by Diane Saxon
If anything, Dominic had bought her time to study the men. She knew Strachan’s technique, had lived with it long enough. The other three appeared to be more muscle than brain. It shouldn’t take her long to dispose of them, especially the one who’d tucked his gun into his overly tight waist band. He’d have a struggle to get it out. She could leave him until last. She took a closer look at the dark-eyed one, hair slicked to his head, nerves bouncing from him. Emilio, the little shit. She’d known he was trash when she first set eyes on him. Strachan first, then him. He was too jittery by far.
She moved her attention to the young agent as he scrabbled through the papers, knocking several of them to the floor. He kneeled down to pick them up. Bloomsbury was going to be the first to get shot, poor guy. He was right in the line of fire. Strachan didn’t have the intelligence to take her out first. He’d take out the ones he thought could carry the tale back if they lived. Bloomsbury and Dominic.
Barbara’s gaze met Dominic’s over the top of the agent’s smart black suit.
It was his barely discernable squint that made her heart thunder in her chest. Shit, he was going for it. He was going to make a stand and get himself killed. He left her with no alternative.
The agent straightened from his kneeling position on the floor, his back to Strachan as he inadvertently blocked the other man’s target. Deep lines of confusion darkened Bloomsbury’s features as his gaze centered on her already drawn weapon.
“Hit the deck.” She made her command as firm as possible, but the agent never moved. Frozen to the spot. Before Strachan could get a fix on his target, Bloomsbury fumbled for his firearm while the sharp report of a bullet exploded the wooden doorframe above her head. Strachan always had been shockingly shit when it came to his aim. It might just save her life.
She raised her gun, fired, and watched the agent go down. Regret shimmered through her, but if he wouldn’t move, he was going to get a bullet in his back, which would have been far worse. He scrambled to grab at the bullet she’d just put in the fleshy part of his thigh as he slipped under the kitchen table. She may just have saved his life. Provided he stayed where he was. No time to check on Dominic as the agent disappeared from view. Barbara hit the floor, swiped up her backpack, and rolled with it into the hall, chancing a quick glance into the kitchen. If she could draw Strachan away, perhaps Dominic stood a chance.
She slammed the door as she went, but with nothing to wedge it closed, she took off down the hallway, throwing the strap of the bag she carried diagonally across her chest to keep her gun hand free.
She flung herself headlong into Dominic’s study with no other way to go. The door to the stairs that led to the lockdown unit was at the opposite end of the hall, and she’d not risk trying to get back past the kitchen again with the frenetic explosion of firepower reverberating through the facility. She should’ve run the other way, but she’d taken the easiest and quickest option. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, just a reactive move. She could always live in the hope the stupid bastards would all shoot each other. No fucking discipline. It was evident they weren’t United States Army.
Heart racing, she slammed the door, threw the bolt, and clasped the backpack to her chest as she routed through it. Breath soughing through her lungs, Barbara glanced around wildly. What the hell had happened to Dominic? She couldn’t remember seeing him after she’d shot Bloomsbury, but then, she’d been ever so slightly distracted. She still was, but focus came quick and natural.
There was only one exit, through the picture window into the side garden straight in view of the parked limousines. It would bring her out directly in front of the five armed men.
The sound of heavy footsteps vibrated down the hall toward the study, and Barbara rolled her shoulder out of the way of the door, prepared for them to simply blow it off its hinges.
In an explosion of glass and splinters of wood, the tightly tucked body of a man flew through the window, rolled across the floor, and came to his feet, face to face with her, his chest inches from hers. The dark quirk of his eyebrow brought a rush of disbelief.
Gun pressed to his forehead, she took barely a split second to recover, but indescribable relief weakened her knees. “I almost shot you.”
She removed the gun as Dominic’s smiling mouth captured hers in a desperate kiss. “I had every faith you wouldn’t. You keep telling me you know how to spot the bad guy.”
“How did you get past them?” She nodded at the limos and watched him shrug.
“I think they were having a little car trouble and were distracted by the blaring sound of their radios, lights flashing, and windshield wipers flipping back and forth.”
No time to ponder, she delved into the bag, drawing out a SIG and testing the weight. By the look of it, she needed a gun in each hand “Where’s Zak?”
An explosion shook the foundation of the house as three limousines simultaneously flew into the air in a raging torrent of flames.
“Would that be his calling card?”
As Dominic automatically dragged her to the floor, covering her body with his own, Barbara struggled to free her arms, shoving him away as she leaped to her feet and peered outside with the sound of gunshots threatening to take the study door off behind her.
Three men raced toward the decimated window, firing erratically at nothing in particular. With a sigh of disbelief, she raised her right arm and took aim. Fired. The first man jerked to a sudden stop, the front of his forehead disintegrated as he dropped to his knees and then face-planted the ground.
“Any thoughts on how to get out of here, Dominic? There’s a distinct possibility we’re sitting ducks.”
More splinters flew from the locked door, but the sharp blast of gunshot so close to her ear almost deafened her as another man hit the ground, and the third one rolled until he hid behind the protection of a tree trunk.
She tilted her head with an admiring glance at the professor as with a twitch of his eyebrows he lowered his gun from beside her head.
