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Her eyes went liquid as she buried her face in his chest and clung to him.
“Come on,” his voice was soft. “We need to leave now.”
She nodded against him before stepping back. Together they turned toward the door that led back into the building—and froze.
A man stood in their way, blocking their only exit off the roof. He smiled at them. The cold, dead smile of a killer. Friday began to shake and took a step closer to Striker, looking for protection, which he readily gave. There was no need for introductions. They knew exactly who had come for them. He was the bogeyman of the Northern Territory. Miriam Shepherd’s pet psychopath—Kane Duggan.
Friday’s hand curled into the waistband of his jeans as Striker scanned the roof, looking for an out. He felt her shake, knew she was terrified, but she didn’t make a sound.
More men came out of the stairwell behind Kane. They were all dressed in black. All wore military boots. All carried weapons. They spread out, forming a barrier in front of the door.
Every man present held a gun in his hand—including Striker, who’d removed his from the holster on his thigh as soon as he’d turned toward the door. And although there was firepower aplenty, no one took a shot. There was only one reason for the lack of gunfire—Kane wanted Friday alive.
“Bébé,” he barely whispered. “Hold on tight and run when I say.”
He felt her nod against his back.
“Surrender,” Kane’s voice rang out. “Give me the woman, and you can walk out of here alive.” He inclined his head, the gesture of a benevolent dictator. “In pain, but alive.”
Friday’s trembling increased. He reached back and wrapped a hand around her wrist, holding her tight as he waited for their moment. He could only see one way out of this, and they would have only one chance to make it work.
“You want money?” Kane spread out his hands. “I can give you money. Whatever the bitch paid, I’ll triple. You’re a smuggler, Striker. Not a fighter. Take the fee and walk away. She’s dead, anyway.”
A strangled sound of distress came from behind him, and Striker flexed his hold on Friday’s wrist, trying to reassure her that she was his priority. Kane could offer all the riches in the world, and he would never walk away from her.
Never.
Kane made a tiny gesture with his right hand, and the eight-man team spread out. Slowly hemming them in. Their time was up.
He squeezed her wrist. “We’re running left in three,” he whispered. “One, two, three!”
He shot at the generator above Kane’s head. It exploded in a shower of sparks. It was barely more than a distraction, but it bought them the time to run. And run they did. Straight to the edge of the roof, over the ledge, and into the night.
Chapter Thirty-One
They were flying. Friday screamed, but it came out as a squeak. They’d ran straight off the hotel roof. Ten floors up. Into nothing. A few seconds later they landed with a thud on the roof of the building beside them. Her knees jolted on impact, sending pain spearing through her. There was no time to process—they had to keep moving. They had to get away from CommTECH’s enforcer.
“Run!” Striker hadn’t let go of her wrist, even during their jump. He tugged her to her feet, dragging her along with him as he ran.
They didn’t look back, heading straight at the door to the interior stairs. Striker shot out the lock before he hit the door hard. It gave way with a crash, swinging inward to hit the wall. They took the stairs two at a time, moving fast enough for her to worry she’d trip and get them killed. They were being chased. Kane and his men had followed them.
They barreled through the first door they came to and discovered they were in an office block. Small rooms. Cubicles. An elevator. They raced toward it. Striker hit the button as he shoved her behind him, aiming his gun back down the corridor, protecting her. There was nothing she could do to help, other than stare at the lift doors, willing them to open.
The bell on the elevator sounded its arrival as their pursuers rushed into the corridor.
Striker pushed her into the lift. “Close the doors,” he ordered.
She frantically pressed the button, glad the elevator was too old to use biolocks, which meant anyone could work it. The doors began to close. So, so slowly.
“Striker!” She reached for him, afraid he wouldn’t make it in before the doors slammed shut.
He fired off several rounds before throwing himself through the closing gap. Her hands curled into the cotton of his T-shirt as she shook violently. He was a calm, confident port in a terrifying storm.
“Don’t worry, bébé.” He hit the button for the first floor and then the emergency override button, which meant they wouldn’t stop until they got there. “I’ll get us out of this.” There was absolute conviction in his voice.
“Someone will be waiting for us at the bottom.” It would be all too easy for some of Kane’s men to backtrack through the hotel building to cut them off.
“I know.” He flashed her a reassuring smile before he jumped up and pushed the panel in the ceiling, flipping it open. “Up you go.”
