Chapter Eighteen
Grace dropped to the floor, scrambling behind a metal table loaded with supplies. She yanked Elena with her, the woman stumbling as she fought against the zip ties that bound her wrists.
Elena twisted and snarled, eyes blazing. “Get me a gun, damn it!”
Grace’s pulse hammered. Trusting Elena with a weapon felt like putting a rattlesnake in her lap. She hesitated, her finger tightening on her own trigger, torn between instinct and caution.
The decision nearly ripped away from her when another shot cracked through the dark. The bullet tore into Elena’s shoulder, spinning her back into Grace. Elena shrieked, the sound raw and jagged, and collapsed against the table.
If Elena had been working with this attacker, then she had just been betrayed. Or maybe the shooter had been aiming at Grace and missed. Either way, it didn’t matter. Elena had been hit.
Blood seeped hot across Elena’s sleeve as she cursed and spat. “Coward! You hear me? You’re a fucking coward hiding in the dark!”
Grace’s own breath came fast, shallow, and she tightened her grip on her weapon. Elena wasn’t wrong. The bastard was hiding, and he had every advantage in the shadows. But his cowardice didn’t make him less deadly.
The silence after that shot was worse than the noise. Grace braced, waiting for the next strike.
Beck fired, the sharp crack exploding in the small room. The bullet hit the doorjamb, wood splintering. Grace flinched, her ears ringing, but she caught the blur of movement as the shooter jerked back into the shadows. At least Beck had forced him to duck away.
Grace leaned, straining to see through the dark, but all she caught was shifting blackness. The hall beyond the door was a void, every shadow a possible threat. She couldn’t make out a silhouette, no hint of where the bastard had gone.
Her pulse pounded in her throat as she glanced down at Elena, blood slicking her shoulder and her teeth bared in fury. Grace’s hand twitched toward her knife. She could cut the woman free, give her a chance to defend herself.
But every instinct screamed that wasn’t smart.
She needed her gun up, steady, aimed at the dark, because there was no way this was over.
The silence dragged, stretched thin as wire. Grace’s finger rested against the trigger, her eyes on the open door, waiting for the next move.
More gunfire cracked through the room, each shot slamming into walls and metal with teeth-rattling force. Grace ducked lower, her breath sharp in her chest. Then the shooting stopped. She caught it, the sound of footsteps pounding away, quick and heavy. The bastard was running.
Before she could react, another figure burst through the exam room door. Grace jerked her aim toward him, but Cal’s voice rang out, sharp and clear.
“Friendly. It’s me.”
Relief slid through her, quick and jagged. Beck barked orders without missing a beat. “Stay with Elena and the nurse. Keep them alive.”
Cal made a sound of agreement, already moving toward the two women. They both pushed off from cover and took off running after the shooter.
The back door gaped open, shadows spilling from beyond. They moved fast but careful, weapons raised. Grace’s pulse throbbed in her temples as they stepped into another hallway. The air here smelled different, less of disinfectant and more of dust.
It was narrow and darker, lined with shut doors on either side. Clinic rooms, maybe another exam space. Grace’s gaze flicked from door to door, expecting one to creak open, expecting muzzle flash at any second.
At the far end she spotted it, a faint glow of green above a door. The exit sign. Their shooter’s escape route.
Grace tightened her grip on her weapon as she and Beck moved in sync down the narrow hall.
Every door felt like a threat, every shadow alive with menace.
Thanks to the dim light of the exit, she could see Beck as he signaled with two fingers, and they took the first door.
He yanked it open while she covered him, heart hammering, lungs straining in the stale air.
Empty. Just another exam room, silent and cold.
They moved to the next. Same rhythm. Clear.
Her pulse wouldn’t slow. The thought pressed hard in her chest. The explosives.
She could almost see the fireball that had torn Silas’ truck apart, the spray of metal and water raining down on them.
What if the bastard had left something like that here, tucked behind one of these closed doors?
