by Kris Norris
A faint hiss of static, then one of them was talking and nodding, too far away to hear the words.
They had a comm system? Shit. And no one came that heavily armed without intending on using deadly force. They were obviously waiting for some kind of signal, coordinating their entrance through multiple points. Take the guards by surprise.
Rigs scanned back up to their heads. Ear protection most likely meant some kind of concussive grenade. And the goggles—they didn’t look like high end night vision goggles—NVGs—but he couldn’t tell for sure. They were either planning on killing the lights or including a blinding flash as part of the distraction.
Fuckers probably had flashbangs. Disrupt everyone’s vision and hearing long enough to seize control. They could easily take out the guards before anyone could recover. Which meant it was likely they would target the entrance and the auction room at the same time.
Rigs weighed his options. He could shoot them. Head shot from this distance was a snap. But he didn’t have a suppressor. Without knowing numbers and locations, announcing his presence could get innocent people killed. Or dramatically change the nature of their infiltration—and not for the better.
He reached behind him, retrieving his Ka-bar from the scabbard between his shoulder blades. He only had the one knife—damn oversight he wouldn’t make, again. He’d need to take out one and reach the other before the guy could shoot.
Or, he waited for this signal, downed the guy who went in second then caught up to the first before he got more than twenty feet inside. Unlikely the bastard would suspect anyone coming at him from behind.
Rigs readied the knife, still vigilant for other movement or noises around him, as he stood there, waiting. The men exchanged a few words, nodding at each other before the guy who’d been talking held up his hand, showing five fingers.
Rigs grinned when he went to four. How fucking nice of the asshole to count it down for him. Rigs eased out, staying low and in the shadows, constantly judging the right trajectory, when the lights winked out behind the door and explosions shook the ground.
Damn, he hated being right.
The men held steady until the emergency lights blinked on then headed inside. Rigs flicked his wrist. A glint of silver and the rear man dropped. The guy’s partner must have heard him fall because he popped back out, muzzle sweeping the pathway. Rigs dove to the side, rolling across the stone walkway as bullets pelted the surface, chipping off bits of rock. He came up within arm’s reach, blocking the man’s hand as the guy tried to swing the gun toward him.
A quick jab to the elbow and the AK clattered to the ground. The creep pivoted, deflecting Rigs’ next punch and throwing one at his head. Rigs used his palm to knock it just shy of hitting his jaw as he stepped into the attack. It only took a wrist grab and shoulder lock to have the bastard tilted forward and down, completely immobilized. Another step and a twist, and he’d slammed the jerk’s head into the wall. It cracked hard, leaving behind a bloody mark on the stone before the guy collapsed on the ground.
Rigs took a moment to remove the guy’s belt and bind his hands and legs. He considered simply capping the bastard, but the police would want answers, and dead men were a lot harder to get information from.
The man’s earpiece buzzed. Rigs bent over him, slipping it out then holding it up to his ear.
“Alpha three.”
Damn. Whether it was the bastard unconscious at his feet or the one with the knife in his throat, Rigs didn’t know. But he knew what happened when the guy in question didn’t answer, and none of it was good.
He grabbed their weapons, slinging the AKs over his shoulder then shoving their pistols in the back of his pants. He preferred his own weapons, but leaving the others around for someone else to pick up wasn’t a good idea. Not to mention that getting shot with weapons he’d abandoned would be a stupid way to die.
The door opened silently, and he darted inside, stopping at the first wall. Smoke still curled through the dimly lit area, snaking along the floor toward the corner of the room. He scanned right then headed for the large statue obscuring his view to the left. He assumed they’d have their forces concentrated on the auction site, with a few outliers manning the exits. But he’d have a better idea once he’d reached the next corner.
He moved in behind the statue, when three shots rose above other shouts and cries. Loud. Close. These shots were different. They weren’t the close pop of an AK. These were single rounds taken from a pistol—just like the ones he’d confiscated. He slipped out then froze. Actually, fucking froze. She was crouched beside her dog, one operative off to the left. Still. Maybe dead but definitely unconscious. Another was sprawled on the floor fifty feet away, feet twitching. The pistol looked oddly comfortable in her hands as she cocked her head to either side, trying to home in on the downed man.
The guy coughed, then slid his palm along the floor, pushing himself upright. He rubbed his chest, glaring at the woman. Like the others, he had on body armor. Shots to the torso wouldn’t kill him—only piss him off. The bastard was going to fire, and unless he made a noise…
Rigs took off. Fuck not making a sound. Alerting them. Fuck everything but getting to her. Stopping that asshole from killing her before Rigs had even learned her name. Christ, had she walked into the middle of it? Had Blade bolted at the sound of the explosions? She’d mentioned he’d served in Afghanistan. That he had issues. Just thinking she’d had to deal with any of this alone…
But she was in Rigs’ sight line. He couldn’t take a shot with her so close to the crosshairs. Not until he knew she wouldn’t suddenly move on him.
Two seconds, and he’d cut the distance in half. Two seconds, and the guy she’d downed had his senses back and was lifting his arm. Readying his damn AK.
“Get down.”
