Chapter 6 - Setting the TrapHeavy boots pounded against the hallway floor outside the study doors. The muffled sound of groaning wood signaled that the outer locks were being forced with a hydraulic battering ram.
"They're at the door!" Dimitri raised his Glock, positioning himself beside the frame.
"Hold your fire, you idiot!" Lara hissed, lunging forward and slapping his gun barrel down. "If you shoot through the door, they'll throw flashbangs. You want to cook us both?"
"Then what do you suggest? Open the door and offer them tea?"
"I suggest we use your expensive decorations," Lara said with a shark-like grin.
In seconds, she was moving with terrifying efficiency. She grabbed heavy crystal decanters of aged scotch from the sideboard, smashing them across the hardwood floor just inside the threshold, creating a slick, highly flammable puddle. She stripped the linen tablecloth off the dining table, soaking it in high-proof alcohol, and rigged a tripwire using a heavy bronze curtain cord tied to the heavy brass door handle.
"Tsar! Heel, quiet!" she commanded in a sharp, authoritative tone. The massive dog obeyed instantly, melting into the deep shadows beneath the grand piano on the far side of the room.
Dimitri watched her in awe. This wasn't a nurse. This was a tactical commander operating in her element, turning a death trap into an execution chamber.
CRACK!
The heavy oak doors exploded inward, splintering wood flying across the room as three heavily armored men in tactical gear swarmed through the threshold, weapons raised.
The lead operative stepped directly onto the scotch-soaked floorboards—and his boots shot out from under him.
As he tumbled backward, his tactical vest snagged the bronze tripwire.
SNAP.
The tripwire triggered a heavy silver candelabra rigged with a lit taper candle to fall directly onto the alcohol-soaked floor.
WHOOSH!
A wall of brilliant, intense blue-and-orange flames erupted across the entranceway, trapping the three operatives in a wall of fire. Before they could scream, Lara moved like a ghost. She crossed the room with a heavy marble bookend in hand, striking the lead operative across his helmet with bone-crushing force, sending him crumpling unconscious into the flames.
The second operative swung his rifle toward her, but before his finger could squeeze the trigger, a streak of white lightning launched from beneath the piano.
Tsar hit the second operative like a freight train, sinking his powerful jaws into the man's reinforced tactical shoulder guard and slamming him violently against the stone fireplace.
"Clear!" Lara called out, not missing a beat.
May you like
Dimitri lowered his Glock, staring at the blazing entranceway and the two neutralized mercenaries groaning on the floor. He looked at Lara, her face smudged with soot, her eyes burning with adrenaline.
"Remind me," Dimitri said, breathing heavily, "never to piss you off."
