Chapter 25
Dallas rested his hands on the woman’s hips. Her ass, covered in a short purple dress, was on his lap. It took all his willpower not to throw her to the damn floor.
Not that any of this was her fault. But touching another woman made his skin crawl.
He was really fucked. But he couldn’t examine the guilt beating against his chest right now. Not when he had to somehow grab the gun at his ankle and shoot Silas without harming either of the women.
Candy, or Sandy, whatever her name was, shimmied in a way that normally would have stirred desire in his blood.
She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, and her pouty lips worked into a grin. “Wanna go somewhere quieter, Daddy?”
His stomach revolted at the endearment. “Nah. I’ve got business here. Would you do me a favor and fill my drink?”
Her smile widened. “I’ll do a lot more than that.” She scooped up his glass from the table next to the black leather sofa pushed against the wall on the far side of the room. A large window lay to his right, positioned between the sofa and the desk and across the room, beyond where Silas sat, was the door leading out to the club.
Dallas glanced out of the corner of his eye, to his left. Silas’s gun rested on the glass table next to Silas. He occupied a leather armchair that matched the couch Dallas sat in. The woman he was with had plastered herself against his chest. She straddled him, her mouth on his neck.
Sonofabitch.
He couldn’t get off a clear shot. He’d have to get the woman away from Silas first. Dallas moved his gaze to Candy/Sandy and watched as she set his glass on the little bar in the corner of the room and poured the liquor.
Now or never.
He bent low and pulled the gun from the holster at his ankle. His hand closed around the smooth metal, calming the nerves that were making his muscles pulse. “You,” he barked at the woman on Silas.
She jerked her head toward him.
“Other side of the room with your friend.” He flicked his gun, and she scooted off Silas, covering her cleavage and tugging down the hem of her dress as she ran to the minibar.
Candy let out a squeak.
“Quiet,” he commanded to the woman, standing to face Silas.
Silas’s face contorted. “I knew you were involved, you fucker. What are you, FBI?”
“Nope.” He glanced at the woman who’d sat on his lap moments before, as she seemed the calmer of the two. “Candy, grab a chair and put it under the door handle.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Silas sent her a withering glare. His hand inched toward his gun.
“Keep your hands up!” he yelled at Silas. “Move,” he said to Candy. “Because when I kill this cocksucker, his men are going to come in and fire and I’d rather you two not get shot.”
Candy jumped into action. She grabbed the chair in front of the desk and pushed it under the door. If his men blew out the locked door handle, at least the chair would hold them off a couple more seconds. Hopefully he could help the women get out the window.
“Good. Now grab his gun and bring it to me,” he instructed Candy.
She nodded, moved across the room, scooped up the weapon, and handed it to him. He stuffed it in the back of his pants.
“Back with your friend,” he told her.
Silas inched forward in his seat. Dallas cocked his gun. “Don’t fucking move.” His heart pounded. Once he pulled the trigger, he had to move quickly. He backpeddled, keeping the weapon locked on Silas, and yanked the blinds up.
“Who’re you working for? You were responsible for the bomb, too?”
Dallas motioned for the women to move closer to the window. They complied. “No. I had nothing to do with that. But the woman you’re trying to kill, the one you think planted the bomb, is innocent. And I won’t let you hunt her another minute.” He turned to Candy. “Open the window and get out of here. Move quickly.”
Silas seethed. “My men will find you.”
Candy hiked up the window and climbed through. Good thing they were on the main floor. Once the women were safely outside, he moved closer to Silas.
“No, they won’t. Because I’ll kill them too.”
Crack, crack, crack!
A shower of bullets burst through the window behind him. Dallas dove onto the sofa. The women screamed, and the clomping of high heels followed. He covered his head, but no more shots came through the window.
There were shouts in the hallway, and the door jumped on its hinges.
His mind reeled as he lifted his head from beneath his arm. Shattered glass littered the leather that he lay on. He turned his gaze to the armchair where Silas had been moments before. He was gone.
Dallas rolled off the couch. Glass landed on the floor with a tinkling sound. He scanned the room. Silas sat on the ground, leaning against the side of the chair—feet away from the door. Only half the man’s body was visible, but blood trickling through Silas’s fingers, extended from his side. They’d got him.
“I know you’re alive!” Silas croaked, kicking the chair away from the door, likely too injured to stand. “You won’t be for long.”
Dallas fought the urge to crawl across the carpet and finish him off. Whoever had shot through the window could still be out there.
“Hurry up!” Silas screamed to his men on the other side.
“Stand back! I’m going to fire through the lock,” one of the guards said.
He had to escape. He glanced behind him at the open window, free of glass. If he moved too slowly, he’d get shot by whoever had targeted Silas.
If he didn’t move, he’d be caught and tortured by Silas’s men.
He pushed himself from the floor and ran toward the window. Glass crunched beneath his feet.
Pop, pop
The metal lock blew away from the door.
“Hurry!” Silas yelled. “He’s getting away!”
