Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10)(110)

Azami let him yank her out of her seat. She caught up the small glittering bag, shoving it onto her wrist, allowing her hand free. Teetering on her heels, she took small, mincing steps as Frank dragged her toward him. The moment she was near the table where Melanie and Sheila had been seated, her fingers swept beneath the tabletop to acquire the tiny bug she’d planted earlier. Deftly she palmed it, allowing her purse to slide down her arm so she could shove it inside with a poke of her finger.

Frank was going to learn a little lesson in how to treat a lady when they reached the back parking lot. She hoped they’d get there before his friend, so she would be long gone and his friend could escort him to the hospital.

“Stop struggling or it will be worse for you,” Frank hissed, giving her a little shake as they approached the table where the Whitney double was standing to leave.

“A little anticlimactic,” the Whitney double said to his bodyguard. “I don’t know what I expected, but the meal was good.” He gave a little laugh.

She noted that the bodyguard ignored him. Whoever the man was, he was considered disposable. He’d been nothing but bait and no way were the bodyguards there to protect him. He would have been sacrificed in a heartbeat. Had she made her move on the Whitney double, the “bodyguards’” sole purpose would have been to kill her, not save him.

Out in the night air, Frank’s head cleared enough that he realized if anything happened to her, the waiters had seen his face. He didn’t care much if they identified him, the records would show he had died in South America two years prior, but still . . . He pulled Azami in close to him and walked her quickly toward the back parking lot.

She went willingly across the asphalt, weaving through the few cars there toward the narrowing alley. A broken wooden fence partially hid the alley behind the parking lot. The gate, hanging by one bracket, was long gone, splintered and broken like much of the fence. Frank thrust her through it and paused to lean against the rickety wood, sweat breaking out on his face. Every step had to be painful with his groin so full and heat rushing through his body, elevating his temperature.

Azami took the opportunity to step away from him, kicking off her heels as her heart sank. Not one but two men were already waiting, wearing evil grins. She was really growing tired of the entire mess. Frank would present no problem to her. He could barely stand, but these two men were a different story.

He grinned at the two men. “Ross, I see you brought a friend. The more the merrier.”

Ross laughed. “Damn right.”

Her phone buzzed in her purse. She pulled it out and looked down at the text.

Team Two called out of the country.

She sighed. There was no way that was a coincidence. If most of Team Two was away as Daiki indicated, that left both compounds vulnerable—and that left the babies at risk.

“Gentlemen, I’m going to give you a chance here and just say, let’s call this a misunderstanding. Frank is in no shape to party and I’m not really up for it, so let’s just all go home while you still can.”

The grins faded. She wasn’t running, screaming, or in the least bit scared. Frank made a grab for her and she slapped his hand away and slammed her foot into his groin. He shrieked and went down hard, the breath exploding out of him along with a sound much like an animal in pain. He lay writhing on the ground, holding his groin, the scream fading to moans.

The two men separated, Ross pulling a gun, the other a knife.

“You bitch. I’m going to f*ck you up so bad no one will ever want to look at you again,” the one with the knife said.

“Like I haven’t heard that before,” Azami said.

“Don’t you move,” Ross warned. “I’ll gut shoot you and we’ll still f*ck your brains out before you die. You’ll just die hard.”

Frank staggered to his feet behind her. She could hear his continual cursing directly behind her. She took three steps toward the gunmen and then put on a burst of speed, angling toward the man with the knife just as the gun went off.

Frank folded in half, screaming, a crimson stain spreading across his groin. She slapped the knife hand away as she went in, the tiny one-inch blade a ridiculous contrast to his ten-inch blade, but razor sharp, it went into the side of his neck easily. She turned the blade as she withdrew it, twisting behind the man as the gunman fired again at her. His second shot hit his buddy in the chest.

Azami kept moving, coming up behind Ross while he was still firing shots at the spot behind his falling buddy.

“Oh, no, oh, no,” he chanted over and over, but continued firing as if his finger was stuck on the trigger.

She took him from behind, slicing his throat and stepping back quickly, moving out of his sight so that the shots wouldn’t have a chance of hitting her.

She waited until the last shot had been fired and all three men lay still on the ground before she collected her heels and went over the fence to walk calmly away. She walked several blocks until she found a dark doorway. Quickly she shimmied out of the dress and pulled off the wig, sweeping her hair back in a ponytail. She wore a spaghetti tank under the dress. From her small bag she took out a pair of trousers rolled tight. The dress was rolled and put in her bag, the wig shoved in it as deeply as possibly. Scrubbing her face clean with the wipes, she pulled out her phone to text her brother.

On my way.

She came out of the doorway looking like any teenager out to meet friends.