Page 142 of Into the Fire

Mia froze in the doorway, staring at Evan and his drawn pistol, seemingly pointed at her. Their eyes locked. Her pupils were constricted with shock, and he read in them equal parts terror and confusion.

He fired over her shoulders—literally through her hair on either side. It swayed with the velocity of the rounds.

The sound, even suppressed, caused her shoulders to jump upward.

Two bodies fell behind her.

Before she could look, he grabbed her around the small of her back and pulled her close, shooting even as he spun her, cheek to cheek, a violent waltz. Her chest was pressed to his, her palms flattened against his ribs. His body blocked her from incoming fire.

She clung to him, spinning, disoriented, as the men flashed across the threshold and jerked back and down. The clank of gunmetal on carpet. Wet gasps. A deep-voiced grunt.

And then Evan stopped, still holding her tight enough that he could feel her heartbeat through her blouse, the heat of her skin. Her hand was curled against his chest, half shielding her eyes.

She was untouched. All four operators lay heaped in the doorway.

He released her, and she staggered to the side, one knee buckling, her face blank, stunned. The spilled contents of her briefcase littered the floor at her feet. She stared at the bodies.

“I’m the one they…” Her voice went husky and guttered out. “They were going to kill me.”

Two of the men’s pistols lay on the floor. One operator hadn’t yet cleared leather, and the fourth had died with his gun in his hand.

Evan dragged them in, kneed the door shut behind them, and took a moment to steady his breathing.

He had counted a straight dozen men spilling from the van outside Max’s apartment. That left eight more out there. He’d brought plenty of extra mags as well as the FN Ballista in case the clash went rangy, but right now he needed to figure out where the other operators were positioned.

He crouched over a body, reached behind the still-warm ear, and clicked the bone-phone to speaker.

“—repeat: Confirm target is neutralized. I’m eastbound on Grand, circling around for pickup. I have Little Bird in hand if we need to shift to B plan.”

A charge went through Evan, snapping him upright.

Mia’s shock evaporated as it hit her, too. “‘Little Bird’? Is that … Do they mean Peter?”

Evan recovered and sprinted to the giant windows, looking down on the traffic grid of the surrounding streets.

He spotted the white van in motion below.

It blurred, and he grabbed his face hard, squeezing his eyes, and then let go.

“What are you doing?” Mia asked. “Are you okay?”

He ignored her, his focus on the road below. He calculated.

Then turned. Mia wobbled on her feet, her back to the wall, using it to prop her up.

“White cleaning van,” he said. “It’ll be at the corner of Seventh and Grand. You’ll be clear.”

Her lips firmed as if to fight down panic. “How do you know?”

He said, “I know.”

“I’m unarmed,” she said. “What am I supposed to do?”

Evan was already on his knees before the Hardigg Storm Case, pulling the twenty-six-inch fluted barrel from the foam lining, mounting it on the receiver, and quick-locking the suppressor. He looked up at her, a wisp of hair falling across his eyes. “Go to your son. Draw them out. Everything else is on me.”

She stared at him. Swallowed down her terror.

And bolted out the door.