Hired to Kill (The Nathan McBride Series Book 7)

by Andrew Peterson

  Someone was firing a fully automatic Kalashnikov into this room full of people.

  He tried to deny it, but the truth slammed home.

  Some of the bullets had passed through his flesh and found Lauren.

  He hoped his body took most of the energy. If not, Lauren could be in a bad way. Until the shooting stopped, he wouldn’t be able to help her. He’d been shot in Korea, but he remembered it had hurt a whole lot worse than this.

  Another burst of fire blasted the room.

  He told Lauren to stop struggling and play dead, then yelled, “Get the MP5!”

  Stone wanted to claw his way over to get the weapon, but that meant leaving Lauren exposed, something he wouldn’t do.

  He didn’t have to.

  Jin launched herself toward the Secret Service agent like a base runner sliding headfirst into home plate.

  The overturned table prevented Stone from seeing the source of all the gunfire, but he could see people being shot where they sat. Their faces, chests, and arms exploded as if charges had been placed under their skin. He knew there had to be at least two gunmen, possibly three.

  Rage. It hit him like a Metro bus. He wanted to tear the gunmen apart with his bare hands, chew open their throats with his teeth. These savages were trying to kill him with no regard for Lauren or anyone else in the restaurant. Life meant nothing to them.

  He saw a flash of Mabel’s pink outfit as she bolted for the kitchen’s opening. He hoped she’d make it to safety but knew she didn’t have any guns back there.

  Lauren cried out again and screamed for her mom.

  “Don’t move!” he yelled over the gunfire. “Play dead!”

  “Grandpa, I think I’m bleeding!”

  “Play dead, Lauren. Don’t move.”

  After a brief moment of silence, more automatic fire erupted.

  He watched in horror as people on the ground were systematically targeted and shot again. Drawing all the strength he had, he pulled her closer.

  “Keep breathing, Lauren. Hold still and play dead. Your mom’s fighting back.”

  Hurry, Jin. Hurry!

  Both of Jin’s elbows flared with pain when she landed.

  Everything hinged on coming to a stop at the right place. If she fell short, she’d die. And likely, Lauren along with her.

  Sliding headfirst across the floor, she extended her hands toward the MP5.

  And ended up eye to eye with the Secret Service agent. His grimace of pain told all.

  “I’m Stone’s daughter.”

  “Kill the . . . bastards.”

  “Count on it.”

  A woman holding her abdomen with both hands ran directly toward her.

  Where’s she going? The door’s the other direction.

  The woman tripped over something, went sprawling, and cracked her chin on the floor. Her lips moved, but only blood emerged.

  After a brief pause for the gunmen to reload, the nightmare began again, but the resulting bedlam actually worked in her favor.

  Because of all the overturned tables and chairs, she couldn’t see the rear wall of the diner, which meant the gunmen couldn’t see her. She stole a quick look over the top of the slain woman and saw something from the lowest depths of hell. The gunmen were advancing, sending short bursts into the torsos of wounded people attempting to crawl away.

  Her hands closed around the MP5 just as a man in a business suit tumbled toward her, his white shirt dyed with blood.

  Scenes from her life didn’t flash before her eyes.

  She didn’t reflect on regrets.

  And she certainly didn’t waver.

  Jin Marchand flipped a mental switch and became an efficient killing machine.

  A glance at the MP5’s firing switch confirmed it was set to three-round-burst mode. Jin was no stranger to this weapon and knew how to maximize its deadly design. Knowing it wouldn’t climb much, she came up on one knee, aimed center mass at the closest gunman, and pulled the trigger.

  The discharge slammed her ears, but the trio of slugs found the man’s chest.

  She had the satisfaction of seeing him transformed from a deadly adversary into a rag doll.

  She hammered the other gunman before he could react and line up on her.

  For good measure, she sent another burst into each of them as they crumpled to the floor.

  The last gunman—whom she’d first seen lurking under the restroom sign—kicked his table over and ducked behind its square form. She fired at its surface and watched three holes appear in a diagonal line.

