“Good luck, boss.” Hunter didn’t wait for a reply. The line went dead.
He wrapped his arms around the woman who’d come to mean everything to him. “We’ve got to get out of here, bébé. The super jet leaves from La Paz International in an hour.” Time was tight if they wanted to make that flight. And he very much wanted to make it.
“When I get to New York, Enforcement will kill me. I die here, or I die there, what’s the difference?”
“No.” He clasped her chin and angled her face up to him. “No. We’ll assemble an army. We’ll protect you. They don’t know we’re coming back. They don’t know you’ll be at the clinic. But we’ll be ready if they find out. I’ll keep you safe. I swear this to you. I swear it.”
Her eyes went liquid as she buried her face in his chest and clung to him.
“Come on,” his voice was soft. “We need to leave now.”
She nodded against him before stepping back. Together they turned toward the door that led back into the building—and froze.
A man stood in their way, blocking their only exit off the roof. He smiled at them. The cold, dead smile of a killer. Friday began to shake and took a step closer to Striker, looking for protection, which he readily gave. There was no need for introductions. They knew exactly who had come for them. He was the bogeyman of the Northern Territory. Miriam Shepherd’s pet psychopath—Kane Duggan.
Friday’s hand curled into the waistband of his jeans as Striker scanned the roof, looking for an out. He felt her shake, knew she was terrified, but she didn’t make a sound.
More men came out of the stairwell behind Kane. They were all dressed in black. All wore military boots. All carried weapons. They spread out, forming a barrier in front of the door.
Every man present held a gun in his hand—including Striker, who’d removed his from the holster on his thigh as soon as he’d turned toward the door. And although there was firepower aplenty, no one took a shot. There was only one reason for the lack of gunfire—Kane wanted Friday alive.
“Bébé,” he barely whispered. “Hold on tight and run when I say.”
He felt her nod against his back.
“Surrender,” Kane’s voice rang out. “Give me the woman, and you can walk out of here alive.” He inclined his head, the gesture of a benevolent dictator. “In pain, but alive.”
Friday’s trembling increased. He reached back and wrapped a hand around her wrist, holding her tight as he waited for their moment. He could only see one way out of this, and they would have only one chance to make it work.
“You want money?” Kane spread out his hands. “I can give you money. Whatever the bitch paid, I’ll triple. You’re a smuggler, Striker. Not a fighter. Take the fee and walk away. She’s dead, anyway.”
A strangled sound of distress came from behind him, and Striker flexed his hold on Friday’s wrist, trying to reassure her that she was his priority. Kane could offer all the riches in the world, and he would never walk away from her.
Never.
Kane made a tiny gesture with his right hand, and the eight-man team spread out. Slowly hemming them in. Their time was up.
He squeezed her wrist. “We’re running left in three,” he whispered. “One, two, three!”
He shot at the generator above Kane’s head. It exploded in a shower of sparks. It was barely more than a distraction, but it bought them the time to run. And run they did. Straight to the edge of the roof, over the ledge, and into the night.
Chapter Thirty-One
They were flying. Friday screamed, but it came out as a squeak. They’d ran straight off the hotel roof. Ten floors up. Into nothing. A few seconds later they landed with a thud on the roof of the building beside them. Her knees jolted on impact, sending pain spearing through her. There was no time to process—they had to keep moving. They had to get away from CommTECH’s enforcer.
“Run!” Striker hadn’t let go of her wrist, even during their jump. He tugged her to her feet, dragging her along with him as he ran.
They didn’t look back, heading straight at the door to the interior stairs. Striker shot out the lock before he hit the door hard. It gave way with a crash, swinging inward to hit the wall. They took the stairs two at a time, moving fast enough for her to worry she’d trip and get them killed. They were being chased. Kane and his men had followed them.
They barreled through the first door they came to and discovered they were in an office block. Small rooms. Cubicles. An elevator. They raced toward it. Striker hit the button as he shoved her behind him, aiming his gun back down the corridor, protecting her. There was nothing she could do to help, other than stare at the lift doors, willing them to open.
The bell on the elevator sounded its arrival as their pursuers rushed into the corridor.
Striker pushed her into the lift. “Close the doors,” he ordered.
She frantically pressed the button, glad the elevator was too old to use biolocks, which meant anyone could work it. The doors began to close. So, so slowly.
“Striker!” She reached for him, afraid he wouldn’t make it in before the doors slammed shut.
He fired off several rounds before throwing himself through the closing gap. Her hands curled into the cotton of his T-shirt as she shook violently. He was a calm, confident port in a terrifying storm.
“Don’t worry, bébé.” He hit the button for the first floor and then the emergency override button, which meant they wouldn’t stop until they got there. “I’ll get us out of this.” There was absolute conviction in his voice.
“Someone will be waiting for us at the bottom.” It would be all too easy for some of Kane’s men to backtrack through the hotel building to cut them off.
“I know.” He flashed her a reassuring smile before he jumped up and pushed the panel in the ceiling, flipping it open. “Up you go.”
Before her brain caught up with his actions, she was through the space and clinging to the top of the lift as they plummeted downward. He followed, slamming the panel closed behind him.
