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God, he was nauseous. He hadn’t realized just how damn sick he felt. His body was feverish and his steps sluggish. To top it off, he’d gotten lost in this medieval stone-and-shit tunnel.
Twice.
He’d only found his way this far thanks to Dmitri, whom he’d backtracked to get. Good thing the keys he’d taken from the guards he’d handcuffed had worked on the oubliette.
“I can’t walk,” Dmitri said.
Yeah. Sandesh had already figured that out. Using one arm, he dragged the guy—whose naked body was riddled with injuries. They sounded like shuffling zombies. Good thing the guy now weighed next to nothing. And that no one else was down here. The two guards he’d taken out seemed to be it.
“I’m dying. Let me die.”
Not likely. If he could’ve gotten out of here on his own, he would’ve left the guy to die in peace. “Which way?”
Dmitri moaned. “I told you.” He broke into a fit of coughing. He wheezed. “Down to get up.”
Yeah. That was the crazy-ass shit directions that hadn’t helped. And all that talk of uneven stones. “A little more specific.”
Dmitri raised a trembling hand, as pale and bony as a concentration-camp corpse. “There.”
Where? The stone corridor was lit with caged lights spaced haphazardly along the ceiling. They didn’t do dick. And… Wait. He did see.
A brick a little larger than the rest with a white streak down the center.
He dragged Dmitri forward, used his shoulder to prop him against the wall, and hit the brick with his elbow.
The wall slid open. Hallelujah. Sandesh blinked at the brightness. Stairs? Stairs leading down. And…shit.
He grabbed Dmitri, pulled him back. A camera.
Damn.
Leaving Dmitri, he crept around the side, used the wall to support his gun hand, aimed, shook, steadied his hand, aimed again, and took out the camera.
He picked Dmitri up—guy was practically unconscious—and hoisted him into a fireman’s carry, leaving one hand free for his gun. He stepped down the first step.
Three things happened at once. Dmitri began to convulse. An alarm sounded. And two armed guards appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
Chapter 67
Justice kept her scope on the scene as Ninja Warrior reacted to the alarm. He immediately told Tony and Victor to get out of the golf cart and get down on their knees. They did.
The guard with the gun trained on Tony and Victor began to shout. He looked jittery.
Fuck.
He lifted Tony onto his feet and got in his face. Had they identified Tony? This wasn’t good. Her finger twitched. Don’t shoot. Wait. Wait and see.
Ninja Warrior stepped forward, hand on his gun. He was shouting too. The guard screaming at Tony dropped one of his hands, began to pull out his weapon. Justice took a breath. Held it. Focused. Aimed her scope.
Shot.
Snap. The bullet struck the temple of the guard holding Tony. The guard’s head jerked. She didn’t wait to see him go down. She swung the rifle left. Aimed. Shot another guard straight in the face as he’d turned toward her position.
Justice could feel the adrenaline flood her system, feel it make everything slow. She rode the hyperawareness, found Ninja Warrior scrambling away. She shot. Missed. Shot. Shit.
She returned to Tony and Victor and let off a round of suppressing fire as they bolted.
Meanwhile, Ninja Warrior, understanding where the danger was coming from, had zigzagged to the Cadillac, ducked, and swung his gun in her direction.
His first shot missed by a mile. He needed a rifle.
She fired at the car, forced Ninja Warrior to stay down but kept clear of where Gracie hid. The car was bulletproof, but no need to take chances.
She hoped Ninja Warrior wouldn’t notice Gracie. Had he opened the car door? Damn tinted windows. She shot again. Keeping him hunkered down, though he’d probably give instructions via two-way.
Yep. A black Land Rover with dark windows tore out of the gate. It raced up the hill, over brush and stones, toward her. She fired at it. Seriously, was the whole country bulletproof?
Someone in the car fired at her. The dirt in front of her burst up. She ducked her head. The shots stopped. She took two deep breaths. Fuck this.
She surveyed her escape route, then spoke into her mic. “Gracie?”
Gracie’s voice came through the headset, clear but soft. “Go. I’ve got American Ninja Warrior.”
Justice didn’t need more encouragement. She unhooked her night vision goggles from her belt, put them on, crawled backward, rolled, and ran at a crouch.
Chapter 68
Hidden among the trees and darkness, Justice adjusted her night vision goggles and watched her pursuers. The Land Rover stopped at the edge of the woods.
A group of men got out.
She ran, pinning the stock of her rifle with her forearm, aiming the barrel safely away. Her lean legs stretched out as she skirted through the trees, and her mind sifted through her catalogue of satellite images. From this hill, the ground sloped and became even and flat, a straight and open shot to the barn.
She heard movement behind, men dispersing into the woods.
Shit. She ran faster. Not good. If she ran toward the barn, breaking from the cover of trees, someone would spot her.
Stumbling on a root, she worked her feet to regain balance. Nope. Holding out her weapon like a chicken wing, she slammed into the ground. Dirt, broken tree limbs, and a muffled umpf. Way too much noise.
Someone shouted. Her head began to buzz. Her heart rate doubled. Her ears thrummed. She got to her feet, double-checked her rifle, focused her hearing, sought out identifying sounds, determi
ning location, distance, and intent.
They were close. Time to do the unexpected. Resettling her NVGs, she began to backtrack. It was a gamble, but she had an idea. Or the memory of an idea.
Years ago, when she and Gracie were teens, they’d gone down to Philly and had gotten into what Momma would later call an “unacceptable altercation.” Basically, they’d gotten into trash-talking a group of older kids, after one had whistled at them outside a convenience store.
Even back then, Justice had had a way with words. Enough of a way that one of the kids had pulled a gun on them.
Being younger, unarmed, and slightly inebriated, they’d run. The four kids jumped into their broken-down Expedition and gave chase.
Using a bit of evasive tactics—Gracie’s idea—they’d led the gang to a nearby apartment complex. At the complex, Justice hid while Gracie let them see her darting into a narrow alley. The driver had slammed on the brakes. They’d all gotten out and sprinted after Gracie. They’d left the car, as expected. The girls’ plan had been to try and hot-wire it, but the guys had left the car running.
Justice, who’d backtracked, jumped into the car and took off. She picked Gracie up at a prearranged spot. Being fifteen and having had two beers, they’d made it a few blocks before she’d crashed into a parked car.
Lessons learned: Don’t drink and drive hijacked cars. And if you leave your car running, because you may need to give chase, station a guard.
Keeping her breath controlled, she slowed near the Land Rover. Hoping. Praying.
All four doors open. Lights on. No one home. Car idling.
Same state. Different city.
She ran in a crouch alongside the Land Rover and slipped into the front seat. Seat warmer. Nice.
* * *
Switching off the Land Rover’s lights, Justice headed down the hill and straight for the stables. She clicked her mic. “Gracie?”