  Again, she detected motion in the hall and sent a burst in that direction. She felt confident anyone who wasn’t part of this attack wouldn’t be moving around back there. They’d be on the ground cowering, hiding in the restroom, out the back door, or dead.

  Spooked from the shots blasting through the overturned table, the third gunman dived to his right and used his fallen comrades for cover. Jin kept pounding the downed murderers in an attempt to keep the shooter pinned. Problem was, she’d be out of ammo soon. She’d already blown through half the magazine.

  Something brushed past her foot, and she looked down to see a fresh mag being pushed toward her. Because it might be the last thing he ever did, she wanted to thank the Secret Service agent, but there wasn’t time. Pulling the trigger as fast as she could, she emptied the mag, purposely sending a few bursts high to make broken picture frame glass and wood splinters rain on the third gunman. With a little luck, he might get shards in his eyes.

  She ejected the empty mag, slammed the new one home, and cycled the bolt.

  What she saw next looked like something out of a horror movie. The floor of the diner writhed like a bed of worms, bloody people in the process of dying or trying to crawl away.

  Keep fighting, Jin. This isn’t over.

  She didn’t have a clear shot at the third gunman, who still hid behind his dead comrades.

  “Mom!”

  “Don’t move, Lauren. Stay down!”

  She rolled to the right for a clear line of sight to her daughter.

  Huddled behind the overturned table, Stone still had her protectively clutched in his arms. Her father’s wounds looked serious, but she didn’t have time to help him right now.

  “I’ve got her,” he said. “Go!”

  Go? He couldn’t be saying she should leave. No, he meant, Go, as in, Get going and kill these murderous animals.

  Suddenly, the last gunman raised his weapon over his fallen friends and sprayed the room again. Fortunately, all his rounds went high. More glass fell in sheets along the diner’s storefront.

  Time to end this insanity.

  When the salvo ended, she jumped to her feet, sent two bursts into the human sandbags, and charged the gunman’s position.

  Jin knew another barrage was seconds away. From what she’d witnessed, these guys were fast at reloading their weapons.

  To keep the gunman down, she fired twice more, drubbing the dead bodies.

  In three more strides, she’d have a line of fire.

  Either the gunman would be dead in the next two seconds, or she would.

  She took in her opponent’s shocked expression at seeing a woman charging forward with a machine pistol. She’d counted on the guy not believing anyone would do such a reckless thing. Terrorists never expected anyone to fight back. Most people either froze or fled.

  Not Jin Marchand.

  Welcome to my world.

  In his awkward prone position, the killer must’ve realized he’d never bring his weapon to bear in time. He clenched his teeth and snarled in pure hatred.

  The clunk sound of a door from the end of the hallway changed her strategy. Crap, she wanted this guy alive—how else could she learn who’d sent the assassins?—but someone new had just entered this fight . . . or left it. From her current position, she couldn’t see straight down the hall.

  No time to debate it.

  She pointed the MP5 at the man’s face and pulled the trigger.


  Three slugs cleaved through the bridge of his nose and exploded out the back of his head. As if shocked by electricity, the guy’s body went stiff, but his furious expression stayed. She hoped he’d carry it through eternity in the underworld.

  After a final glance around the blood-spattered diner, she ran for the hallway.

  Stone felt something smash the back of his head hard enough to shatter teeth. Something? Don’t you mean a bullet? The fact that he could ask the questions meant his brain hadn’t been scrambled. He located the broken pieces of teeth with his tongue and spit them out. Fighting the onslaught of unconsciousness, he kept a firm grip on Lauren as a white haze coated his mind.

  No matter what, he had to keep her from getting up. If she tried to run, she’d be murdered.

  More gunfire rang out, but it sounded different. Three-round bursts. The reports were so fast, they almost sounded like single shots.

  Jin.

  She’d grabbed Jason’s MP5 and was shooting back.

  All of a sudden, the diner fell eerily silent.