The risk wasn’t just to them this time but to everyone inside the hospital.
She forced herself to steady her breathing and shut out the terror clawing at her ribs. Focus. They had to keep moving.
Another door. Beck cleared it, and she swung her weapon across the shadows. Still nothing.
The silence was too thick. Too calculated.
Grace felt the weight of waiting eyes on her skin, the certainty that the killer had set this entire hall as a trap.
And the next step could be the one to spring it.
Beck motioned toward the final door, and Grace nodded, her grip tight on her weapon. They pushed it open, sweeping the small exam room with their flashlights. Nothing. Empty shelves, a metal stool, the sharp smell of disinfectant.
With their backs tense and ready, they regrouped at the end of the hall. Beck pressed a hand to the crash bar, counted down silently with his fingers, and shoved the exit door wide.
The cold hit her first, a rush of sleet-laden air that smelled of ice and exhaust. Grace stepped out, her eyes sweeping the parking lot. The asphalt glistened, patches of ice catching the glow from a single flickering lamp overhead. The lot looked deserted. Too deserted.
She took two steps forward, her boots crunching on frozen grit. Just as she turned her head toward Beck, a shot cracked through the night. The bullet slammed into the wall beside her, sending brick dust and icy shards stinging her cheek.
Grace dropped low, heart hammering, adrenaline flooding her limbs.
The shooter was out here. Waiting.
And he had just made his move.
The crack of more shots split the icy night.
Grace ducked, following Beck as they pressed into the cover of a large dented trash can near the corner of the lot.
The metal rattled with each impact, the ping of bullets echoing sharp in her ears.
She gritted her teeth, clutching her gun, but she knew they couldn’t fire back.
Too many houses lined the street beyond the lot, and the risk of hitting someone innocent was too high.
They crouched, waiting, her pulse thundering in her throat. Every nerve in her body screamed to move, to fight, but they were stuck, pinned down by a shooter who clearly had the advantage.
Footsteps pounded behind them. Grace snapped her head toward the open door they had come through, gun raised, ready to fire if she had to.
Instead of the shooter, she saw Elena barreling down the hall.
Blood streaked her shoulder, her wrists still bound with zip ties, but the woman was fast, her face a mask of rage.
Cal was right behind her, cursing as he tried to grab her, but Elena twisted away, her voice raw as she screamed into the night.
“Show your face, you chickenshit coward!” Elena yelled.
Her words rang across the lot, defiant and reckless, carrying above the sleet and the gunfire. Grace’s stomach knotted. Elena might have just painted a target on all of them.
Grace lunged forward, trying to grab Elena’s arm, but the woman tore free with surprising speed. Cal made a grab for her too, cursing under his breath, but Elena slipped past both of them and burst out into the open lot.
“Dammit,” Grace hissed, moving to follow, but the sharp crack of a gunshot cut through the icy night.
The shooter leaned out from behind a dark pickup near the edge of the lot, his weapon raised. Grace’s heart dropped as the bullet found its mark. Elena staggered, a cry ripping from her throat before she crumpled to the ground, blood blooming across her already wounded shoulder.
Grace’s grip tightened on her weapon. She didn’t think, just raised her gun and locked onto the figure by the truck. Beside her, Beck had done the same.
Their shots rang out in perfect unison, slamming into the shooter’s chest and shoulder. The man jerked backward from the impact as he fell into the slush beside the truck.
For a moment, the parking lot was nothing but echoes and the hammering of Grace’s pulse.
With Cal sweeping the lot, his weapon steady and eyes sharp, Grace and Beck sprinted toward the fallen shooter.
The man lay sprawled on the icy ground, chest rising in ragged, shallow pulls.
His gloved hand still clutched the handgun, but Grace didn’t hesitate.
She kicked it hard, sending it skittering across the pavement until it clanged against the curb.
Then she leveled her weapon on him, her breath fogging the air.