She reacted immediately, going to her stomach as Rigs aimed, still running. He didn’t need to stand still to make the shot. He’d spent years practicing real world shooting. Running. Rolling. In vehicles, popping up out of the water. Every way imaginable. Under any circumstances.
The bastard never had a chance. Hit him square between the eyes, spraying a red mist out across the floor as he fell back. His head hit hard, the sound dull. Hollow. The woman gasped then twisted, holding the gun out toward him.
Rigs stopped, taking a quick scan of the area before lowering his voice. “Easy, sweetheart. I’m one of the good guys.”
Her eyes rounded, then she lowered the weapon. “The man Blade knocked over, right?”
“That’s right.” He closed the last of the distance, kneeling beside her. “You hurt?”
She shook her head, her pretty blonde hair swishing over her shoulders. It had pulled out of the clip, the long strands hanging in soft waves around her face. “Blade…”
He’d already noticed the patch of blood on the dog’s shoulder. The smear of it across the floor. There was more on his snout, though Rigs suspected it wasn’t Blade’s. “Let’s get you both somewhere safer. Before more of them come looking.”
Out of habit, he offered her his hand then silently cursed himself. But if she’d heard him or somehow sensed what he’d done, she didn’t let on, rising swiftly before turning toward him. He crouched next to the dog. The canine thumped its tail once, licking his wrist as he let the animal sniff his hand.
“Easy, Blade. I’m just gonna carry you, okay?”
“He won’t bite you. He’s not like that.”
“You might want to tell that to the other guy. Looks like he tore the guy’s arm pretty badly.”
“He was going to hurt me. Blade knew that.”
“Not complaining. In fact, Blade’s at the top of my list of favorite dogs.”
The animal whimpered as Rigs rolled him against his chest.
“I know, buddy. Hang in there. Bullet wounds are a bitch.” He kept his voice low—just enough to comfort the dog—keep him from lashing out from the pain. “We’ll head back to one of the alcoves. It’s ninety degrees to you
r right. Straight forward for about forty feet.”
She nodded then followed him, cane barely skimming the floor. She didn’t shuffle the way he’d thought she might—the way he’d probably walk if he lost his sight—only stopping when she got to the edge of the alcove. “How much farther?”
Rigs stepped in beside her. “Take my arm. I’ll guide you around the planters.”
Her hand settled on his forearm, her fingers firmly gripping his arm. She didn’t talk, moving quietly with him around the left side of the planters to the back. He placed Blade gently on the floor then repositioned the plants so they were closer to the entrance—provided a bit more protection.
The woman was kneeling beside the dog when he turned, running her fingers along the canine’s neck. She raised her face to Rigs’. “They set off a couple of flashbangs. One toward the main entrance. The other farther down. The auction room, I imagine. They have body armor, AK47s and pistols. Sigs, I think.”
He smiled. Fuck. Who was she? “Correct on all accounts. And they’re jamming cell signals. I took two down outside. Plus, the two you dealt with in here makes four. I’m guessing maybe four more in the auction room with others manning the entrance or scouting the perimeter. Could be ten, total.”
She held out her hand. “They have coms. I grabbed one of their radios.”
Rigs took it, turning it over in his hands. “The two outside had ear pieces. Definitely organized. I’ll assume the guards are either dead or subdued. That leaves my partners in the auction room.”
Her sightless gaze settled on him, and his damn heart gave a hard thud. Beautiful blue eyes gleamed in the low light. “You guys cops?”
“Ex-military.”
“Encouraging. Which branch?”
“MARSOC. I’ve got an Army Ranger and a PJ with me.”
“Special Forces? Damn.” She nodded at the com. “I don’t know what kind of radio that is, but if they’re smart enough to block cell coverage, maybe they have police channels on there. You’ll want channel nine.”
Rigs focused on the unit, punching in the channel she’d asked for. “Got it, if it works.”
“May I?”
He gave her back the unit, listening as she called out, keeping her voice hushed. Someone replied, asking for verification. She rattled off a badge number and a code, then outlined what she knew before handing it over to him.
Rigs took it, filling in any remaining info before placing it on the floor beside her. “Looks like SWAT’s about ten minutes out.”
“Shit. A lot can happen in ten minutes.”
The dog whimpered, and her chin quivered.
Rigs removed his vest then folded it up and handed it to her. “Here. We can try and slow the bleeding. My buddy, Ice, always carries a medic kit. He can help once we take care of these men.”
“Thanks.” She pressed down after he’d placed her hand over the wound. “I’d be dead if he hadn’t…”
“You said Blade’s an ex-soldier. He’s tough. It’ll be okay. But I want you to stay here. I’ll come back when it’s safe. I’ll call out. If you hear anyone else come this way…”
“I shoot first, worry about who I killed later. Though, with their armor, I’m lucky if I can knock them down. I can only really aim at where I hear them, and it’s too risky to go for anything other than a torso shot.”
“Hopefully, you won’t have to shoot anyone else. Just, stay down and quiet.”
Her lips quirked. “I really hate this.”
“Me, too.”
