Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(36)

Sixteen people. God help him. “Let’s move,” he said.

“You don’t understand,” Hu moaned. “You can’t use me as a shield. They don’t give a shit about me. They’ll shoot right through me.”

“Then make sure they don’t see me, Hu.”

Miles shoved Hu in front of him, one arm clamping Hu’s neck, the Glock pressed to the man’s nape. He pulled out his knife, and dragging Hu with him, lunged low to stab both back tires of the Accura.

He gave the other cars in the structure the same swift and savage treatment as they passed each one.

“Take me to the security center.” Miles made his voice a harsh, gravely hiss. “One eyelash flicker that I don’t like, and I drop you. And Leah gets suxamethonium pumped into her. Any minute now, Hu.”

“Let me make the call,” Hu begged. “I swear, I’ll—”

“Fuck, no. Move.”

They kept in the shadows of the towering pines as they moved toward the main building, which was perched on the edge of a cliff.

They approached a side entrance. Miles shoved the other man close enough to the door to lift his key card, swipe it. It flashed green.

This had to snake fast. Hand-to-hand or knife work. A gunshot, even suppressed, would bring the cavalry down on him. Miles followed Hu down the dim hallway, paneled with cedar, floored with hardwood planks. Hu stopped at the first door. His eyes darted, panicked.

“You first,” Miles said. He held Hu in front of him while Hu swiped his card. When the door popped open, he shoved Hu inside.

Hu shrieked a warning. The one nearest the door turned—

Front kick to the jaw, crunch. The man stumbled back with a grunt. His sandwich flew into the air. Miles followed up swiftly on the ground with a side-hand chop to the nose, and leaped to face the guy coming out of the adjacent bathroom, buttoning up his pants.

The guy’s eyes barely had time to widen before Miles slammed the toe of his boot into the man’s groin. He folded and went down. Miles leaped to intercept Hu, who was diving for the door. Hu shrieked as Miles torqued his arm back. Snap.

Hu sagged, whimpering. Miles slammed his boot into the sneaky little bastard’s side, crunch. Harder to scream for help with broken ribs.

Guy One lay unconscious. Guy Two writhed, in the fetal position. There was a work station for a Guy Three, who could appear at any moment. Miles pulled plastic cuffs from his side pockets and took a couple of precious moments to cuff Guy Two.

Hu rolled on his side, breath bubbling in tears and snot. “Please, please let me make that call—”

“Shut up, you piece of shit.” Miles leaned over one of the keyboards. Unlocked. God was kind. He checked in the favorites, found the camera control app. Identified the cone of visibility that covered the escape route he meant to take. Disabled the panning function, memorized the direction of the camera’s new blind spot.

He hated leaving those guys lying there, but the conscious one was restrained, and he didn’t have the stomach to kill them. And if he wasn’t out of here in a couple minutes flat, he was f*cked anyhow.

He texted. will come down gully cd use a diversion

Hu twisted to stare up at him, eyes rolling. “Who are you texting?”

Miles smiled evilly. “They’re starting, Hu. Say a prayer for Leah.” He grabbed Hu by his injured arm, jerked him to his feet and shoved him out the door. “Take me to her.”

Hu staggered down the corridor ahead of him, and swiped his card in the electronic lock of a heavy door. It opened into a cinderblock stairwell. Partway down the second flight, a stairwell door flew open.

The guy who walked through looked up as Miles’ boot connected with his nose. He bounced off the wall, and toppled.

Hu’s breath rasped as he gestured at the door the man had just come through. They entered a corridor, which was lit with sickly fluorescent light. Hu stopped at a door, pulled out a bunch of keys.

The door behind them opened, and Miles felt a painfully familiar eye-popping squeeze in his head. Anabel. He spun.

“Help!” Hu shrieked.

Thpptt. His bullet hit her in the thigh. The scrabbling, squeezing sensation ceased. Shit, that was loud, even with the suppressor.

But the cinder block walls might have muffled the sound for the people above them, or at least obscured its source. If he was lucky.

Anabel sagged, clutching her quadricep with reddening fingers. “You idiot! You dickhead!” she spat, to Hu. “You brought him in?”

Miles slammed an uppercut to her jaw that she was in no shape to block, bashing her head against the cinder block wall.

She thudded to the ground.

Miles jammed the barrel to the nape of Hu’s neck. “Open the door, asswipe.”

Hu’s hands fumbled and shook for an agonizingly long time. When the door finally opened, Miles flung Hu into the cell in front of him. He saw a narrow cot, an opening for a tiny bathroom.

A girl crouched, huddled in the corner. Barefoot, naked to the waist, wearing only loose white drawstring pants. She had long, tangled, frizzy, dark hair. Huge eyes gazed up at him. Terrified.

And this was so not the time to gawk at a pair of perfect tits.

“Uh . . . hi,” he said. “I’m Miles. Your ride. Let’s go.”





9


He couldn’t be real. Her drug trips always took her elsewhere. The people she saw in her visions never appeared in her physical prison. Even the Lord of the Citadel had never come to her. He did not belong in this hellish place. She always went to him.