Chapter 21 #2
Dillon pivoted and spotted Cove heading for the back of the main office area.
She flung open a door to another stretch of the warehouse.
He caught up with her and hustled down the steel steps behind her, trying to keep their movements as quiet as possible.
“Did you log out?” he asked once they hit the main floor.
“Yes. Cleared the history too,” she said, slipping on the abaya. Smart girl, remembering to grab it.
They rushed to the far wall, still ensconced in shadow despite the lights popping on in the warehouse in response to the movement of the incomers.
“Besides the bay doors, the only door is at the front,” Cove whispered.
Figured. Dillon nodded his understanding and started working toward the front, sticking to the wall to keep the lights from betraying their position.
Which did not work.
“Run,” Dillon rasped, and they broke into a sprint. Rounded a corner and aimed for the brown metal door. Shouts came from somewhere in the warehouse, and served to propel him faster. He punched the door and felt the heat of Yemen rush him.
A yelp ripped his heart from his chest—Cove. He pivoted just outside the door and found her in the grip of that slick dandy from Paris. Dillon skidded to a stop, weighing whether or not to coldcock the guy.
“Ilaria, what are you doing here?” the guy asked her, giving Dillon a dismissive glance as he held her in a firm grip. “My papà said you were here, but I told him he was out of his head because your papà had just been kidnapped. ‘She would not be that foolish,’ I told him.”
“Release me, Flavio!” she insisted, trying to writhe free.
“I do not think so.”
“Let her go,” Dillon demanded.
“Oh, I most certainly do not answer to you, Rogue. You are far beneath our lovely princess here.”
There was a dark menace in the guy’s gaze that told Dillon he might have to use the weapon at the small of his back. “I won’t say it again,” he warned. “Let her go.”
Flavio curled his lip. “I don’t think—”
“Noticed.” In a lightning-fast strike, Dillon glided in and coldcocked the guy, who dropped like a bag of rocks. He caught Cove’s hand. “C’mon.” They spun toward the corner.
A dark shape bled from the shadows, forcing them back.
“It would seem,” came a menacing voice that a moment later manifested into none other than Qanli Qilinc himself, “my men failed me in Armenia.” Beady eyes considered them from beneath that bushy unibrow that looked as if the man’s mustache was in the wrong place.
He toed the dandy on the ground, unconscious.
“I will not make that mistake again, Mr. Jacobs.”
Dillon had guessed the guy remembered him. Backing up, he gauged his options, scanning the area. Recalling what he’d seen when they came in. Knew if they could get across the street, the darkness and tightly packed road would aid their escape.
“Miss Galtieri.”
Hardness edged into Cove’s gaze as she stiffened. “Mr. Rasulov.”
“Ah, you remember,” he said with a low laugh. “You are not like most women, with that sharp mind in a pretty head. It seems you have a knack for recollection and intelligence. It gets you in trouble, I think.”
Threatening Dillon was one thing, but threatening her—a game changer that really ticked him off.
Easing back, he angled slightly toward Cove to shield his retrieval of the gun at the small of his back.
“Alleys,” he whispered to her, but even as he did, he felt something jab into his back.
The unmistakable imprint of a weapon. Jaw tight, he lifted his palms, abandoning his attempt for the gun.
“You did not think I came alone, did you?” Rasulov said, his unibrow wagging.
No doubt the thug behind Dillon would try to take the concealed weapon.
“Now, Miss Galtieri, where are the triggers?” Rasulov demanded. “And I will warn you, I am not known for patience. Violence?” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and pursed his lips. “Most definitely.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She took a step forward. “Where is mio papà?”
“Not here,” Qanli Qilinc said calmly, too calmly. “And I would say ‘safe,’ but it is not good to lie. Now—the triggers!”
Triggers…triggers…
Dillon’s mind ricocheted around the word and put it together with this demon-spawn. The truth slammed into him and tightened his gut—the triggers were nuclear! He tensed, understanding that Dad had found the nuclear triggers in that cache.
Yes. Dad had stolen nuclear triggers from the man responsible for ensuring Iran became fully nuclear.
That’s what this was about. That—that was something Dad would give up his cushy life in Virginia to thwart.
Any modicum of anger he felt toward his dad at abandoning their family to pursue some mission evaporated as he understood that by doing so, Dad had ensured the world stayed safe.
Only then did he realize the guard hadn’t seized the gun. Had he not seen it?