  “Don’t move, Lauren. Play dead.”

  “Grandpa, am I going to die?” she whispered.

  “No, you’re not going to die. You’re going to have . . . beautiful children someday.”

  “My side and arm really hurt.”

  “Shh. Keep breathing and don’t move. Help will be here soon.”

  “I’m really scared.”

  “I love you, Lauren. I wish . . . I could’ve been . . . a bigger part of your life. Tell your mom . . . I love her.”

  “Grandpa?”

  “Nathan . . . tell him I’ve always been . . . proud of him.” Awareness began to fade, and with it, his life. He hoped Lauren would never forget what he said next. “Your mom loves you . . . It’s . . . it’s just hard for her to—”

  “Grandpa!”

  He tried to fight the feeling of slipping away but knew he’d lost the battle.

  Stone McBride had no complaints. He’d lived a full and rich life, seen and done wondrous things.

  Not a bad way to go. Hugging my granddaughter . . .

  Not a bad way at all.

  Jin crouched at the opening of the hall leading to the rear exit and peered around the corner.

  An empty corridor greeted her.

  She rushed down the hall and was about to burst into the men’s room to clear it when she saw two important things. Droplets of blood on the floor and duct tape covering the door’s latch bolt. Someone—likely one of the gunmen—wanted to ensure the door remained unlocked. Right now, the door could be pulled open from the outside without any noise or resistance.

  “Not good,” she whispered. The killer—or killers—outside could reenter at any second.

  The blood meant she might’ve winged one of them when she’d fired blindly into the hallway. Jin liked her odds better when facing a wounded man.

  Decision time. Should she take a look? If anyone guarded the door, they’d see it move, and she might find herself on the business end of an AK again.

  Right now, her daughter needed a tourniquet applied to her arm. The amount of blood she’d seen meant a clipped or severed artery. She also didn’t like Stone’s chances at surviving the next few minutes. His shirt had been completely soaked.

  The heavy dead bolt above the door’s emergency exit bar sealed her decision. She slid it to the locked position, being careful to avoid making noise. If anyone tried to muscle through this door, she’d hear it.

  On her way back to the dining room, she quickly cleared both bathrooms, then raced back to the table sheltering Lauren and her father—who wasn’t breathing. Gone, she knew.

  Oh, dear Lord. Too much blood.

  Using her good arm, Lauren clutched the left side of her rib cage. “Mom, I think I got shot.”

  She put on her best strong-mom face. “I see it, and you’re going to be okay.” She lifted Lauren’s shirt and saw an entry and exit wound about fifteen centimeters apart. The bullet had grazed her rib cage but hadn’t hit any vital organs. A serious wound for sure, but not life-threatening.

  Of more concern, two angry-looking holes marred both sides of Lauren’s bicep where blood flowed freely.

  “Can you help Grandpa?”

  “I’m sorry, baby. He’s gone.” She’d been tempted to lie, but Lauren deserved the respect of hearing the truth.

  “Grandpa’s dead?”

  “Yes.”

  Lauren’s face contorted.

  “I’m going to tie your arm to stop the bleeding.” Aware of passing time, Jin worked at maximum speed. She grabbed a cloth napkin and rolled it into a rope shape. After tying it as tightly as she could above the wound, she picked up a spoon from the floor, forced it under the napkin, and gave it a full turn to tighten the tourniquet.

  “Hold this spoon in place and don’t let go, okay?”

  “Mom, that hurts . . .”

  “Don’t take it off no matter how much it hurts, okay? This is important. Don’t let go until help arrives.”

  “I won’t.” Lauren’s eyes swept past her to an approaching figure.

  Jin grabbed the MP5 from the floor and whipped around. “Mabel! I nearly shot you!”

  “I called 911.”

  “Hold this spoon,” Jin said.

  Mabel crouched down. “I couldn’t believe how fast you were.”

  “You saw it?”

  “Everything.”

  “I was motivated.” She reached across Lauren and plucked a pen from a dead man’s breast pocket. Next, she glanced at her watch, then wrote the current time on Lauren’s skin above the tourniquet: 1:37.

