “Must be… her… people.”
Vihaan’s eyes were wild. He rushed across the open area, making no attempt to stay low, and was rewarded with a bolt in the left shoulder. He screamed as he crouched beside his colleague.
“Bjorn? You OK, man?”
Connor looked over in time to see Bjorn reach up to the bolt in Vihaan’s shoulder. Then his arm fell and his eyes lost focus. Vihaan screamed again.
“Shit.” That was Connor, knowing exactly what was coming next.
Ignoring Vihaan, Connor rolled to his knees, then into a sprinter’s crouch, until Vihaan screamed yet again and started pumping bullets at everything that moved and many things that didn’t.
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