No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(119)

She said, “We did good, right?”

I gave a tired grin and said, “Yeah. We did real good.”

I saw it wasn’t a question, but a statement. She said, “Pike, we had to make a call. We had to.”

I heard her words and felt ashamed. I’d just sat on the ground while she risked everything she had to save over eight hundred innocents. And she was now propping me up.

I looked at her, trying to come up with some suitable commando team-leader crap. Something that would let her know how much I thought of her sacrifice. What came out surprised even me.

“I . . . love you.”

She snapped her face toward me, her mouth hanging open in shock. Our earpieces came alive, saving me from my mistake.

“Pike, Pike, this is Retro, you there?”

I glanced at the goons in the corner of the van and said, “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Blaine’s working the extraction and thinks he’ll get you guys out clean, but I’ve been doing some digging with the Taskforce. We interrogated Seamus after you left. He says the guy with Kylie is named Colin Butler. He lied about him being in Ireland. Colin Butler’s credit card was just used here in London. In Camden.”

The words coursed through me like I’d just touched an electrical outlet, bolting me upright. The goons saw my movement, and I leaned back, closing my eyes. I said, “I need to get out of this wagon. Right f*cking now.”

“Pike, we can’t do that. We’ll get you out at the station.”

“We don’t have the time for that. We lose this thread and she’s gone. Get me out.”

“How?”

“Put on Blaine.”

There was a fumble of the earpiece, some static, then Blaine. “Pike, Retro’s told me what he found. We’ll start working it.”

I said, “Call Kurt. Tell him. Then wreck this vehicle. I want out in the next five minutes.”

“Pike . . . that’s not going to happen.”

“You call Colonel Kurt Hale right f*cking now. Tell him what you have. Ask him for guidance. Then stop this wagon.”

I heard nothing else. I looked at Jennifer and said, “Get ready for a crash.”


* * *

Kylie heard the man behind her shout, and she darted through the crowd, knowing he was right behind her. She jerked a man off his feet, causing him to stumble into the path of her pursuer, and kept running, trying to remember the floor plan.

She cut around the corner of the bar, seeing the exit door and freedom. She started running toward it and saw the man who had gone to the bar spring into view, wildly looking around.

She crouched behind a foursome, scooting left, toward an alcove, knowing the other man was closing the distance behind her. She saw the bathroom to her front, a line of girls outside. She sprinted toward it, ducking below the crowd.

She leapt down the stairs, passing the line and ignoring the yells from the girls waiting. A woman tried to stop her, shouting about cutting the queue, and she slammed her into the wall, springing forward into the bathroom. Two girls at the mirror looked at her in astonishment, and she said, “Don’t shout. Don’t say anything. Please.”

She looked around the room in desperation and realized she’d just boxed herself in. Nothing had changed, and there was no way out.






85




We continued rolling forward, the two goons in the rear still eyeing me like they wanted to kick my ass. I was getting tired of the glare. I raised my voice loud enough to get over the engine noise and said, “You want a shot at the title?”

The one on the left said, “You talk fine in here. I’ve dealt with terrorists before. Wait until we get to the station, Yank.”

My earpiece crackled, and I heard, “Brace for impact.”

I said, “We aren’t going to the station.”

He looked at me in confusion, and the van was hammered so hard I thought someone had exploded an IED underneath it. We flew through the air, the vehicle turning over onto its side. The two goons slammed into the roof with a crunch. Jennifer, Nung, and I were jerked up short by the shackles on our wrists and ankles bolted to the bench, now becoming makeshift seat belts.

The vehicle skidded for a moment, then sat still. One guard was out cold. The other began moving slowly, shaking his head. The doors opened in the back and I saw Retro, holding a pistol. He said, “Give me the keys. Now.”

The guard handed him his key ring, then raised his hands. Retro tossed them to me, and I unlocked Nung and Jennifer, then locked up the guards, shackling the unconscious one first. Getting to the other, I cuffed his hands, saying, “Sorry about this. I’m really not a bad guy.”

I crawled out the back, seeing Blaine holding a pistol on the driver, Brett in the cab providing first aid to the passenger. He had a nasty cut on his head, but I could see his lips moving, so he was coherent.

They’d used the van for interdiction, and it was spun sideways, the front end crunched, broken glass littering the roadway. We were on a four-lane, one-way road, and the traffic behind us was stopped, everyone gawking at the massive pileup.

I saw Nick Seacrest and the two commo guys in the sedan. Retro said, “Sorry for the impact. Brett got a little overexuberant. He needs some vehicle-interdiction training.”

I said, “Where is she?”