Page 135 of Hard Rain

Whip listened for a beat before easing his head around the door jamb. The hallway was empty.

Crouching over the guy, he lifted the gun from his holster, a SIG P320, and took the ring of keys. He lifted the crackling radio from the man’s hip and stepped over the body to enter the hallway.

The hallway lay empty beneath the dim glow of emergency lights, every third fixture dark. Somewhere above him another burst of gunfire echoed through the building.

The stolen radio at his belt crackled.

“…Team Two, report.”

Silence.

“Team Two, report.”

Good.

They were focused somewhere else.

Whip moved. Fast but controlled. The SIG stayed low against his thigh, his eyes sweeping intersections, doorways, and EXIT signs as he passed. He didn’t know where the hallway led yet, but he knew one thing.

Up.

Whatever had happened had started above him, and that was where he’d find Axel…or the men who’d taken him.

“Status on the marshal.”

Charleston’s voice came through the stolen radio. Whip would recognize that smarmy voice anywhere.

Good.

The asshole was still in the building.

“I’m almost there,” another voice answered.

Whip reached the stairwell, climbed, and eased the door open.

A man rounded the corner twenty feet away.

They locked eyes.

The man’s eyes widened as his hand dove for the pistol at his hip.

Whip was already moving.

The SIG barked twice.

The first round caught the man high in the chest. The second spun him into the wall before he collapsed hard onto the carpet.

Silence settled for barely a heartbeat, then the stolen radio crackled.

“All teams, Charleston is en route. South corridor. Nobody deviates from the route. Is that understood?”

So that was the plan.

He stepped over the body and turned left.

It didn’t take him as long as he thought it would to pick up the trail of Charleston and his band of goons.

All he had to do was follow the bodies.