by Lila Dubois
A corner of Irina’s mind had been dispassionately processing and observing everything that was happening around them while she worked to master her emotions. That same unemotional corner of her mind was now sending up red flags.
“Jasper.” His name passed her lips like a bullet fired from a gun.
He went dead still. “What?”
“Your phone. You turned it off, right?”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” she echoed. “Because if you leave it on, it can be tracked. I turned mine off before we left the warehouse, and I have an untraceable phone.”
“Same.”
Irina turned to face him, her already-knotted stomach starting to fall. “Did either of us make sure Eli turned his off?”
Tires screeched.
Irina whipped around in time to see a black panel van rock to a halt in front of Eli, who’d finally reached the end of the massive parking lot. He’d stepped over a low wall onto the sidewalk. Even from this distance, she could see the dot of light that was his phone screen. He must have pulled out his phone to call for a cab.
“Eli!” she screamed. “Run!”
Jasper took off at a run. Irina, still in her heels, started to follow, but stopped herself. Act, don’t react, was the motto of security. Reacting meant you had no power. Acting meant control.
The side door of the van slid open and three people jumped out. Eli stumbled back a step, but it was already too late.
His attackers, clad in black, surrounded him. There was a small tussle. Eli held his ground, his physical size his best defense. An arm arched toward his neck.
Irina lost sight of the fight for a moment as she jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed the car into reverse.
Three against one was nearly impossible odds, and when Irina could once more see what was happening, Eli was being pulled and shoved into the van. He wasn’t fighting back—his head lolled forward.
Jasper was only halfway to the street when the door slammed closed and the van squealed away. He kept running, craning his neck to keep sight of the van.
Irina slowed, barely, as she pulled up alongside Jasper.
He jumped in. “Go!”
Chapter Seven
“Which way?”
“Left.”
Tires squealed. Irina wished she were in one of the black sedans her company used when handling protection details, instead of the top-heavy SUV. She had a funny feeling she’d taken that curve on two wheels instead of four.
“There. Make a right.” Jasper was leaning against the passenger window, tracking the car. “When we catch up—”
“I’m taking the lead.” Irina’s tone was harsher than she’d intended. “This is what I do. I’m perfectly aware that I’m the main reason everything went wrong back at the warehouse. If I hadn’t forced Eli to stay hidden, if I hadn’t been the distraction—”
“It’s on me, not you,” Jasper countered. “I romanticized the idea of having a team. And I underestimated what we were up against.”
The kidnappers must have cut the power to the car’s rear lights, because even when the van braked there were no red brake lights, let alone running lights. But they’d made a mistake. The small bulb illuminating their license plate was still on. It wasn’t much to follow, but it was something. Irina sped into a turn. Every time she lost sight of the van, she was sure that was it, that they’d lost Eli forever.
“We’ll get him back,” Irina said, mostly to herself.
“Yes. And then we’ll seduce him until he forgets all about leaving us.” Jasper added a comical leer to his tone.
That startled a laugh out of Irina. That was what she’d needed. If fear was crippling, dry humor was like a shot of adrenaline. She grinned at Jasper, adjusted her grip on the wheel, and floored it.
“Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant.” Jasper braced one arm against the dash.
“Don’t lock your elbow like that. It’ll break.” Irina turned off the headlights.
“Uh, why would it—”
The van slowed to turn right—under the freeway—as the access road dead-ended.
Irina did not brake. She cut to the inside of the van’s turn, and clipped the quarter panel in a modified PIT maneuver. The van spun, the rear tires squealing as they were forced sideways. Irina yanked the SUV into a turn. Jasper cursed fluently and inventively as she battled the car under control. The van shuddered to a halt, but Irina kept going. She didn’t want to give them time to stop and regroup.
Irina once more wished for a sedan, where she could have stamped on the parking brake—which in some instances was safer than using the car’s normal brakes. She couldn’t risk that with this SUV.
“Irina, you’re not going to—whoa, whoa, whoa!”
Jasper yelped as she maneuvered the SUV to face the side of the van, then slammed her foot on the gas. She T-boned the van, shoving it up against the wall and pinning it there. As she’d hoped, the front impact hadn’t been enough to deploy the airbags in the SUV.
The tinted window in the driver’s door cracked in the honeycomb pattern of safety glass, but held. They were blind as to what was happening inside the van, but she could make an educated guess.
“Duck.” Irina grabbed Jasper’s collar and yanked him down. Their seat belts prevented them from hunching down all the way, but it was enough to protect them from the shot that cracked the windshield.
“They’ve got guns,” Jasper hissed.
“I know.” Irina frowned. A shot from that close should have shattered the windshield. Plus, that hadn’t sounded right. It wasn’t the pop of a handgun. It was a deeper, louder sound. Closer to the boom of a shotgun.
Irina took her foot off the gas, and the SUV rolled back a foot or so. She stole a glance over the dashboard. The driver’s door was mangled, meaning they probably couldn’t open it. The barrel of a shotgun peeked out of the broken driver’s window. They must have punched out some of the safety glass.