  There was so much blood in here . . . Making things worse, there were many wounded who needed immediate medical care. Jin wanted to feel more emotion but wouldn’t allow it. She’d learned long ago to suppress her feelings, as it meant the difference between survival and death. Her stint in the prison labor camp hadn’t been solely for manual labor. Multiple guards, often all at once, did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. She’d disconnected her soul during the worst of it, as she had to do right now.

  The choice she faced felt agonizing: remain here with Lauren and the others and tend to their wounds, or try to catch the remaining shooter and find out who planned and ordered this murderous savagery.

  Jin had learned one thing from her years in the DPRK: when threatened, you don’t run; instead, you neutralize the threat. Given what had just happened, she saw little choice but to chase down the remaining shooter.

  She looked to Mabel, then inclined her head toward her daughter. The diner’s owner offered a single grim-faced nod of silent understanding. Mabel would watch over Lauren until the first responders arrived.

  Jin hated her decision, what she had to do. Hated it more than anything in the world.

  With a bloody hand, she touched Lauren’s cheek. “An ambulance is only a minute or two away.”

  “Mom?”

  She looked at Mabel again. “I need you to keep holding this spoon and put pressure on her rib cage.” Jin folded a napkin into a square and pressed it over Lauren’s wound.

  “I will,” said Mabel.

  “Lauren, I have to find out who attacked us, or we’ll never be safe again.”

  What her daughter said made her openly weep.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I understand why you have to go. Grandpa said you love me.”

  “I do love you, more than anything.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  “What’s beyond the back door?”

  “An alley,” said Mabel.

  Damn it. She had to go.

  Now.

  CHAPTER 13

  Wiping away tears, Jin searched the Secret Service agent for additional ammo and found two more magazines. She stuffed them into her rear jeans pocket.

  “You died a hero,” she said softly.

  She had one more thing to do before leaving.

  Photos.

  She wiped Lauren’s blood—Lauren’s blood!—on
her pants. Stop it. Stay focused.

  A quick frisk of the three gunmen revealed no wallets. No surprises there.

  She pulled her phone, grabbed a handful of hair, and twisted the first killer’s head so she could snap a photo of his face. The lighting wasn’t ideal, but her iPhone worked well. She did the same thing with the other gunmen. They all looked Middle Eastern, with something else mixed in. Caucasian? Had the gunmen been Korean, they would’ve been tasked with killing her, not her father. For now, this looked like an assassination attempt against Stone, not a random terror attack. Her father had long been a leader in the battle against terrorism, both at home and abroad. No doubt he had countless enemies who wanted him dead.

  She forced the image of her bloodstained hands into a mental locker. There was no margin for distraction right now, especially with not knowing what waited on the other side of the rear door. It could be an empty alley or full of men with Kalashnikovs ready to mow her down.

  Only one way to find out.

  She hurried down the corridor, left the dead bolt engaged, and pressed an ear against the door.

  She heard nothing but the muffled wail of a police or fire siren—a reminder she was out of time.

  The door appeared to be metal clad, but she doubted it would stop 7.62-millimeter rounds.

  On the way to unlock the dead bolt, her hand froze.

  Someone just tried to come through.

  The dead bolt made a barely audible sound when the door shuddered.

  She flattened herself against the wall and waited. Predictably, the person on the other side tried again and got the same result.

  What happened next made her skin tighten.

  Someone knocked. Three times.

  Rap, rap, rap.

  Who would knock on a door leading into a place where a mass slaughter had occurred? Add to that, there had to be fresh blood drops on the ground outside.

  She considered shooting through the door, but her nine-millimeter rounds might not penetrate, and she didn’t know with 100 percent certainty who was out there.

  She backed away, leveled the MP5, and waited for the door to be forced open.

  Nothing happened.

  She felt like an idiot when she remembered the door opened toward the outside. It couldn’t be kicked in without heavy breaching equipment.