Shades of Gray (KGI #6)(38)

P.J. smiled. Arrogant ass**les. They thought the high fence and million-dollar security and surveillance protected them from the outside world. That she couldn’t come in. That they were safe.

They were wrong.

She eased from her hiding place, making sure the silencer was attached to her gun properly and that the knife Brumley had used on her was in her grip.

Over the past months, she’d spent a frustrating amount of time frequenting places that Brumley was rumored to enjoy. She’d gone through every penny of her savings to support her search for the men who’d raped her.

And it was worth being dirt-poor for the rest of her life if she accomplished her mission.

She pulled out a handheld PC and quickly typed in a series of commands. Donovan wasn’t the only one handy with computers. They just bored her to tears.

In the first hour of her surveillance she’d hacked into the estate’s security monitoring system. It had been a piece of cake. It baffled her that with as much money as Brumley threw around, he’d actually have such a pu**y surveillance system.

She programmed the system to replay the tapes of the last four hours, ending before the procession of cars arrived. She’d only have two hours before they’d know something was up, because the sun would start to sink and dusk would be upon her.

Two hours to get in and kill the men responsible for the scars on her body and the damage to her soul.

She’d had less time to perform a mission before. This one wasn’t any different. Objective must be achieved. She told herself that over and over.

She darted toward the house, keeping behind cover so she wouldn’t be spotted through one of the windows. Nelson was still out front smoking his damn cigarette, and that wasn’t where she’d wanted to confront him. But he didn’t show signs of moving elsewhere, so she’d have to do the job there and make it fast instead of making him suffer the long, drawn-out death she wanted.

When she reached the house, she put her back to the stone exterior and inched her way toward the front where Nelson stood.

“What the h—”

P.J. whirled around at the voice and squeezed off a round before the man could shout a warning. He fell to the ground with a loud thump.

Shit! The bastard had lucked onto her and had come in from behind. What the hell was he even doing there? Had Brumley ordered his men to patrol the exterior of the house? Did Brumley realize by now that she was hunting him?

She hoped to hell she was keeping him up at night. That he lived in fear of when she would get to him. It wasn’t a matter of if. It was when.

Her heart was pounding as she peeked around the corner again. Nelson was still there, but he’d just taken a last drag, tossing aside the butt as he blew out a cloud of smoke.

She shuddered, remembering the stench of tobacco on him while he’d pushed his body onto hers. Before she lost her courage, she rounded the corner, gun in one hand and knife in the other.

As much as it pained her to make his death quick, she was going to have to cut her losses and take Nelson out so she could get to her prime objective. Brumley.

“Nelson,” she called out, wanting the bastard to face her and at least know who would claim his death.

He swiveled, his expression a mixture of what-the-f*ck and fear.

The sound of the front door opening jerked P.J.’s attention from Nelson long enough to see that she’d been made.

A gunshot sounded and pain lashed through P.J.’s leg. Stupid motherf*cker couldn’t aim for shit.

She squeezed off a shot, downing the guy who came out the door. Then she turned rapidly to Nelson, who was attempting to flee. She shot him in the back of the leg, just to slow him down, and then she turned her attention back to the front entrance.

When two more men appeared, she dove behind one of the armored cars, ignoring the screaming agony in her leg and the smell of blood.

In the distance, Nelson lay on the ground writhing in pain, shouting curses and orders for someone to give him cover.

Hoping they were temporarily distracted by Nelson’s rantings, she pushed herself upward, leaning on the car, and got three shots off. She ducked back down and then peered underneath the car toward the steps. One of the men was lying motionless, half down the steps, his leg dangling in the shrubbery.

She couldn’t see the other, which meant he was either on top of her or he’d run back inside.

She glanced down at her leg and swore as she saw all the blood soaking her pants. It was just a flesh wound. A clean through and through. Thank God the bullet hadn’t hit bone or she wouldn’t be walking.

Pain she could handle.

She picked herself up again, took a clip out and shoved another in.

“Come get me, f**kers,” she bit out.

There were six unaccounted for. A total of ten men had arrived, including Nelson and Brumley. Three were dead and Nelson was on the ground whimpering like a baby.

A loud roar sounded. P.J.’s brow wrinkled and then she realized it was a chopper starting up. Son of a bitch. Brumley was escaping.

Throwing caution straight down the toilet, she bolted from behind the car and ran for the front entrance. She passed the one dead guy on the steps and nearly tripped over the second guy who’d shot at her.

He was lying just inside the foyer, eyes wide open in death. Now there were only five unaccounted for. She was relieved to know she still had good aim.

Teeth clenched to ward off the pain, she shuffled as fast as her injured leg would allow through the house, gun up, clearing each room she hurried through.