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But she hoped like hell that Briggs wasn’t the only one Stephan had sent in, because right now she had a feeling they were going to need every agent they could get.
Sam hesitated at the nose of the last car before the burning limo. A few feet of free space now separated her from the wreck. She blew out a breath, glanced up at the rooftop, then sprinted forward.
Blue light nipped at her heels, melting the asphalt before a secondary wave of kinetic energy sent jagged asphalt pieces exploding upward. Not a laser, but rather a plasma weapon, which ionized matter and projected it with sufficient force to cause secondary impact damage in addition to the initial high thermal damage. She swore and dove behind the burning car, ripping her jeans down to her skin. She swore again and rose on one knee, squinting against the smoke and the heat as she scanned the rooftops. She could see little through the thick, s
oupy haze.
Coughing as the smoke began to catch in her throat, she edged forward and knelt down by the chauffeur, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. Though with a hole the size of her fist burned through his chest, that wasn’t too surprising.
She closed his eyes, then shifted position. Flames were beginning to lick at the underbelly of the limo, and, this close, the heat was intense, almost suffocating. Every breath burned and the sweat sliding down her forehead seemed to sizzle. She had to get out of here—had to get Wetherton and his people out—before they were either fried or suffocated or the gas tank exploded.
Sounds whispered through the crackling of flames—quick footsteps, approaching from the front of the limo. She swung and sighted her laser, only to recognize the blonde who approached. She lowered her weapon hastily and said, “What the hell is going on, Briggs?”
Briggs stepped over the chauffeur’s body and squatted near her. “I don’t know. The vamp was supposed to attack as Wetherton was coming out of the theater. This wasn’t part of the plan, believe me.”
“Were you the only agent assigned?”
“Yeah. We’re only talking about one vamp, and he’s little more than a kid, at that.” Briggs hesitated, a grim smile touching her lips. “Dead easy. Or it should have been.”
Should being the operative word. “Our first priority’s getting Wetherton out.”
“You check, and I’ll cover.”
Sam nodded. Smoke and flames enveloped almost every part of the car now. The paint had begun to peel, tearing away like sunburned skin. She pulled the sleeve of her jacket over her hand and opened the back door. Smoke boiled out, pungent and black. Inside the car, someone coughed. At least one of them was alive, though how, she had no idea.
Another blue beam bit through the night and the rear window of the car shattered, spraying bright shards of glass everywhere. Briggs rose and fired several shots at the rooftop of a café to the left of the theater.
Heat itched across Sam’s skin—heat that whispered secrets and had nothing to do with the flames. It wasn’t a vampire up there firing at them, but a shifter. Obviously, the vamp had done a runner, and others were in control here tonight. But who? Still, if there was one thing she’d learned over her years as a cop, it was that things rarely went the way they were planned. Mainly because all the various players were usually following a different script.
“SIU,” she said, in between coughs. “Is anyone seriously hurt in there?”
“Wetherton’s unconscious. His girlfriend has serious facial lacerations. The rest of us have minor cuts and scrapes.”
The voice was cold, efficient. Familiar. She knew without looking that it belonged to the man with the dead eyes.
“We’re going to lay covering fire so everyone can get out. One of you will have to drag Wetherton clear.” She hesitated, coughing again as the thick smoke and heat caught in her throat. “Make for the foyer of the theater.”
At least there, Wetherton and his companions should be relatively safe from the laser fire. Unless, of course, the shooter moved.
Or there was more than one shooter.
“Say when,” Gray Eyes said.
Sam checked the charge on the laser, then glanced at Briggs and nodded. As one, they rose and began firing.
“Go!” she screamed.
The twin lasers seared through the night, spraying the darkness with bright beams of light that danced across the metal rooftop with deadly force.
The car lurched. A woman scrambled out, followed quickly by a man who turned, reached back and hauled Wetherton out of the vehicle. Gray Eyes appeared, blood pouring down the left side of his face as he wedged a shoulder under the minister and hoisted him up, then quickly moved away from the limo with Wetherton on his back. The other man and two women followed, the second looking dazed and with blood flowing freely down her face.
“Go with them, Briggs,” Sam ordered, and she continued firing until Briggs and the others had reached the theater doorway, even though the shadow on the roof had disappeared as soon as they’d returned fire.
If he moved too far, they’d lose him. And with him would go any chance of understanding what the hell was going on. Sam pressed the transmitter as she rose and ran back across the road.
“The attacker is a shifter, not a vampire. I’m in pursuit. Cleanup team and ambulance required.”
Sirens were already screaming in the distance and people milled on the sidewalk, drawn like moths to the flame. Though the paparazzi feasted on it all, several of them ran in her wake, as if in anticipation of a scoop. She dug out her badge and flashed it in their direction.
