Search and Destroy JT Sawyer (books to read in your 30s txt) 📖

He heard the sickening sound of footsteps running up the driveway then splitting off. One group was heading to the front door while the other was trotting up alongside the garage. He knew there was probably already a three-man team covering the rear exit. Battering rams, flash-bangs and a rapid assault were next, and he only had a few seconds to act if he was going to avoid being in flex-cuffs, bound for a federal holding cell.

He removed his HK pistol from its appendix-carry holster, then just as quickly returned it.

No way I’m turning this into a bloodbath in my own home. I’m not a fucking criminal.

Cal trotted up the loft stairs. Standing at the rear window, he slid it open, yanking out the screen. Cal saw the bushes in the back were trampled and knew the rear-entry team was probably stacking up under the eaves in preparation to burst in through the patio.

He closed the door to the loft and covered his ears, waiting for the orchestrated assaults and jarring commotion from the flash-bangs to cover his escape.

His very home, a place that had been a comfort and refuge from the horrors of battle overseas, was now about to become its own war zone. He felt his stomach churning at the thought that the last vestige of his world with Cassie was about to be desecrated by the government—the very government that he had fought to defend for his entire career.

The shock of it all and the outrage of the calamitous events of this week were threatening to override the flight syndrome rushing through every fiber of his being. He wanted to stay and fight, repel the intruders then work his way up the food chain and destroy everyone who had led him to this moment.

This is bullshit!

He felt the primal urge to withdraw his pistol again, but he knew that killing federal agents would only seal his fate—a fate that someone had already pre-ordained for some reason.

Get the hell out of here first.

Cal saw the windowpanes rattle and felt the concerted percussive blasts in the house below as the teams breached the three entrances. He hunched forward, slipping through the open window and climbing onto the sloped overhang. He crept to the massive oak tree, climbing down the limbs and leaping onto the grass.

Spinning around, he saw a three-man team led by Carter darting around the corner of the garage within feet of him. Carter’s eyes became saucers in her goggles as Cal rushed forward, jamming her AR into her chest then using the backward momentum to sweep her right foot from under her while clutching the rifle.

With her thin frame partly in the air, he flung her back into the second man, who toppled over a trash can. Cal stepped forward, kicking him in the face and hearing the sound of crunching cartilage. He continued using his forward momentum, as he’d trained to do in countless close-range attacks against multiple opponents, kicking Tremblay in the groin hard enough to make his torso lurch forward. Cal used the momentum to drive his knee up into the man’s gut then shoved him into the brick wall.

Cal spun around as Carter was trying to stand, slamming his boot down on her vest and sending her back to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. He kept his pistol trained on her face then caught a flash of movement emerging from the patio door as the team inside began flowing out.

Cal raised his HK, snapping off two controlled rounds. The first struck the lead agent in the left shoulder, the grazing round causing his support arm to abruptly jerk the AR down as he groaned. The second round struck the OC canister on the man’s belt, releasing the noxious red spray into the narrow confines of the enclosed porch.

With the team momentarily stunned, Cal stepped off Carter’s chest, fixing his weapon on her. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Don’t follow me.”

“Too late for that,” she said, sitting up then springing to her feet. He fired two rounds into the dirt beside her. She backpedaled around the corner of the garage as he bounded for the wooden fence, hopping it into the neighbor’s yard.

The hum of rotors filled the air, and Cal knew that unlike other times when he was on the run overseas, it wasn’t the pleasing sound of a Blackhawk coming to extract him and his team. This time he was the subject of a manhunt in a suburban sprawl that had suddenly turned into hostile territory, and his only goal now was to escape at all costs.

Darting across the street, he ran into another yard, trying to recall if the residents had a dog. Without any incident, he climbed another fence, weaving around a sandbox and swimming pool then bursting past the side gate. He made a sharp turn to the right, running for six houses then cutting across a small park, hearing the shrieks of parents near the playground, startled at the sight of an armed figure rushing past them.

Cal knew the Feds would be creating a tight perimeter and designating roadblocks to seal him in. He was counting on it. He cut across the dirt jogging path that wound through the woods for a hundred yards, emerging near a shallow creek. The helicopter was circling over the playground, and he knew he only had a minute to gain some ground and disappear, recalling the words of his instructor during an escape and evasion course:

Time and distance are your friends, so run like hell to break free of the initial search radius.

He continued on, silently cursing.

Never thought I’d be using these skills in my own fucking backyard!

Cal tucked away his pistol then removed his leather jacket, pulling out the small drone lent to him by Vogel and shoving it in his back pocket. He hung the jacket off a tree branch, spreading out the arms. He