Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Gunshots.
I slid into cover behind the fender of the Audi as pieces of taillights exploded onto the pavement, and the car sustained fire.
Safety off. I sighted their position as the bay doors began to fold closed with a whine of metal on metal. The guy in coveralls was drawing down now, having finished activating the shutters that soon would prevent escape by vehicle. Fuck.
When the line of bullets swept to my left and began to cut into Jason’s BMW, I steadied the grip of my gun on the trunk of the sedan and opened fire, focusing on Coveralls by the door, so the man wouldn’t be able to flank.
My first shot missed. How the hell had I missed? My second one was center-mass, and the next was to the head. The impact pitched Coveralls backward, headfirst to the ground.
Smooth metal was at my back as I dropped behind the Audi wheel well. My shots had drawn their fire back in my direction. The backseat window shattered, raining glass down all over me. Shit, I couldn’t stay here where I was pinned down, but I couldn’t move either.
Gunfire ripped from the other side of the Audi, much too close to be an enemy. Jason, was returning fire. The marshal probably always carried, thank fuck. Again, I slung my SIG over the car, and this time its trunk was full of holes and ricochet dents.
I sank several bullets into the door of the truck, trying to reach the ugly, greasy-looking driver who was hiding behind it. Carlo was even harder to get at on the other side of the vehicle.
There was a huge crash as the hangar doors attempted to shut, jammed open by the fuel truck.
Wasting ammo, that was what I was doing.
I burned through several more rounds before returning to cover. Shit, I was going to have to get smart quick about this. I only had fifteen rounds in the magazine to begin with, and now I was down to seven at the most.
When I had to kill, I didn’t do it out in the open. I was trained to be silent. The never-see-it-coming kind of kill. But this was a brute force strike. The two gunmen in the truck undoubtedly had more ammo and would outlast me and Jason like this.
There was a sharp, male hiss of pain followed by a thud on the other side of the Audi.
“Jason!” Laurel screamed through one of the BMW’s shattered windows.
A door opened, and someone climbed out of the SUV.
Fucking no, I wanted to yell at her, but there wasn’t time.
I dropped my shoulder to the pavement, ignoring Jason’s form slumped there to the side of my field of vision, and focused on the truck.
It took two shots to hit one of the driver’s legs that wasn’t shielded below the truck’s door.
And as I had hoped, when the man reached down instinctively toward his wound, his head dipped into view for a split second. More than enough time.
Both of my bullets sent blood and brain splattering across the side of the fuel truck.
More gunshots rang out, a volley from my side of the vehicles, but it didn’t make sense. Jason was still down on the cement.
Once the driver had been killed, there were no more gunshots from the fuel truck. Only the sound of Carlo’s fading footsteps as he fled.
Glass crunched under my shoes as I rounded the car, sliding the magazine out to check my ammo. Two fucking bullets. That was all I had left. Jason was flat on his back, his left hand over the blood pouring from his right shoulder.
I jerked to a stop.
Olivia crouched beside the SUV, Jason’s Glock clenched in her fist.
Holy shit.
It wasn’t Laurel who’d gotten out of the BMW in the middle of a gunfight—it’d been Olivia. She’d left the safety of the car to help me return fire.
“Go,” Jason ordered. “I’m all right.”
My brain was chaos, but I pushed every thought aside except the immediate one and focused on the gun she held. “I’m almost out.”
She offered it without hesitation.
“Spare mag,” he said through clenched teeth, “in the console.”
I holstered the SIG, grabbed his Glock, and reached in through the shattered window to access the console. I refused to acknowledge the empty infant car seat that had bullet holes in it and found the magazine quickly, shoving it in my pocket.
“Stay down,” I commanded, loud enough for everyone to hear, and tore off for the fuel truck. Since the shutter doors had jammed shut on it, the fastest way was through the cab. I barreled in and out the other side, sweeping my gun across the landscape to make sure I was clear. Carlo had a considerable headstart and was only twenty feet from a sedan parked against another hangar, clearly his target.
The trigger was spongy.