The Sean Wyatt Series: Books 4-6 Box Set by Ernest Dempsey

Author:Ernest Dempsey [Dempsey, Ernest]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 138 Publishing
Published: 2015-04-14T22:00:00+00:00

13

Atlanta

Sirens blared in the distance. It would have been impossible for the gunfight to go unnoticed in the peaceful suburban area. Petrov figured they had less than ninety seconds to get clear.

He and his men had opened fire on Wyatt’s SUV in plain daylight. Wyatt had gone one direction, then been herded to Petrov’s end of the street where he peppered the vehicle with hot metal. He continued walking toward the SUV, hammering it with a fresh magazine of bullets as the Audi changed direction again. Only when Wyatt shot through the metal gates did Petrov spin around and hurriedly return to his sedan.

Once inside, he stepped on the gas in an attempt to catch up to the fleeing target. Wyatt’s gate had closed too quickly, though, and the iron supports would have done more damage to Petrov’s car than the other way around. He was forced to slam on his brakes and back out of the driveway entrance.

The man playing the role of the plumber limped over to Petrov’s car, dragging his bloody leg behind him. He waved at the Russian, trying to get his attention. Petrov rolled down his window.

“What your plan?” the man gasped through clenched teeth, his accent distinctly from Eastern Europe.

“Distract the police.”

A baffled look replaced the agony on the man’s face. “How do you expect me to do that?”

Petrov raised a black handgun and squeezed the trigger three times. The long sound suppressor on the end kept the noise resigned to a puff with each shot. The rounds lodged deep into the man’s chest and sent him reeling backward onto the asphalt.

The Russian set the gun back on the passenger seat and sped down to the other end of the street where the two remaining men awaited orders. “Follow me. I know where they’re headed.”

“What about the police?” the American mercenary asked. The man’s head was shaved, and his trapezius muscles bulged around his neck, almost tearing his skintight black T-shirt.

“We’ll lose them on the way.”

Neither of the remaining men asked about the dead man Petrov had left at the gate. They didn’t care, so long as it wasn’t them that were dead. The code of mercenary life was to survive at all costs. Sometimes that meant leaving coworkers behind.

The two jumped into their SUV and tucked in behind the sedan. The two cars turned down a side street three blocks away, disappearing from view just before the first police car arrived on the scene.

Petrov slowed down slightly, despite his foot feeling the natural urge to speed through the back streets of North Atlanta. The last thing they needed was to be noticed fleeing the scene by one of the swarming police officers. Casually, the Russian led the way through the outskirts of the city, careful to obey all traffic laws if at all possible.

After several minutes of watching rearview mirrors and twitching at every sound that resembled a siren, the convoy reached an intersection just a few hundred feet from the interstate. The

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