The door burst open as Dallas leaped through the window. He landed on the concrete with a thud and rolled. More shots were fired—this time from the sniper or whoever was outside.
Silas’s men cursed and returned fire.
Dallas shielded his head with his hands and scurried on his knees along the wall of the building. A dumpster came into view. He had to make it. Bracing himself on his toes, he dove for cover.
Crack, crack!
The searing-hot pain of a bullet kissing his flesh scalded his skin. “Fuck,” he hissed. Turning his bicep to inspect the wound, he rested his back against the metal. Blood trickled from his arm, just beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt, but the wound wasn’t too deep. Just a graze that happened to be right above the injury he’d acquired from the tree branch when he bailed out of the plane.
Hopefully Silas had made out a hell of a lot worse.
Hurried footsteps on pavement met his ears. Someone was coming from the side of the building.
Shit.
He held his gun steady, ready to kill whoever ran around the corner. A man burst from behind the building.
“Stop!” Dallas commanded. His finger moved to the trigger, but something made him hesitate.
A sense of familiarity struck him before he even took in the gunman’s appearance. He lowered his weapon. Cole’s dark hair had strayed from its usual neat, combed-back style.
Blood stained the front of his light-gray T-shirt, and he panted as if he’d run a marathon. Which seemed damn-near impossible because Cole never got winded—either because he was in excellent shape or because he simply refused to show weakness of any kind.
“Cole?” Dallas wheezed.
Cole’s body loosened, his gun dropped to his side, and he stomped toward him. “Holy shit,” he growled. “I thought you were dead. How the fuck’d you get out of there?”
Dallas glanced over his shoulder. “Get down. There’s shooters.”
Cole knelt next to him behind the cover of the dumpster and Dallas relaxed. “What are you doing here?”
Questions swirled through him, but he couldn’t grasp a coherent thought.
“How d’ya think I was going to get your passports to you, dummy?” The corner of his mouth twitched in the almost-grin that Dallas was familiar with. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head. “Just a graze. Didn’t expect you to come here, that’s for sure. But I’m fucking slaphappy to see you.” He slowly stood to glance over the edge of the dumpster. Where were the shooters? He lowered back down. “I don’t know who the hell is out here, but right before I was about to blow Silas away, someone fired through the window.”
“I can tell you exactly who’s out here.”
“Huh?” Dallas fought the urge to massage his temple. Pain throbbed behind his eyelids.
“Your girlfriend’s boss.”
Dallas’s arm went limp, and the gun rested on his thigh. He hadn’t told Cole about Gemma’s work with the CIA. “I don’t understand.”
Cole snorted. “Right. Well, your girlfriend called me when my plane landed and told me where you were—”
“Hold on.” Dallas held up his hand. “Gemma doesn’t know where I am. She’s—”
“Here, dude. She’s here.” He glanced toward the bar. “Well, she was.”
All the air left Dallas’s lungs as he pushed his weight onto his knees, getting in Cole’s space. Anger vibrated his core. “Tell me what you know.”
***
The plastic snappedaway from her wrists. Gemma exhaled and dropped into the chair. Sweat dotted her forehead, and she wiped it away with her arm. Red marks glowed on the skin of her arm. She rubbed the areas where the restraints had been and where the saw had scraped. Blood flowed freely again, making her fingers tingle.
She grabbed the saw, spread her knees as far as the binding allowed, and cut through the plastic at her ankles. It flicked off. She grunted and dropped the saw back on the table.
Her legs trembled as she stood. It’d been a few minutes since she heard gunshots, which could be really good or really bad. Either way, she had to get out of here before Perry came back.
Hopefully he’s dead.
Or if not dead, at least maybe he’d forgotten about her.
She picked up her purse and stuffed the spilled contents back inside. Her fingers grazed the gun, and she hefted it into her palm. If she fired at Perry, it’d draw attention. She sucked on the edge of her bottom lip and tucked the weapon back inside her purse. At least she had it if she needed it. The knife was there as well, but she’d have to get pretty close to do any damage.
She slung her purse over her shoulder then dragged her attention to the toolbox on the floor near the worktable. She crossed the room again, bent down, and opened the lid. The metal clanked as the top smacked the cement floor. She winced. Perry could be close. She had to be more careful.
Running her hands over the tools, she stopped on a hammer, weighing it in her palm. This would do. She could just swing at his head and run. Much better odds of taking him down than with the knife, and quieter than a gun.
The tinkling sound of keys on metal echoed through the empty space. She jerked her gaze to the door at the alley access.
Perry.
Gemma gasped and leaped to her feet. Her heart thudded in her chest. Running on her toes so her heels didn’t clomp on the concrete, she reached the other door then pushed it open and entered a dim hallway. She closed the door slowly behind her. Pressing her back against the wall next to the door, she held the hammer against her chest.
Her knees knocked together. She’d have to hit him as soon as he came through the door. The damn heels would make it difficult to run away after, but shedding her shoes might not be a good idea either. There could be other renovations being done in the building.