He was alive, but barely. Blood seeped through his dark jacket, both shots having landed center mass. His chest hitched with every labored breath, a wet rattle escaping his throat.
Beck dropped to one knee, rough urgency in his movements as he tore the ski mask from the shooter’s head.
Grace froze.
The man’s battered face stared up at them, eyes glassy with pain but wide with recognition.
Her stomach pitched. The man who had called her for help. The man who had sworn he was the victim.
It was Jonah.
Jonah’s breaths came in harsh, uneven rasps, his eyes full of rage rather than regret. “At least I got Elena,” he spat, blood flecking his lips, “and that worthless shit of a brother.”
Grace flicked a glance behind her. Cal was crouched beside Elena, pressing on the wound in her shoulder while barking into his comm for medical. She was still breathing, still conscious, though pale and weak.
Beck looked from Grace to Jonah, then quickly said, “Keep your eyes on him. I’ll help Cal.” He moved to Elena’s side, his medic instincts taking over as he pulled gloves from his pocket and started working.
Grace gripped her weapon tighter, focusing on Jonah. Cal shifted next to her, his gun also trained on the man. Jonah’s chest heaved, and for a moment she thought he might lose consciousness. Instead, he sneered.
“Silas,” Grace pressed, her voice cold. “Was he in the truck that blew up?”
Jonah’s grin was jagged and cruel. “Damn right he was. I blew him to bits.” His voice cracked, but the twisted satisfaction in his tone made Grace’s skin crawl.
“Two out of five,” he went on, almost rambling.
“Elena and Silas. Elena because she turned her back on me after the shitstorm op at Strike Force. Silas because he was a greedy bastard.”
His words spilled out like poison, his body trembling, blood pooling fast beneath him.
Jonah’s gaze shifted, pinning her as if he could still drag her down with him. Hatred burned in his eyes, raw and unfiltered. “You,” he hissed. “You’re like a cat with nine lives.” His breath rattled in his chest. “You should be dead. Both you and Beck.”
Grace’s pulse thudded hard. “You shot me,” she said, her voice low, controlled.
He gave a twisted smile, blood staining his teeth. “Damn right I did. That should have killed you.” His chest heaved as he whispered again, weaker this time. “A fucking cat with nine lives.”
The words scraped against her nerves. His voice was fading, thinning. Behind her, Grace heard pounding footsteps, and a nurse rushed out from the building, breathless and staring in shock at the carnage.
“Doctors are on the way,” she said. “Evelyn’s still inside, and she’s losing blood. And Tyler’s hurt, too. I found him behind the reception desk.”
“Two gunshot wounds,” Beck relayed to the nurse as he tipped his head to Elena. “I can stabilize her for now, but she needs help.”
Grace’s stomach churned with disgust. So many injuries. So much chaos. And for what?
For Jonah’s ego?
For his warped revenge?
She stared at him, fury mixing with the ache in her chest. “You’re a selfish bastard,” she bit out.
Jonah laughed, a ragged, horrible sound that ended in a wet cough. “Selfish? They should have never ousted me from Strike Force. You all took my life. You destroyed me.” His voice cracked again, but he pushed out another laugh. “Two out of five. I’ll get the rest of you in hell.”
Grace’s grip on her weapon tightened as he murmured, the words broken and slurred. “It wasn’t supposed to work out like this. You should all be dead. And Denny… Denny was supposed to take the blame.”
The weight of those words settled on Grace, heavier than the freezing sleet still falling around them.
The nurse dropped to her knees beside Elena, already working with steady, practiced hands. Beck gave a quick nod and left her to it, striding back to where Grace knelt with Cal over Jonah.
Jonah’s breaths were shallow now, each one dragging like it cost him everything. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth, his skin pale beneath the harsh glow of the parking lot lights. Still, he managed to sneer at them, his voice jagged and low. “See you in hell.”
The words scraped out with his last exhale, and then he went still, his chest no longer rising.
The sleet kept falling, cold and unrelenting, as silence closed in around them.