The barrel of the gun moved, catching the yellowed light of the security lamps high overhead. The stock and stops of the gun were bright orange. She ducked down.
“They’re using beanbag rounds,” she whispered.
There was a second boom and the windshield shattered and fell in. Pebbles of safety glass rained down on them.
“Definitely beanbag rounds,” she said. Her ears were ringing, and the driver’s ears would be ringing even worse than hers, unless he was wearing headgear. Either way, she wasn’t worried about being overheard.
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“Less lethal is better than fully lethal.” Irina reached out and released Jasper’s seat belt. “I’m going to ram them again. You jump out and go to the back door. All I want you to do is open it. Don’t stand directly behind the door, in case they shoot through. Once you do it, retreat down by the back tire. You should be safe there, and relatively hidden by both cars. Do you understand?”
“I hate this idea.”
“I’m going to be shooting at them.” Irina slid her gun from under the seat where she’d stashed it. “They’ll be distracted.”
“Don’t kill anyone.”
“I will if I have to. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Yes, I do. If you kill someone there will definitely be cops. Cops are bad.”
“Fair enough.” Irina rolled down the driver’s side window, twisting awkwardly to both keep herself hunkered down and aim. She squeezed the trigger. The crack of the shot made her ears ring, but her aim had been good. One of the security lights died, drenching them in shadow. “Go.”
Her shot earned an in-kind boom response from the shotgun. The blast sailed through the space where the windshield should have been, cracking against the window in the quarter panel.
Jasper was already out, moving at a crouch. To cover the sound of his movement, she gunned the engine, ramming the SUV against the van. She shot the front of the van, hoping to hit something vital in the engine block. Fear
and adrenaline rolled in her stomach, and it was training and sheer will that kept the lethal cocktail of emotions from causing her to curl up in horror or go completely bat-shit crazy and do something rash.
Right now, Jasper was in more danger than she was. If there’d been a way to do it, she would have switched places with him, but they couldn’t risk losing their biggest physical advantage, which was the SUV pinning the van in place. But she had a plan.
Stretching, she grabbed what she needed from the backseat, then lifted her head enough to see out the side window. Jasper was at the corner of the van. He darted out of view around the back. Two shots—and these didn’t come from the driver—boomed and Irina’s heart stopped.
Jasper, hands over his ears, flung himself around the side of the van, dropping into a crouch in the corner created by the intersection of SUV and van. The van’s rear door flapped open.
That was what she was waiting for. Irina took her foot off the gas, which let the SUV roll back a few feet. Pulling her legs up, she hauled her small, hard-sided suitcase into the front seat and jammed it under the steering wheel. It took precious seconds to position it so that one of the wheels was pressing on the gas. The SUV leapt forward, Irina’s body bouncing like a Ping-Pong ball between the wheel, armrest, and seat. She’d be bruised tomorrow.
Slithering between the front seats, Irina wasn’t surprised when pain exploded in her hip. Because of the height of the armrest, she’d had to raise her body above the level of the dash. The light color of her dress would have made it easy to spot her, and the driver had tagged her in the hip with a beanbag round.
Dropping onto the floor behind the passenger seat, Irina gritted her teeth against the pain. It hurt. Badly. But it must have been a glancing blow, because usually at this range, a direct hit would have been enough for her to lose feeling in the affected area.
Teeth gritted and eyes watering, she was still able to find the small black equipment bag she’d picked up from the Bennett Securities offices in Boston. Wishing she’d opted for a full kit, which would have included things like tear gas and gas masks, she had to settle for the stun grenade, commonly called a flashbang.
She opened the back passenger door, which was jerked out of her hand as the driver hit it with yet another beanbag round. This guy had suppressive fire down to an art. Sliding out the open door, Irina crawled under it then kept her back against the SUV, using it as cover until she could tap Jasper on the shoulder.
“Did you see Eli?” she asked.
He shook his head.
That meant she couldn’t throw the flashbang into the back. Though they were designed specifically not to harm bystanders with shrapnel, they were still grenades. She couldn’t risk it landing on Eli, especially if he was incapacitated.
“Take the gun. Shoot anyone who comes out the back door.”
“What are you going to do?” Jasper’s eyes were clear and steady. There was no panic or shock riding his mind. He’d been in firefights before. Clearly Irina had a sanitized idea of what an archaeologist’s day was like. Or maybe the Indiana Jones movies were closer to documentaries than anyone would have guessed.
“I’m going to throw this in the driver’s window.” She held up the flashbang. “You need to be ready. Cover your ears, close your eyes.”
Jasper shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I can do this. Do you trust me?”
Jasper’s gaze searched her face. “You come back to me.”
Irina’s heart clenched. “I will.”
Jasper palmed the gun, checked the safety, then dropped one knee to the ground, braced his elbow on his thigh, and raised the gun. It was the pose of someone experienced, but not formally trained. “Go,” was all he said.
Irina kissed his shoulder, then slid away, back along the side of the SUV. Their opponents had been suspiciously quiet. Waiting. Waiting for what?