Dillon stole a look behind him. Spied a guy about his age. But unlike Dillon, the guy seemed inexperienced. Scared, especially with the way he waved that AK-47. A scared gunman was unpredictable and dangerous because fingers got twitchy.
Another guard stood behind Qanli Qilinc.
That was it? Two guards? Were there more Dillon hadn’t seen? Surely Rasulov hadn’t counted on Flavio for protection. Hands still up, Dillon angled a little closer to Cove. Felt the fabric of the abaya and tapped her shoulder blade. Felt her tense.
Dillon stepped back and aside. Saw Scaredy’s weapon.
Grabbed the stock and yanked hard, even as he drew the gun from the small of his back.
Felt the rear guard stumble, weapon coming free, as Dillon fired the Ruger at the second guard.
Whipped the rifle at Rasulov, connecting solidly with the temple of the man who barely saw it coming and went flying backward.
Rounding on Scaredy, Dillon aimed the Ruger at him.
Seeing the kid’s terrified expression—yes, he saw the irony of thinking of this guy as a kid despite being the same age—he cracked the AK-47 over his head. The guy went down.
“Go, run!” he huffed to Cove, noticing Qanli Qilinc moving on the ground, groaning around the banger of a headache he no doubt had now.
They sprinted across the road. “Alley,” he rasped to her. The report of a gun cracked through the night.
Plaster spat at them as they dove into the alley.
Cove cried out, stumbled.
Heart in his throat, he caught her shoulders. Pulled her back up and urged her to keep moving. “You hit?” Though he tried to search her, the shadows were too deep and the light too distant.
“No.” She caught her balance and was up and running again.
Only as they reached the road where they’d parked the SUV did he understand where she was headed. But halfway down the street, he realized the shiny black vehicle wasn’t there.
Cove must’ve noticed too, because she slowed.
“Don’t slow,” he huffed, aiming her toward the line of vehicles along the road. At least they’d have cover.
“It’s gone!” she balked. “Someone stole the Land Cruiser.”
“Focus on what we can control. We need to get out of here,” he said as they jogged onward. “Just keep moving in and out of alleys and roads.”
Ahead, lights flared against the blanket of black.
“Wait.” Dillon caught her shirt and drew her aside.
She complied, clumsily, but shifted course. They ducked into the narrow road that squeezed between two multistoried buildings and glanced back as two vehicles slid by, windows down, and that unmistakable white hair and black unibrow evident in the passenger seat.
Although they were fully entrenched in darkness, Dillon still would not slow or stop. The longer they stayed in the area, the more likely Qanli Qilinc would find them. They streaked down the road to another. No sooner had they stepped out than shots erupted.
Cove took off, sprinting to the right, then zigzagging between buildings, but she wasn’t fast. She was flagging, yet she did not stop. And her direction seemed focused and intentional.
While he didn’t like not being in control or familiar with the area, he could trust her, especially since she really seemed to know where she was going. That pushed him on.
Where a building met a half wall, Cove paused, gasping for breath.
“You okay?” he asked, stepping around her and considering their situation and location.
Despite heavy breaths and swallowing to keep her mouth and throat wet, Cove nodded. “I cannot believe Flavio was working with that mostro.”
“Don’t think that word is strong enough to describe Qanli Qilinc.”
“Agreed.”
Oh, how her lungs burned. Cove pushed on, taking them on a parallel route to 90, away from the docks.
Away from anything that Rasulov might think was familiar.
That made sense, right, to head toward things that might be unfamiliar?
Though, she had been here enough times that she had a very solid overall sense of direction and idea of what lay ahead.
They came to a park that was well-lit and, despite the hour, alive with music and people.
Cove slid the niqab back on, but it was too difficult to breathe with it covering her mouth.
She let it drape around her neck. With Dillon at her side, she was pretty confident they could conquer anything. Maybe even survive this night.
“You were impressive back there,” she said around thick breaths, feeling sweat slip down her spine. Thank heavens she had remembered the abaya, or she might have been mobbed and beaten for being indecent in public. “When I saw Rasulov, I was sure we were going to die.”
“Nah,” Dillon said, gaze steadily roving as he navigated them toward shadows and out of the light. “He wanted something, so that would’ve kept us alive.”
“Yes,” she said, glancing at him. A wave of dizziness crashed over her and she stumbled. “He said triggers.”
He swung those beautiful eyes, laced with concern, in her direction. “You okay?”