Drake Sisters 03 - Oceans of Fire

close enough to hear.
    Aleksandr lay at the mouth of the barn, right beneath the burlap sack at the entrance, and studied the darker areas in the interior. He could see Mason Fredrickson, bound and gagged and thrashing to free himself almost directly ahead. It was a tempting sight. Get in, slash the man free, and get out. He smiled to himself. Surely Prakenskii had more respect for him. This was a juvenile plan. It had drawn him there, so it had worked . The thought came unbidden. He froze, his heart accelerating.
    It was an old ploy. The simplest of traps. A basic game of cat and mouse. Movement caught the eye and he wasn’t about to move. Jackson might be able to protect them outside the barn, but once inside, once he made his move to free Mason, Aleksandr was on his own. He lay in the entrance, belly down, breath barely moving through his lungs in complete silence, waiting. Time passed. Five minutes. Fifteen. A half an hour.
    Insects rustled the leave near his ear. The wind touched his face and he felt Abigail close to him. Why would Prakenskii go to so much trouble to bring him out to an old barn to rescue Mason Fredrickson?
    The question turned over and over in his mind with no concrete answer. But he waited, because in a game of cat and mouse the first one to move was dead.
    In the far corner, up in the rafters, there was a rustle of clothing. “You tied him too tight, he isn’t making enough noise.” The voice was American.
    “Shut up!” Aleksandr didn’t recognize the Russian. It wasn’t Prakenskii, but he knew where the killers were now.
    A frog croaked just outside the far corner of the barn and relief swept through him. Jonas was fully aware of the men with guns trained on Fredrickson. They desperately needed a distraction.

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    Immediately, on the wings of that thought, came the wind, not the light touch of earlier, but a rush that brought with it the scent of the sea and carried the faint far-off chant of female voices. Almost at once came an answer. An eerie rush of wings, high-pitched pulsing sounds, filled the air. Aleksandr allowed his gaze to sweep upward and saw the night sky filled with bats. Wings pumped as the bats wheeled and dived and flowed in a spiraling circle toward the barn. The air was heavy with the migration as more bats arrived, dancing in the air, darting at insects as they flew toward the barn.
    The frog croaked a friendly sort of greeting. It took a split second to register that the sound had come from above rather than on the ground. Jonas was in position on the sagging roof, directly over the two killers. From the edge of the tree line nearest the barn, the owl gave a soft inquiring hoot. Jackson had moved closer to them, abandoning his high position to give them more coverage for the rescue.
    The bats swarmed into the barn, using every crack in the boards, the gaping hole in the roof, and the opening around and under the burlap sack. Aleksandr rolled into the barn with them, straight across the floor to Mason Fredrickson.

Chapter 18
    THE bats filled the barn with the sheer weight of numbers, going high into the rafters, wings beating against the two gunmen sitting up in the beams. Chad Kingman dropped his weapon and grabbed the rotten wood, swaying precariously as the small furry bodies hit his chest and face. The Russian fought off the onslaught of bats, striking out with his hands blindly to get them away from him. His arm slammed into Chad, knocking him off the beam onto the dirt floor below. Chad hit hard, the breath slamming out of his lungs.
    Above them, Jonas leaned through a particularly large crack and shoved his gun hard against the Russian’s neck. “Drop your weapon,” he ordered. “This is the sheriff and you’re under arrest.”
    Aleksandr used his knife to slice through the ropes binding Mason Fredrickson. The man had been tied for so long his arms and legs were leaden. He tried to move but could only glare at Chad. Aleksandr peeled the duct tape from his mouth in one smooth motion. Mason yelped, his gaze furious as he stared at his longtime friend.
    Chad lunged for the gun that was only a few feet from where he lay. “I wouldn’t.” Jackson Deveau stood to one side of the door, his rifle trained on Chad. He stepped forward and kicked the gun out of the way, glancing toward Aleksandr, who had his arm back for the throw, his knife in position. “Not a smart move,