Irina’s mouth went dry. If she were in their position, she’d be waiting for backup. Why risk engaging, especially when they had a less-advantageous tactical position for attack, when they could assume a defensive tactical plan and wait it out?
That meant they needed to move. Now.
Irina positioned herself at the back of the SUV. She could step out, take aim, and throw the grenade, risking a direct hit from the beanbag round. Or she could try a distraction to draw fire. She’d counted five shots so far, which probably meant there was one shot still in the gun in the driver’s hands. Unless it was 37mm, which would have shot one round at a time. She was betting on it being a six-shot L8. If she was right, after the next shot, he’d have to either reload or switch guns, either of which would give her a very small window of opportunity.
Irina closed her eyes, forehead scrunching up as she ran through the possibilities. There wasn’t one perfect idea, but several viable ones. Decision made, Irina crouched at the bumper, then reached up and hit the button to open the lift gate. She waited for a shot, but none came. Of course not—that would have been too easy, and if this was the last shot in the gun, the driver was being smart. He was waiting for a good target.
One suitcase lay drunkenly in the storage area of the SUV. Irina left it lying on its side, but extended the handle.
A few quick wiggles and she was out of her dress. The strapless design meant she was wearing nothing but panties under it. Her nipples puckered in the cold night air, and her confidence dropped a few degrees. It was hard to feel battle-ready wearing only underwear and heels.
Slipping her dress over the extended suitcase handle, Irina braced herself, then tipped the suitcase up. Her pale dress rose, hopefully appearing like she was climbing into the car through the open back.
Boom. The rifle thundered and her dress took a direct hit and the suitcase tumbled out of the vehicle onto the road.
Irina was already moving. Grenade in hand, she stepped out from behind the SUV. Three running steps brought her level with the driver’s door. She pulled the pin. At this range, her aim was dead on. The grenade sailed through the rough-edged hole of the driver’s window. She caught a glimpse of a surprised face—though whether the surprise was from the grenade or her nakedness, Irina would never know.
She turned, crouched, and covered her ears.
The night came alive with light and sound. The grenade detonated, the bang part of “flashbang” rattling her eardrums through the flimsy protection of her hands.
Her inner ear was reeling, which meant that when she opened her eyes and stood, the world shifted dizzily around her, her balance thrown off. Her vision had escaped mostly unharmed.
Keeping one hand on the vehicle as an anchor, she stumbled back around the SUV to where Jasper was. He was still crouched, eyes closed, hands over his ears, gun in one hand. She tapped his shoulder.
He raised his head and the gun at the same time. He looked at her naked body in confusion, then leered, lowering the gun.
Irina bit back a smile and jerked her head at the van. Jasper rose and tried to go first. Irina shook her head and held him back. She raised her hands in the classic surrender posture and stepped around the open back door.
She braced herself, expecting an attack, but none came.
The back of the van was one large compartment, with a wire screen partition between the front seats and the rear area. A bench seat ran along the left wall, with gun and equipment racks mounted above it. The right side had the sliding door, and in the space between the sliding door and back door was a storage cabinet. She could see the driver was slumped forward over the wheel. He’d taken the brunt of the flashbang, and being that close to the grenade had probably knocked him out.
Three men, all in military contractor black uniforms, were hunched over in the back. One rested his head on the bench seat, the other was vomiting against the wall—a common reaction to having one’s inner-ear fluid blended like a margarita.
The third man, the one closest to the back, had fared the best. He caught sight of Irina, raised his arm, and pulled the trigger. Sh
e managed to jump to the side, out of the way of the stun gun prongs. Irina couldn’t hear the telltale hiss and crackle of electricity through the ringing in her ears.
Eli was slumped on the floor, his head wedged against the sliding door. His big body took up most of the floor space in the back of the van. Irina’s heart clenched—what if he’d been injured in the crash she caused?
That was a later problem. Now what they needed was to get Eli and get away.
Jasper appeared at her side. He stuck the gun in his pants then grabbed Eli’s legs. The one lucid guard reached for another weapon.
Irina grabbed a stun gun from the convenient wall rack. She shot the guard, who twitched and fell back, landing on his vomiting compatriot.
Jasper had Eli propped in a sitting position. Irina slid into place under one arm. Together they lifted him. He was dead weight. Irina staggered, but they managed one step, then another. Eli’s feet dragged on the ground.
Please God, let him be alive.
By unspoken consent, they headed for the lift gate. Together, they rolled Eli to the trunk space. Irina pointed at Jasper then pantomimed driving. He nodded.
Jasper picked up the suitcase and her dress and tucked them in next to Eli. Wanting to buy them more time, Irina ran back to the van. She jumped in, surprising the non-tasered guards, who were starting to recover. Ripping two more stun guns from the wall, she shot them in tandem. The driver still seemed to be out of it.
Irina groped one of the guards, checking pockets for ID. Then she checked his neck for dog tags. Nothing. No convenient clues.
She grabbed a beanbag shot gun off the floor, plus the last unused stun gun, and jumped out of the van.
Jasper was in the driver’s seat. He’d backed the SUV up enough to free it from the van. It was eerie to see what was happening without the expected sounds of screaming metal.