He wrapped an arm around her as he stood, taking her with him. “You aren’t gonna like this next bit. Don’t scream.”
There was no time to figure out his intention. One second, he was staring at the walls as they flashed past. The next, he jumped, taking her with him. Friday opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Fear had stolen her voice.
They landed feet first on the narrow ledge outside another set of lift doors. There was nothing to hold onto. Nothing to keep her on the ledge. She wavered. Her foot slipped. And she fell. Her stomach hit the edge of the ledge, and she grabbed Striker’s ankle. Pure, unadulterated adrenaline swept through her, making her feel like everything happened in slow motion.
She dangled over the shaft, her free hand clawing at the ledge, her other hand biting into Striker’s leg, clinging to him, desperate. Terror kept her silent, her focus on staying alive.
A hand wrapped around her upper arm. Muscles flexed, and Striker pulled her up beside him. There would be bruises where he’d grasped her, and she’d be grateful for every one of them.
“I could kiss you right now,” she whispered as her body shook.
“Hold that thought.” He transferred her hand to a recessed handle beside the doors. “Grip this while I open the doors. Don’t move an inch.”
That would be hard considering she was shaking so much. With a white-knuckle grip on the narrow handle, she watched him produce a multipurpose tool from his daypack. He unscrewed a panel to manipulate the wiring inside. A second later, the doors slid open, and they tumbled through. They were on the fifth floor. As the elevator doors closed behind them, Friday fought the urge to throw herself into Striker’s arms. She wanted him to hold her until she stopped shaking, if that was even possible. But there wasn’t time. Kane and his men were still looking for them.
“Come on. I need to see where we are.”
They ran for the window at the end of the corridor. Buildings from this era had been built clos
e together, with architectural details that no longer served a purpose, like the narrow Spanish style balcony outside the window.
“We’re goin’ out.” He used his multi-tool to short-circuit the lock on the window before throwing it open.
They climbed out onto the old wooden balcony, and Striker sealed the window after them. In the street below, emergency services worked on the buildings damaged during the clinic blast. Lights flashed. People shouted. Smoke filled each breath. Friday swallowed it down, fearful she’d cough and attract attention. The buildings were so close together that there was only an inch between theirs and the one next door. A balcony jutted out above them on the neighboring building.
“If I stand on the rail, I can jump up to that balcony. Then I can pull you up.”
She glanced down. The ground was awfully far away. What if they slipped? Fell? She kept her lips sealed. If there had been another option, he would have given it to her.
As he took a step toward their balcony rail, her hand shot out, fingers holding him hard. “Be safe. Please. Don’t sacrifice yourself for me. I’m not worth it.”
“Bébé.” There was a wealth of emotion in that one word, all of it meant for her.
She found herself blinking back tears as he clasped her nape and pulled her in for a quick, hard kiss.
“You’re worth it,” he whispered against her lips. “Never think otherwise. You. Are. Worth. It.”
With one last squeeze, he released her and climbed up to stand on the rail of their balcony. She held her breath as he bent his knees and sprang upward, gripping the base of the balcony above them with both hands. Biceps flexing, he pulled himself up. He made it look effortless, jumping between balconies five floors up with nothing beneath them to break his fall.
He fumbled with his pack before lying flat on his stomach. One end of a rope fell down to her.
“Wrap it around your waist. Tie it real good, chère. Then climb up to stand on the rail, and I’ll pull you up.”
She was about to follow his orders, but suddenly hesitated, her hand still on the rope. What was she doing? Risking his life to save hers? No matter what he said, she wasn’t worth it. Especially not now, when it was too late to get to the antidote anyway. Her time was up. Kane was seconds away from finding them, and even if they did manage to escape and make it to New York, Enforcement would be waiting for them.
She had to face facts. She was dead already. The question was, did she want to take Striker with her when she went? She didn’t even have to think about the answer. She didn’t want him to die, sacrificed for her. She wanted to save him. He was more important than she would ever be. He was everything to her. He was…
She looked up into his gorgeous face, filled with worry. Over her. And it hit her.
He was the man she loved.
Desperately. Completely. Loved.
And she couldn’t let Kane get his hands on him.
“Don’t do it.” It was the order of a commander, an urgent hiss, filled with pain and anger. “Don’t you even think about doin’ it. We’re getting out of here. Together. You an’ me. We’ve got a flight to catch. Don’ you dare walk away. You hear me? Don’ you dare.”
Her heart ripped in two. The pain made her stumble. But she couldn’t take him down with her. Her eyesight blurred, and she blinked hard to clear it. With a tiny moan, she released the rope and stepped back.
“No!” The fury in his word made her shake. Not from fear. From pain.
She fought to get the words out through her tightening throat. “This is for the best. You’re in danger with me. We both know we’ll never make it to New York in time, not now. Not with Kane at our heels. And even if we did make it, Enforcement would kill us both. This way, you live.”
“No.” He sprang to his feet. His hands on the rail, ready to jump.
“Don’t,” she snapped the word at him. “This is just a job. I hired you to get me to La Paz, and we’re here. Your job is done. Go home.” Her stomach roiled with the lies.
