A Covert Affair (Deadly Ops #5)(2)

What the hell did she think it was? “It’s fine. I’m . . . the police.” Not true, but he wasn’t going to tell her he was part of an elite group of NSA agents the public didn’t know about and that he’d been working on a covert op when someone had decided to blow up the place. He tapped his earpiece, seeing if he could turn it on, but he knew it was pointless.

He hadn’t heard anyone since the explosion.

Piles of rubble littered the station, and he could see patches of blue sky from where the ceiling had caved in. “Freeman?” he called out.

“I’m good. Broke a couple bones but I’ll live,” his teammate shouted from nearby, his voice shaky. It sounded as if he was on the other side of twin piles of rubble.

“Same here. Broke my leg, can’t move too much without help.” A wave of nausea swept through him, but he shoved it back. There was no time for that shit.

“Sit tight. Gonna see if my phone works.” Freeman’s voice had that thready quality to it, as if talking was a struggle.

His phone. Hell, why hadn’t he thought of that? Moving sluggishly, Nathan patted his pants pocket, trying to feel for his cell, when the woman next to him gently touched his arm.

Her eyes were wide and her face and hair were streaked with dirt, probably from when he’d tackled her to the dingy floor. “You’re bleeding,” she said, still shaking but not as bad as before. She pointed to his head before looking around and snagging her purse, which was a foot from them. “I think I’ve got some tissues or something.”

Her fingers fumbled to open the giant purse, but he stilled her with his free hand. “It’s okay. Just sit tight. Help is on the way.”

Pop. Pop. Pop.

His blood chilled in his veins. Gunfire. There was too much debris in the way, and the acoustics of the place made it impossible to accurately decide which direction it had come from. But it wasn’t right on top of them, which was good.

“Was that—”

Nathan held a finger to the woman’s mouth. Eyes growing even wider, she nodded, so he dropped his hand. He pointed in the direction of the stairs. There was a pile of rubble there too, blocking what he knew was their only exit. He’d have to crawl over it with some difficulty, but she should be all right as far as he could tell.

Keeping his weapon in his hand was a difficult feat as he crab-crawled backward, dragging his busted leg as he went. And didn’t that hurt like a bitch? But he couldn’t afford to let his guard down and he couldn’t attempt to belly-crawl. He might not know the exact direction of those gunshots, but he knew the general area. The west side. So he was making it to the east side and not exposing his back to anyone. He needed to get backup, because if there was a team down here, he wasn’t fit to engage. He’d do it no problem, but he had only one weapon and he was fighting unconsciousness each second that passed. They needed help.

At this point he wasn’t sure if the shooter was the dirty DEA agent they’d brought in as part of this op or someone completely new. Didn’t much matter. The only thing that mattered was getting out of this place in one piece and making sure no more innocent civilians were injured in the name of greed and power.

He glanced over his shoulder once as he crawled, relief flooding his system as they reached the nearest pile.

“Can you make it over?” he asked the woman quietly. Whispering would carry louder down here.

She nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want to leave you, though.” Her voice was just as quiet as his.

“It’s okay. I’m going to make a call for help. Rescue teams should already be setting up outside. Go as far as you can to the stairs, but don’t crawl under any beams or unstable-looking boulders. Don’t take any risks. If you have to sit tight, just wait for a rescue.”

“You’re sure?” she whispered, clearly torn.

“I swear.” He appreciated her bravery, but he wanted her out. He wanted as many innocent civilians out of here as possible. For all he knew, there could be bombs planted in the Metro, ready to be detonated. The rocket could have been only the first stage in this attack.

“Okay,” she said. “If I make it to a rescue team, I’ll tell them where you are.”

“Thanks.” As she started to climb, he managed to tug his cell free from his pocket—and found it had been damaged. The screen was busted and it was beyond repair. Freaking great.

Sighing, he weighed his options, trying his best to ignore the pain blasting all his nerve endings. He could try to crawl up after her or make his way to where he’d heard Freeman last. He couldn’t leave his teammate behind. At this point they couldn’t call out to each other, not with an unknown gunman somewhere nearby, so he’d just have to crawl until he found his friend.

Gritting his teeth, he’d started to move when an eerie cracking sound echoed through the tunnel. A thick chunk of concrete slammed down barely ten feet away from him. Pieces shattered out in every direction.

Looking up, he saw more pieces starting to fall. Panic bloomed inside him as he scrambled backward again. He winced as his palms dug into sharp shards of debris, the pieces cutting up his hands. He’d moved two feet when another chunk crashed where he’d just been.

His heart in his throat, he kept moving until he backed up against another pile of rubble. At least he’d made progress.

“Ortiz?” Freeman called out, despite the fact that they shouldn’t be talking.