He didn’t tell her that the part he hated was leaving her there. Alone. Vulnerable. Though, she obviously had some serious training—he’d bet his ass she’d been a detective of some sort—there was no denying she was at a substantial disadvantage. These men meant business. Not being able to fire off an effective shot—one that would keep the bastards down for good—put her at a huge risk. One that ate at Rigs’ gut.
Just by looking at her, he knew she wouldn’t back down. That if she thought, for even a moment, that she was all that stood between life or death for the people at the auction, she’d walk straight down the damn hallway, hoping to hit anything that made a noise.
He couldn’t imagine how she felt. How he’d feel if he had to stay behind—let others deal with a threat he’d spent years training for. He only hoped she trusted him enough to follow his directions.
“All right. Hold tight.” He scooted forward, glancing back at her. “About what I said before…”
She snorted. “You take care of this, and you’ll be forgiven.”
“Deal. By the way. The name’s Kent. Kent Walker, though everyone calls me Rigs.”
She wet her lips, swallowing hard. “Addison. And I’ll share my last name when you come back—alive.”
Chapter 4
“Then, I’ll definitely be coming back.” The guy’s voice whispered across the space, then he was gone. Just gone. Not a sound. Not a footstep. Not so much as a scuff or a breath. Nothing. As if he’d vanished.
Addison forced herself to breathe. To keep pressure on Blade’s shoulder as she strained to hear something from beyond the small alcove. The one she was hiding in because she was a liability.
He hadn’t phrased it that way. Kent. His name was Kent. And he’d actually been extremely diplomatic. Hadn’t scolded her for firing literally blind at what she’d perceived as a threat. Despite her momentary glimpse, she knew it had been risky. But Kent had treated her—like a person. Not the way most people saw her.
He obviously hadn’t realized she was blind until she’d put on Blade’s harness and walked away. Which explained his slip-up. Not that it mattered when faced with the real possibility that none of them might make it out of the damn auction alive.
MARSOC. Kent was an ex-Special Ops Marine. And he had two other veterans with him. Men trained to kill. To survive. And one was a medic. Bet the bastards heading this scam hadn’t counted on that. She hadn’t.
Or maybe it was just Kent she hadn’t counted on. Someone who looked beyond her obvious disability to the woman beneath. The cop beneath. Because, damn it, she was still a detective at heart. Still the same person who’d taken an oath to serve and protect. Who’d lived for the thrill of putting creeps like the men threatening this establishment behind bars. Losing her sight—even if it was all in her head, somehow—hadn’t changed that part of her. Hadn’t banished it to the darkness like everything else.
Plus, the two you dealt with in here…
That’s how he’d phrased it. Even if he’d finished the last guy off. He’d accepted that she wasn’t powerless.
Until, now. Though it was insane, a part of her had hoped he’d want her help. That he’d tell her to follow along behind him. Which she knew was impossible. The cold hard reality was that she wasn’t a cop. Wasn’t capable of covering his back. She’d gotten lucky, and she needed to remember that. Sure, having a couple of moments of sight was encouraging. Hell, it was miraculous considering she hadn’t experienced so much as a flash of light since that night. But it didn’t change anything. Not until she’d figured out how to make the transition permanent. Make her vision stick. Until then, she was stuck on the sidelines. This wasn’t the beginning of her resurrecting her old life. And if Kent wasn’t as good as she prayed he was, it might not be the beginning of anything other than a quick death.
Addy focused on what she had control over. Pressing on Blade’s wound, murmuring reassuringly to him. Listening for any sound that meant trouble was coming her way. Blade had taken a bullet for her. The least she could do was protect him with the same unyielding determination.
Minutes ticked by, nothing but the same voices yelling from within the auction. The same threats mixed in with the occasional dull pop of one of their guns. God, were they killing people with every pull of the trigger? Was she sitting there, out of the line of fire, the Sig heavy and cold in her hand, while civilians died in her place?
Except that she was a civilian, now, too.
Tears pooled
behind her eyes. Hot, angry tears that burned all the way down to her soul. She closed her eyes, trying to muscle back some form of composure. Was this what the rest of her life would be like? Waiting for someone else to take action? Forever hiding in the shadows because she couldn’t live in the light? How was she supposed to move on, find a way to feel worthy, when she’d lost the part of her that had made her Addison Bailey? Being a cop hadn’t been her career—it had been an extension of her soul. A calling she’d worked hard to make a reality. And, now?
Now, she was reduced to a fraction of the person she’d been. Someone living in the dark, fighting imaginary demons that never truly went away. How could they? The one defense against them had been taken. A reality that slammed into her with unforgiving clarity.
She was blind. It didn’t matter if it was psychological. If technically, her eyes were fine. The reality was that, at that moment, she couldn’t see. Had no way of knowing if she’d ever regain her sight. Reclaim her past. Had nothing but an endless future of darkness ahead of her.
Addy opened her eyes. Not that it helped. It didn’t change anything. Didn’t stop the images inside her head from playing out amidst the darkness. The flashback from taking hold as memories flicked across her mind in the only form of vision that worked.
Voices sounded around her. Ones she knew. Blood soaked through her shirt, pain bright and piercing through her shoulder and chest. She blinked, and Will was there—just like he had been every day for the past four years, since she’d become a detective—above her, hands pressing down.