“Not bad, Professor. Not a kill shot, but he’s down.”
“I’m a little rusty.”
A gurgle of laughter escaped just as another barrage of shots rang out. “Can we please get the hell out of here?”
He raised his hand to knock the barrel of the gun on the side of a small bookcase, and it took a slow painful slide to one side, exposing a small hole in the wall. Dominic flicked his gun hand to indicate for her to crawl inside, and the dark fear of the small enclosed space grabbed her by the throat. If they holed up in there, there was no chance of defending themselves. She’d rather stand and fight than die hiding.
“After you.” Dominic insisted.
“I don’t think…”
Another crash burst out as someone applied their boot to the door.
“We don’t have time. It’s a passageway, it opens up inside pretty quick. In!”
With a sharp shove to the top of her head, he pushed her through the opening, making her stagger as she crouched as low as possible. Fear they’d left it too late engulfed her, but the slide of the bookcase back into place dulled the sound of gunfire and pitched them into dense darkness, broken only by Dominic’s husky voice.
“You can stand up. It’s the normal height of a room once you’re inside, it’s just really narrow.”
She paused, listened to the sound of her own breaths, and allowed her stomach to churn before she ruthlessly strapped the feeling down. She was a professional. She needed to act like one, and there was no room in her life for softheartedness.
He may not be the best shot in the world, but his calm control pervaded the depths of the darkness to envelope her in cool confidence. They were going to be fine.
She shuffled deeper into the small enclosure until she came to another panel in the wall. “Please don’t tell me I need to punch in a code.”
“No, just push the door. It takes you parallel to the hallway and brings you out right next to door to the lock down unit. If we can get in ther
e, we’ll be safe. Zak already called for back-up before he disappeared.”
He pushed through the panel, nudging Barbara along until the sound of it closing was rapidly followed by a sharp click and the whole passageway was flooded with pale golden light.
“I couldn’t risk switching the lights on before now. They may have spotted it from the study. Keep moving.”
Bright sunlight welcomed her as she squeezed her body through the small doorway and clambered out in front of the ceiling-to-floor window by the side of the door of the stairwell leading to the lockdown unit. She froze while she watched the men burst through into the study at the opposite end of the hallway and charge out of sight.
“Go.” Dominic’s urgency transferred itself, and she shot through the door and down the staircase, almost missing the steps as her feet moved so swiftly they skidded on the smooth stone surface.
She rounded the corner at the bottom, raced for the door at the end of the hall, threw herself at the electronic panel, and punched in the code.
Breath heaving, she charged through the heavy metal door, only to skid to an abrupt halt at the sight of Strachan, gun aimed straight at her heart. Thunder shook the room just as lightning struck a bolt through her right shoulder, searing its burning way down her arm. Numbness invaded her fingers, her muscles turned to jelly, and unable to resist the weakness that assaulted her body, she sank with watery knees onto the hard floor. She tilted her head to watch with fascination as her hand opened with no obvious command from her brain and the SIG dropped to the ground with a metallic clatter.
Stupid of her. She should have known Strachan would make for the lockdown and send his goons to chase them down the rabbit hole.
The power of Dominic’s body as he plowed into the back of her brought her crashing forward. He bowled over the top of her head, throwing her down to smash her forehead on the cold tiles where she lay, barely able to comprehend. She angled her head. Disbelief ripped through her, less at the knock than the sight of the gun she’d dropped skidding across the tiled floor to come to rest after a lazy rotation at Strachan’s feet.
With a pained groan, Dominic squirmed from his prone position half on top of her. His knee dug deep into the middle of her back, squeezing the last of her breath from her as he scrambled over the top of her head. His foot clipped her right shoulder on his way, sending a burning shaft of pain through her body to rob her of her ability to move.
Heat radiated from her shoulder, but as black clouds wallowed across her vision, Barbara forced herself to keep her eyes open, thankful Strachan was such a crap shot, or she’d already be dead. Defenseless, Barbara gazed up at him and knew the next shot would hit its mark. The likelihood was he’d probably take out Dominic first as he believed he’d already disarmed and incapacitated her. For her sins, they were both about to be punished.
Another wash of darkness invaded as she scraped her cheek across the icy tile and focused on Dominic’s position. With cold ruthlessness, she pushed back her own pain to make a quick assessment. Barely a few inches to her left in front of her, his leg stretched out so his foot almost touched her shoulder. For one brief moment she allowed herself a wry smile as he turned his face away from Strachan and met her gaze.
“Take him,” he mouthed with utter faith in her ability as the other man centered his attention on Dominic and raised his gun to take his shot.
Smooth as silk, she whipped her hand up Dominic’s trouser leg, relieved him of his lightweight Kruger, and brought it up in a continuous move, pulling the trigger the moment she focused on her target. The minute hole it left in Strachan’s forehead took a split second to bloom crimson, just as his brain took that long to register he was dead.
As Strachan’s body crumpled, Dominic swirled around and grabbed her, dragging her into his arms. The heat of his body soaked into the iciness of hers as he rocked her back and forth, pecking soft kisses across her forehead and along the length of her nose, all the time murmuring sweet nothings while she bled out all over him.