His eye turned black. “Fuck that.”
His arms tensed, ready to swing his legs up and over the rail, and then he froze. His body shook. His eye rolled back, and he collapsed into a heap on the balcony floor. Friday screamed. She scrambled onto the rail, desperate to get to the man she loved, Desperate to help him, somehow. An arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back against a hard, immovable body. She kicked and punched and fought, shouting for freedom, begging for Striker’s safety.
A man’s face appeared on the balcony above her, the one where Striker lay motionless. “What do you want to do with him, Boss?”
“Bring him along.” Kane Duggan’s arm tightened around her.
All she could do was watch helplessly as the other man hefted Striker’s limp body over his shoulder. He wasn’t unconscious. The neural stun gun had rendered him temporarily immobile. His unpatched eye was open. It stared at her with equal measures of fear and fury. She turned her head in shame, blinking away useless tears. This was all her fault. All of it. She should have given up on life in Houston and let the poison take her. She shouldn’t have tried to find the antidote. No one would have missed her. No one would have mourned. And now, because she’d been selfish, Striker’s life was on the line. More than his life—his secrets, and the secrets of his team, were on the line. Because of her, his unique DNA was in the hands of CommTECH.
She erupted with the injustice of it all. “Leave him alone. Put him down. He’s got nothing to do with this. Nothing. I only hired him to bring me here. You don’t need to take him. Leave him!” She kicked back at Kane’s shins as she dug her nails into his arms. Panic was a ferocious beast, eating her alive from the inside out. Kane had to understand that Striker had nothing to do with her. He had to let the man she loved go free.
“You’re more fun than I thought you would be, little girl,” Kane said against her ear. “Now, for every kick you give me, I’ll make sure my associate kicks your smuggler.”
She went still in his hold.
“I knew we’d reach an understanding.” With a cold, hard laugh, he climbed through the window, back into the building, taking her with him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Last Stop Bar
Munroe, Texas
No matter what time Mace walked into the Last Stop Bar, day or night, it was always filled with desperate losers trying to drink away their existence. Some days, he felt like he fit right in.
“I hate this place,” Sandi said as she strode beside him. “Reminds me of all the times I pulled my mom out of shitholes just like it.” Her face didn’t show any of the disgust Mace knew she felt. “I say we just shoot the traitor and be done with it.”
“Can’t.” The crowd parted for Mace. Mainly because he was huge and built of solid muscle, but partly because there was murder in his eyes. “We need to know what information he sold.”
“Then I can kill him?” Her tone held death.
“Then you can kill him.” One betrayal in a lifetime was more than enough and they hadn’t been able to exact retribution that time. This time, they could.
“This kills me. He was supposed to be our friend.” She faked a pout. “I need one of those Cosmo articles—Ten Steps to Help You Deal with Trust Issues. Otherwise how am I ever gonna meet a man and fall in love?”
“Cosmo doesn’t exist anymore, baby sis. You’re on your own.”
There wasn’t a romantic bone in his foster sister’s body. He was more romantic than Sandi, and that in itself said everything. She pouted again, but the humor fell flat. There was no getting past their reason for being in the Last Stop.
“He’s at the end of the bar.” Mace spotted their prey.
“Oh, to be unnaturally tall and able to see over crowds.”
They stalked through the room, aiming straight for the end of the bar. The owner spotted them and gave them a chin lift in acknowledgment.
Glen handed a beer to a local miner.
“Got a minute?” Mace said.
>
“Back room.” Glen nodded toward it.
They followed the owner into the corridor that led to the back of the building, cold, stark rage driving Mace. He reined it in. He needed a clear head. There were questions that had to be answered. He flexed his hand, his knuckles bruised from his last round of questioning. The guy who’d known about “the Broker.” The guy who’d known who’d sold them out. The guy who’d named Glen.
The office was spacious, but sparsely decorated and furnished with items that had seen better days. Whatever Glen was doing with the money he made selling information, it wasn’t going into the bar.
The big, ex-military man walked into the room—confident in his safety, certain his double life remained well hidden. He waved them in, closing the door behind them. As soon as he turned, Mace was on him. He grabbed Glen’s nape, holding tight while he pummeled his stomach. His blows were powerful. One would have been enough to disable their betrayer. Anger drove him to deliver more.
Glen doubled, groaning, unable to fight back. Mace dragged him to the desk and threw him into his chair. Sandi had his wrists and ankles strapped down within seconds. Side by side, the adopted siblings stared down at their betrayer.
“We know all about your extra-curricular activities, Glen.” Mace didn’t try to hide his disgust.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words were strained.
Mace glanced at Sandi. “Door.”
She nodded and wedged a chair under the handle. She’d already blocked all transmissions from the room, visual or otherwise, using the jammer she’d brought with her. Nobody would come to Glen’s rescue.
“We know you’re the Broker. You’ve been sloppy. Too many people know your identity.”
“And BTW,” Sandi added, “your cover name is lame. It sounds like something straight out of a third-rate comic book.”
Mace frowned at his sister. “Not helping.”
She shrugged, clearly already done with Glen. She wanted it over. She wanted him gone.
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