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“We’re going for the Freedom bird.” The roar of her bike’s engine filled the background. “It will give us an option at terrace level.”
“We got a location for that bird?” Striker asked Hunter, knowing he would have traced the signal from the terrace to the recipient.
“She’s already got it.” His attention was on the screen filled with code in front of him. “I’m grounding the bird until she gets there. It’s a class-four shuttle, currently parked on top of the Righteous Center.”
Basically, it was a car with wings that folded in when not in use to allow it to be garaged. It was meant for private use within the city limits. It would be small and nimble enough to negotiate getting close to the terrace but ill-equipped to deal with any fire it might take.
“She needs air cover,” Striker said. “I’ll take up our chopper.”
Friday gasped and slid around to his front. Her eyes were wide. “You can’t. You can’t be seen by Enforcement. They’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Bébé, if Sandi and Ignacio don’t have backup in the air, they’ll get shot down. It’s a civilian vehicle—a handgun could bring it down. Someone has to protect their asses.”
“Why didn’t they just take the helicopter?” Friday’s voice was pleading, begging him to stay on the sidelines and let his team take the risk.
He brushed her blond hair from her face, staring into her mismatched eyes, loving that they were a mirror of his. “The chopper is farther away. The Freedom shuttle would have made it to the terrace before they got to the chopper. This way, they take the shuttle out of the equation and get there faster.”
Friday’s eyes closed tight for a second before they snapped open. In them, he saw the force of will he loved. “Do. Not. Get. Hurt.”
“Chère, don’cha know? I’m invincible.”
“You’re infuriating, that’s what you are.” She went on tiptoe to press a desperate kiss to his lips.
His woman. He kissed her hard, wending his fingers through her hair, holding her close to him.
“Say it,” she said, her eyes drugged from wanting him.
Hunter snickered, but Striker gave her what she wanted.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
She nodded solemnly as Hunter laughed hard. Striker should never have let her watch the Terminator movies. With a nod to Hunter, leaving him to coordinate their efforts, Striker ran for his bike.
Chapter Forty
Miriam Shepherd had thrown Keiko to the wolves without even a backward glance in her direction. Her life meant nothing to CommTECH, just like the lives of everyone else on the terrace. Because as soon as Miriam’s hologram had flickered out, Enforcement had appeared. They were everywhere, pouring out of the woodwork, an army of black-clad soldiers in masks and armed to the teeth. They weren’t there to rescue her or anyone else; they were there to kill the Freedom fighters and take back the building. Mace had been right all along—all CommTECH cared about was the research data.
In horror, she watched as a firefight broke out in front of her. She had to get out of there before she was shot. With her hands tied behind her and her mouth gagged, getting to her feet would be hard. But she’d do it. She had to.
And she would have done it if the terrace hadn’t exploded.
The force of the blast sent her flying backward, landing hard on her bound arms. She screamed, but the silencer over her mouth swallowed the sound. Smoke billowed around her. People shouted, whimpered, screamed, cried. Each sound punctuated by rifle blasts.
She felt someone behind her. Hands fumbling at her wrists. She blinked against the smoke that stung her eyes and twisted to see who it was.
It was the polite man who’d delivered her into Susan’s hands. “I’ll free you, but then you’re on your own.”
She felt the snick that signaled the release of her bound wrists. He leaned over her and reached for the silencer.
“I’m sorry,” he said as tears ran down his cheeks. “I should never have done this. I should never have gotten involved. This isn’t right.”
He never got a chance to remove the gag. A blast hit him in the chest and sent him flying into Rueben Granger, who wailed like a siren. There was no time to feel shock at his brutal death. With weak arms, she reached for the gag. But before she could touch it, something came out of the smoke, moving fast, heading straight for her face. Her hands shot out to defend herself as the black object came back at her. She ducked her head, and it skimmed over her. And that’s when she realized what it was—Mace’s bat.
It turned in the air before swooping back at her. She had no idea what it was doing or why it was attacking her, but she wouldn’t do anything to harm it. She held up her hand to block its approach, but it swerved and dropped to her head. Claws dug into her scalp. And with a cry of pain, she covered her head, ready for another attack that didn’t come. Cautiously, she peeked through her hands, only to see the bat flying away from the terrace—with the EMP band in its clutches.
Keiko touched her head to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. No. It was really gone. The bat had taken it. There was no time to think about it. No time to wonder. She tore the gag from her mouth as all around her people screamed and ran. They tripped over their fallen friends and enemies as the expensive Mexican tiles ran with blood.
An Enforcement agent crushed the skull of a Freedom fighter with a blow from the butt of his weapon. A Freedom fighter blasted an Enforcement agent in the face. A shot hit someone at the edge of the terrace, sending them toppling over the broken wall, screaming into the night. Bodies were strewn everywhere, like broken toys a child had dropped from above when they’d finished playing with them. People trampled the fallen underfoot as they ran for their lives.