“Hang on, Barbara, help’s coming. Hold on baby. I love you.”
Barbara struggled to cling onto the thick Irish brogue as it swept over her, keeping the black clouds at bay. She fought to wrap her arms around him. The searing heat in her shoulder sapped her strength until she could do no more than stare vacantly at the blood streaming from under the cuff of her black sleeve. It coated the palm of her hand and dripped thick and viscous from her fingers to the tiled floor. She raised her head to offer some comfort, but darkness descended faster than she wanted, and there was simply no more fight left in her.
Chapter Twelve
Heaven provided the soft comfort of a warm bed and a strange electronic background buzz to jar her nerves and bring her out of her restful place. Bright strip lights tortured her with their dazzling brilliance. Damn, but she’d been drugged. She could feel the effect as it meandered through her veins.
A sharp pain stabbed through her shoulder and elicited a reluctant groan from her as she tried to roll over. She scrunched her eyes closed, and she breathed in shallow panting gasps as she tried to control the throbbing ache. There weren’t enough drugs available.
“Hi.”
Barbara blinked the man into focus, her brain taking a moment for recognition to slide through.
“Hi.”
She struggled to sit up for a short moment, and then gave up as the pain escalated to coax a pathetic whimper from her. “How come you’re up and about?” She couldn’t help the begrudging whine in her voice, but Agent Bloomsbury was sitting opposite her, looking quite comfortable in his expensive black suit, his neatly pressed white shirt, and severe black tie. A person would be hard pushed to notice he’d been injured if he was behind a desk rather than sitting in a wheelchair with his leg elevated. It gave her a small glimmer of satisfaction until she noted there was no gray tinge to his youthful skin. In fact he had the healthy complexion of someone who’d just been out in the fresh air. She glared at him from her supine position in the bed.
His cool green stare met hers. “Your shot was off. It was only a flesh wound.”
Resentful of his accusation, she raised an eyebrow at him. “My shot was not off. It’s never off. I saved your miserable life. If I’d wanted you dead, you would have been dead. You had no idea of the danger you were in. It was the only way to save you.”
His lips gave an ironic quirk as he relaxed back in his chair. “Captain Barbara Lynn Perry. You’re under arrest for shooting a federal officer and for the murder of a US Army officer and eight civilians.”
“You are kidding, right?”
His deadpan features showed no mercy as he carried on. “You’re also wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of fellow soldier Private Austin, together with the death of a woman and her three children while you were on duty and in uniform representing the United States Army.” He stared down at the paperwork on his knee. “These acts amount to treason.”
The rapid beat of her heart thrummed in the base of her neck and made it impossible to say another word. Bloomsbury continued to speak, his voice automatically reciting her rights as the buzz in her head escalated with the erratic beat of her pulse
How could it be? It had all been for nothing. No one would ever believe her.
She turned her head to stare out of the window at the gray cluster of clouds scudding across the washed-out sky. Weak and tired, she waited for Bloomsbury to finish and asked the only question she was interested in hearing the answer to. “What about Dominic?”
She rolled her head back, aware of the clinical crackle of the pillow as she settled deeper into it and met Bloomsbury’s cool green gaze.
“Professor Salter has already been questioned and cleared of any involvement. What he did has been considered an act of defense of his property, his life, and the life of his patient.”
“What about…” She clamped her mouth shut. Nobody had seen Zak. He hadn’t been in the kitchen when the agent arrived. She never saw him throu
ghout the whole episode, but she knew he’d been there. By her calculations, he’d killed the two limousine drivers and at least two others. He’d certainly blown the shit out of the limousines, one of which Bloomsbury had arrived in. She tried to do a head count, but her mind was hazy again. As the pain escalated, she clicked the little handheld device to deliver another dose of morphine. It wasn’t the pain relief she sought, but oblivion.
Chapter Thirteen
Goddamn. Six weeks. Six long weeks and not a single word from the heartless bastard. Like he could throw “I love you” at her and walk away. Dust off his long capable fingers as though she’d never existed in his world. For the past six weeks, she certainly hadn’t.
She’d been assigned a psychiatrist, Professor Whitby, a staid and serious man who never deigned to play video games with her or have a cup of tea. He merely relaxed in a stiff-backed chair while she lay on his therapy couch and went over and over every painful detail of her encounters with Strachan. Time and again, they hooked her up to a lie detector, and each time she passed the arduous tests. She answered the questions with brutal honesty. She had no more to hide, no reason to run. She had nothing.
Her shoulder had been slow to heal. Slow for her, when her patience was running thin. The doctors told her she’d been lucky. No bone was fractured, the bullet had embedded in soft tissue.
Lucky.
She stared out of the doorway, squinting at the bright sunlight bouncing back off the parking lot. She was required to wear the sling for another two weeks. Not do anything except the physiotherapy they had taught her, and reporting twice a week for follow-up therapy to a center nearest where she lived.
Lucky. Ha!
She whipped the sling from around her neck and dumped it in a trash can.
It could have been longer than six weeks. Dominic probably had no idea how much longer she could have been there, but she’d cooperated fully.