A door slammed in the room she’d just vacated. He was inside now.
Gemma sealed her spine to the drywall at her back.
“Fuck!” The sound of something being kicked or thrown across the floor reverberated in the hall.
Gemma compressed her lips together, and a little scream stung the back of her throat. Terror told her to run, to drop the damn hammer and let her feet take flight, but she couldn’t.
They’d find her.
Right now, she had the upper hand. If she could injure one of the men after her, she might just have a chance.
Fight over flight.
She blinked in the dim lighting and focused on taking deep breaths to lower her heart rate, which seemed ready to blow out her eardrums. Only a single bulb lit the hall, and it was far down the corridor. One of the doors to her left had to connect with the bar, and she sure as hell didn’t want to go there.
She needed an escape route.
Fast.
Directly ahead of her was a staircase going up. That wasn’t a good idea either. To her right was a long, dark corridor with more doors. Probably more spaces similar to the one she’d left, maybe another business—or maybe an exit. That way was her best bet.
Angry footsteps stormed on the concrete.
He’s coming.
She brought the end of the hammer toward her shoulder. The door punched open. Her heart stalled in her chest as she gripped the handle and swung with all her strength.
Smack
The blow of metal on bone made a grotesque sound. The body crumpled to the floor at her feet like a wet towel.
Her chest heaved as she stared down at the blood oozing into a pool around Perry’s head.
Ohmigod, ohmigod. I’m a murderer.
Vomit slammed against the back of her throat—sickly sweet cola combined with stomach acid. She turned away and retched on the floor. The hammer fell from her fingers and clattered to the cement.
She gasped and wiped her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. She had to get a damn grip and run before one of his friends came. Leaving the hammer on the floor—she wouldn’t touch one again as long as she lived—she took the gun from her purse. Her hand trembled around the heavy weapon.
Moisture clung to her eyelashes, probably from the retching and the emotional whiplash of killing someone. Mascara burned her eyes. Using her knuckles, she dashed away the wetness and forced her muscles to cling to the gun.
If she wanted out of here in one piece, she couldn’t give up now. She couldn’t return through the room where she’d been held captive and exit into the back parking lot. More people could be coming that way.
Moving as swiftly and quietly as her shoes allowed, she scurried down the hall to her right.
Anxiety hiccuped in her chest, begging her to stop and take a breath, but she couldn’t. No time for a breakdown. Later she could get choked up over what she’d done, but right now she needed to find out if Dallas was alive.
And what the hell had happened to Cole?
Cole!
She had her phone. She had his number. Rounding the corner of the quiet hallway, she pushed open a janitor’s closet and hid inside. With the cement floors and loud metal doors, she’d likely hear if anyone came her way.
She didn’t turn on the light but left the door slightly ajar. Shoving her hand inside her purse, she pulled out her phone. A little gasp ripped from her throat.
Her fingers fumbled over the screen. She redialed the last number and pressed the device to her ear. It rang once. Twice.
No, no, no. Please pick up. Please don’t be dead. He can’t be dead, for god’s sake.
The line clicked on.
“Jesus Christ. Gemma?”
She let out a light laugh. Its hysterical pitch would have scared her in any other circumstances. “It’s me. What happened? Where’s Dallas?”
Men’s voices followed by rustling came through the phone.
“Gemma!”
Her knees buckled at the sound of Dallas’s voice, and she slid slowly to the ground, a sob breaking from her lips.
“Are you okay? Talk to me. Fuck.”
His ferocious demand made her suck in a deep breath.
“I’m okay. I’m fine. I—I killed someone. I need you.” She winced slightly at the desperation in her voice, but right now she didn’t really care.
“Tell me where you are.” His to-the-point directive settled the temporary delirium that had seized her brain function.
Blowing another deep breath through her lips, her heart rate returned to almost normal. “I’m in a janitor’s closet in the hallway. Next door to the bar is a vacant space that’s being renovated—I was being held there by one of Silas’s men until I escaped.” The words danced off her tongue with urgency. “I hit one of the men with a hammer just outside the room and then ran to the closet.”
“We’re in the back alley. Stay where you are. There’s a sniper outside. Or there was. We need to lie low. I’ll find another way into the building and get to you. Just don’t move, okay? Can you do that for me, honey?”
Her chest quivered as the dam holding back her terror threatened to break. “Yes,” she wheezed.
“All right. I’m going to keep you on the phone. Just—”
The door yanked open.
A scream tore from her throat as she stared at the man looming over her.
“Found her.” Silas’s satisfied smirk spread across his face.
Gemma fumbled the gun, but her hand refused to let go of the phone. Dallas’s shouts reached her ears, but his words didn’t penetrate the fog of panic gripping her senses.
Silas’s fist connected with her cheekbone. She fell backward into a pile of buckets and both the phone and the weapon were snatched from her hands.
“Payback’s a bitch,” he said into the receiver.
He threw the phone to the ground then reached into the closet, capturing her by the hair.
Gemma let out another scream as he dragged her away from the phone—and Dallas.