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Maybe he’d been too distracted by Hannah to think straight.
Which is why he really needed to shut this connection down. At least until the mission was over and Darkshade was deep in some underground CIA black site prison.
He created distance between them, tearing his eyes away from the soft swell of her lips. He scanned the lobby. The police had scattered, some moving upstairs. Now was their chance.
“Let’s move.” His tone was probably too gruff, and Hannah raised an eyebrow, but listened.
The sky bridge to the parking garage was warm from the heat of the day and the clear glass that created a greenhouse effect in the narrow walkway.
The garage, on the other hand, was dark and damp.
“Pierce. Where’s the SUV parked?”
Pierce gave him the pillar location and they walked that way. With every step, Will felt heavier with the knowledge that he had failed his team. He’d failed to protect Hannah. The reality of what had nearly happened upstairs was like a hundred Kevlar vests, constricting his chest and dragging him down.
Hannah reached for his hand as they strode across the dimly lit garage, gray concrete everywhere he looked. Just a few more feet from the SUV now.
His footsteps faltered at the feeling of someone watching them. There had been no noise and he hadn’t seen anything. It was nothing more than a gut thing, but he knew better than to ignore it. He glanced around the garage. While his eyes scanned behind them, he felt Hannah tense and gasp, a strangled cry escaping from her throat.
The man’s face was hidden under a black baseball cap, his hands tucked into the pockets of a jacket. But it was Yuri, suddenly standing at the rear of their only means of escape.
In an instant, he shoved Hannah behind the nearest car and reached for his weapon.
He ducked behind the green van and the metallic thunk of bullets followed him into his hiding spot. He stood, firing twice more around the corner. Unfortunately, his ammo was limited to the magazine in his weapon since he hadn’t grabbed a spare. Twelve shots sounded like a lot until you were exchanging fire with an expert marksman and certifiable psycho.
“Where are you guys? We’ve got company!” He needed his team back here.
He peered around the corner of the van as another gunshot cracked through the air. His heart dropped when he didn’t see Yuri standing at the rear of the SUV.
Well, he was. Sort of.
Kuznetsov was reeling back, pressing his hands to his face with a yell, his gun still in hand but out of position.
What the heck? Will didn’t wait for an explanation. He held his gun trained on the assassin. “Don’t move.”
The idiot didn’t listen. Instead, he rushed at Will. Will fired, but the bullet went high as Yuri ducked. Will grunted at the impact as the man collided with him. Instantly, Will brought his own arms up, trying to get the gun away from his opponent.
Someone said something on the radio, but Will was too busy to hear it. Yuri’s gun went flying, but he landed heavy blows on Will’s thighs and head as Will attempted to subdue him.
Will managed to grab one arm, twisting it behind Yuri’s back while pressing the gun against his neck with the other. “I thought I said ‘Don’t move.’” Will felt Kuznetsov relax, surrendering to the inevitable. He’d done it.
In a flash, Yuri grabbed Will’s gun hand and wrenched it away from his neck, the shot going skyward as he spun out of Will’s grasp and came in low for another attack. Will cursed himself for once again underestimating his opponent, even as he was being shoved against the closed rear door of the SUV.
Yuri grabbed Will’s wrist and slammed it against the car until it dropped.
Will struck with his knees, but each blow was expertly blocked by the expert killer.
With each strike and counterstrike, Yuri tried to move toward the side of the vehicle, toward Hannah. Every last cell within Will was refusing to let that happen. But Kuznetsov was strong, and hand-to-hand combat had never been Will’s specialty. Yuri’s forearm pressed against Will’s throat, and Will struggled to pull it away, fighting for air.
He raised his arm up, hoping to get enough leverage to twist out, but Yuri caught it.
Suddenly, the pressure faded and Yuri screamed as his arm dropped limply to his side.
Tank stood three feet away, gun in hand pointed directly at Kuznetsov, who finally had the good sense to listen.
Forcing air through his bruised and swollen throat, Will reached down and grabbed his weapon from the ground. Then he stepped back and pointed his own gun at Yuri’s head.
“Don’t move.”
