Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
D ella’s scream chased the ruined warehouse door down the driveway, pulled by Spencer and his van.
The terror in her voice burrowed into Ward’s brain and kicked his adrenaline into overdrive.
He knew that sound.
His mother had made that sound.
He moved through the mangled opening fast and low, night-vision goggles in place, gun in hand.
The building that contained the old movie set was roughly half the size of a football field, and pitch-black inside. Spencer had killed the generator Hume had set up and the van’s headlights.
It was a cloudy night. The cover of darkness was on Ward’s side.
He scuttled sideways out of any ambient light.
There was a flash of movement. Della and her kidnapper struggled next to an SUV.
Rage flashed through him as he took in the terror on her face and Hume’s chokehold.
“Get the fuck out of here, rent-a-cop!” Hume shouted. “You had your turn. She’s mine now.”
“Ward!” Della’s cry sounded half strangled.
“It’s over, Hume!” He wished like hell that Della wasn’t standing in front of the man he’d very much like to shoot. He kept his weapon ready, but aimed at the ground. “The place is surrounded.”
It was true, if a slight exaggeration.
“Liar.” Hume shuffled along the SUV, pulling Della with him. “You tripped my security feed, moron. One van. No flashing lights. No SWAT. It’s just you and maybe that pathetic hacker. I already took out the dark-haired bitch and that lame lap dog. You’re on your own.”
Spencer’s soft voice came over the comms. “In position.”
“Hold,” Ward commanded in an undertone.
The plan was for Spencer to use their van as a quick exit for Della. All Ward had to do was get her to the door.
“You think we didn’t call for backup?” Ward crossed to the front of the SUV at a crouch. “State troopers are on the way. They know your name, Hume. They know everything.”
“You’d say anything to get your hands on her,” Hume snapped. “She’s mine and there ain’t shit you can do about it.”
Della let out a sound of protest before Hume choked her into silence.
Ward twitched against the trigger. “There’s still a chance for you to walk away, Hume. Let her go. This doesn’t have to end with you in a body bag.”
“Fuck. You.” Hume dragged Della behind the SUV.
Ward’s goggles were good, but they weren’t heat sensitive. They didn’t penetrate through heavy metal. He circled around the back of the vehicle to keep them in his line of sight. It killed him that he had to talk this psycho down instead of just rushing him like a linebacker, but if he did that he risked Della getting caught in between them. Or worse. He had a feeling Hume would break her neck if he was pushed too far. “There’s only one way out of this for you. Let her go. Walk away.”
“You think you’re in charge here?” Hume clutched Della to his chest with one arm while he patted his way toward the driver’s side door. “She’s coming with me.”
Della made a primal sound, half agony, half rage, as she twisted in Hume’s grip.
At first, it looked like she’d kissed him. Until Hume drew back, face covered with blood.
“You bit me. You fucking bit me! Bitch! ” Hume shoved Della away from him, then ducked around to the front of the SUV, out of sight.
Della hit the ground with a scream of pain.
“Shit!” Ward holstered his gun and ran to her. He had to get her up and moving. Fast. “Come on. We need to get to the van.”
“Ward,” Della said as she struggled to get to her feet. “You came.”
“Always.” He heaved her up. They took a step, but Della sagged against him with a whimper.
“I can’t…my ankle.”
“Lean on me.” He thought about carrying her like a fireman would, but he needed his weapon hand free. Instead, he supported her with one arm so that her feet barely touched the ground as he rushed her around the back of the SUV toward the gaping hole in the wall. He could see the van parked just on the other side, no more than twenty-five yards away.
Twenty.
Fifteen.
Ward glanced over his shoulder.
The dome light flared to life in the SUV. Hume was going to drive out of here—and run them down in the process.
Ward sped up. Ten more yards and Della was safe.
The door slammed behind them. Ward listened for the sound of an engine roaring to life and kept moving.
Five yards.
“Door’s open,” Spencer said in his ear.
“Coming in hot,” Ward told him.
Shots rang out. Two missed, but a third burned a path of fire along Ward’s left thigh. He cried out in pain, stumbling to a stop.
“Ward!” Della screamed.
He managed to keep his feet under him. Barely. He let go of her before he took them both down. “Go. Get to the van.”
“Oh God, oh God. You’re shot!” She tugged on his arm. “I’m not leaving you. Come on! Come on!”
“You’re shot?” Spencer’s voice squeaked.
Another bullet zipped by.
Ward shoved Della toward the door. “Run!”
She hesitated.
He gritted his teeth. “I mean it. Go. Now . You’ll get us both killed.”
Della turned and limped toward the waiting van.
Ward drew his weapon and spun, putting himself between Della and the next bullet. It hit him square in the vest. It felt like being kicked in the chest by a rhino. The air whooshed out of his lungs, and he went down hard on his knees.
Hume stalked toward Ward, weapon tracking in front of him like a blind man with a cane. If he took another wild shot, he’d hit Della.
Ward rolled to the side to draw Hume’s attention away from his protectee. “You missed, asshole!”
Hume spun in Ward’s direction and fired three more times. Ward pressed himself flat to the concrete. The shots pinged off the wall behind him.
Della screamed.
Hume’s weapon swung back in her direction, and Ward fired two quick rounds, aimed at center mass.
Hume jerked. His eyes widened, then he crumpled to the ground. His gun clattered to the concrete.
He lay there, unmoving.
Ward waited, weapon ready.
One of the things he’d learned over the years as a Marine: never assume your target was down until you made damn sure they weren’t breathing.
Seconds ticked by, but Hume didn’t twitch.
“Target down,” he told Spencer.
“Thank fuck,” Spencer swore.
Ward managed a weak chuckle. “You’re swearing?”
“Fuck yeah. You’ve been shot. Yes. I’m fucking swearing. Stay still. I’m on my way.”
The spotlights flared to life, blinding Ward through the goggles. He pushed them off.
“Ward!” Della’s voice drew closer and then she collapsed to the ground beside him, her hands on his arm, his face.
“Careful. Your ankle,” he ground out.
“I don’t care about my ankle. You’re bleeding.” Her voice sounded rough and scratchy. Bruises had bloomed along her throat where Hume had choked her.
It was a good thing that fucker was dead.
Ward reached for her hand to reassure himself that she was there and whole. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” Della squeezed his hand. “This is not fine.”
Spencer appeared with a med kit in one hand and sheer panic on his face. His gaze went straight to Ward’s injured leg. “Hell, man. That’s…shit.”
Spencer knelt and quickly unpacked supplies.
“Just a scratch.” Why hadn’t Spencer turned the lights back on? Oh. He had. Shit, he was tired. “Della…you okay?”
“Am I okay? Of course I’m okay. You found me. You saved me.” Della cleared her throat. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ward. You said I’d get you shot and I thought you were exaggerating and now you’re shot and… Is he going to be okay? Please tell me he’s going to be okay.”
“An ambulance is five minutes out.” Spencer’s voice was shaky, but he was sounding more confident than he had a few seconds ago. “He’s a Marine. They bleed like this for breakfast.”
“That’s not funny,” Della said through a watery chuckle.
Ward managed to bark out a laugh, then Spencer applied a tourniquet so tight Ward saw dancing lights. When they faded, he was lying flat on his back, his head in Della’s lap.
“Hey, Lucy.” He squinted at her. Her hair was a shade of orange he’d only seen on clowns. “What happened to your hair?”
“It’s ruined. He made me ruin it.” She hiccuped a sob. “I’m not Lucy anymore.”
Ward reached for one orange curl as darkness closed in. “You’ll always be Lucy to me.”