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“Come on, Gérard, this isn’t why we’re here. We were supposed to deal with security so we could get the message out. Not chase reporters all over the building.”
Gérard barked out a nasty laugh. “Are you afraid the big bad reporter is going to hurt you? He’s a desk jockey. Like you used to be before you joined the movement. You’ll be fine. Just point your weapon at him, and he’ll pee his pants.”
“If that’s what you think, then you can stick your head out to see if he’s still there. Any guy who can run along that ledge without breaking a sweat sure as hell isn’t only a desk jockey. And did you see the way he caught her? That wasn’t normal.”
“I’m telling the crew you chickened out,” Gérard said. “Watch how it’s done and learn.”
There were footsteps as Gérard drew closer to the window. Every muscle in Mace’s body tensed, and his heart rate slowed. As it always did before combat. A thin smile curved his lips—he was back to normal. His physical reaction to almost losing Keiko had been nothing more than a blip.
Silently, carefully, he positioned his left hand at the edge of the frame, ready to grip it. He kept his right hand at chest height, exactly where the idiot’s head would be when he stuck it through the window. Time slowed as his focus narrowed. He took in the details of his situation at lightning speed, processing them just as fast, ready to strike.
“You sure you did the Freedom training?” Gérard said. “Because they used to teach recruits how to fight, not hide.”
With a harsh laugh at his own brilliance, he stuck his head through the window. Mace didn’t hesitate. He grabbed him by the hair, yanked him through the hole, and sent him flying into the night. The terrorist’s scream ripped through the silence, but Mace didn’t take the time to watch him fall. He gripped the frame, ignoring a jab that told him he’d cut his hand on the shards of glass still clinging to it, and jumped through the window.
Shock kept the other Freedom fighter immobilized, just as Mace knew it would. Amateurs. The guy didn’t have time to react before Mace grasped either side of his head and twisted. With an audible crack, the terrorist’s neck snapped, and he crumpled to the floor. Mace bent over to take the rifle from the dead man’s hands, feeling no remorse at ending his life. There was no doubt in Mace’s mind that the man would have continued to come after him and Keiko. And there was no way he’d allow that to happen. He had no choice but to eliminate the threat.
As he checked the clip on the weapon, he muttered, “Now I have a machine gun, ho-ho-ho.”
That had always been his favorite line from Die Hard. And now here he was, wisecracking like John McClane, in his very own skyscraper full of terrorists. If he wasn’t careful, this experience was going to put him off his favorite movie for life.
Without sparing a second glance at the man on the floor, he jogged toward the corridor and the stairs that led to the penthouse above. There was no time to lose, because if Freedom knew where he was, they also knew Keiko was in the stairwell. Unprotected. Vulnerable. A sitting duck.
Coming to a halt just around the corner from the corridor with the cameras, he let his senses reach out, the way he’d learned from watching his other half over the past three years, and felt the emptiness of the space. There were no other Freedom soldiers between him and Keiko, but there were still the cameras to deal with, and he had to be fast about it. Because as soon as one went black, whoever was monitoring them would want to know why, and they’d send someone to investigate.
Taking a deep breath, he found the place within him that allowed him the focus he needed in combat. It was a reserve he’d first discovered as a child, when he had to remain silent and in control when all he’d wanted to do was rage at life’s injustice.
With steady hands, he swung the gun in the direction of the first camera and shot. The sound reverberated around the corridor, but he wasn’t concerned about noise. They were too far away from the security hub for anyone to hear, and the people on the terrace were making enough noise to cover any he made above them. Three more shots, taken quickly, and the cameras were disabled.
That’s when he felt it.
The hard barrel of a laser pistol pressed against his back. He could have kicked himself for making the amateur mistake of not sending his senses out behind him as well as in front of him. He’d been so focused on getting to Keiko that he’d become sloppy, in a situation where mistakes could get you killed.
As he ran through scenarios in his head, trying to decide the best way out of his current dilemma, his opponent nudged him with the gun.
“Throw your weapon over there and put your hands behind your head.”
And things just kept getting worse—his assailant was a woman.
He couldn’t hit a woman.
It took all of his self-control not to groan. He could almost hear Sandi’s voice mocking him. “Women are just as violent as men. Chivalry will get you killed in a fight. This is your weakness; you need to deal with it or you’re going to end up dead.”
Yeah. Well, he hadn’t dealt with it. And, with the indoctrination he’d received as a kid, he doubted he ever would. Nothing on this green earth would make him hit a woman. He wasn’t his father, no matter how much the old man and his grandfather told him he was.
“Did you hear me?” The woman nudged him with her weapon. “Toss your gun over there.”
He had no choice but to comply, throwing his gun over to the wall beside the door he’d been trying to get to. “What now?”
“Now I secure your hands and walk you back down to the terrace.”
Damn it to hell. He just could not get a break. “Yeah, that isn’t going to work for me.”
Turning fast, he snatched the gun from her hand and sent it flying farther down the corridor. The woman didn’t seem bothered about losing her weapon. Instead, she just shook out her arms, took a wider stance, and brought up her fists—ready to fight. For a second, Mace was thrown by her reaction. He was almost a head taller than her with a helluva lot more muscle, although she definitely wasn’t without some muscle of her own.
“You need to think about this,” he told her. “I’m a whole lot bigger than you. Do you really want to fight me?”
With a smirk, she swung around and struck him with a roundhouse kick that sent him flying back into the corridor, hitting the door to the apartment stairwell with a thud. He fought the urge to rub his stomach. That shit hurt.
