“Nope.”
“Then I’d say it’s pretty damn good.”
Chase eased his foot off the gas, and the SUV slowed, drawing the other vehicle closer. The first shot took out one of the rear windows, and the Honda’s headlights lit the interior, outlining Jay’s rear-facing body in sharp relief. Figuring they might be in a spot of trouble when he flipped them the bird, the driver of the sedan tapped the brakes in an attempt to back off fast.
Wasting no time and not bothering to aim, Jay opened up. In the rearview, Chase saw the car’s headlights jerk to the right to avoid the direct line of fire. He copied the move, and the sharpshooter let off another five rounds in rapid succession, one of which embedded itself in the van’s rear door going by the sound of things.
The Honda snapped back to the left, revealing a second vehicle coming up hard. Apparently a lefty, the driver had an arm hanging out the window, the gun in his hand angled to make an attempt on their tires. Jay emptied his mag in protest and must have hit something or someone because the resulting game of high-speed “tag you’re it” strewed Japanese scrap metal all over the highway.
“Mission accomplished, Sergeant.” Jay flopped back into his seat.
“Note to self,” Chase grumbled. “Next time, call for an airstrike.”
“Heard that, asshole.” Jay ejected his empty mag and inserted a full load before holstering.
“Any word from the colonel?”
Jay grabbed his phone and snorted. “No, but there’s a text from Gray.” His grin left Chase with the distinct impression she wasn’t about to voluntarily comply with his earlier directive.
“Read it.”
Taking way too much pleasure in confirming his suspicions, Jay read aloud. “Not leaving before T, dickhead. Transport here in thirty.”
“Jesus Christ, get Kincaid on the phone. I want—” An incoming message pinged on Jay’s phone. Going by the lack of good vibrations in Chase’s pocket, it wasn’t a group text.
Jay bolted upright, his back going rigid. “Uh, Chase.” His body language alone tipped Chase off. Something was wrong—really wrong. A bad feeling settled in the bottom of his gut. “Message from Z.”
Turning off the scanner, Jay hit the power button on the dash and tuned the radio to the local news station. The bad feeling turned to cement as Chase listened to the announcer’s voice.
“…suspect still at large, police continue to search the area. All federal facilities adjacent to the Robert F. Kennedy Department of Justice Building, have been evacuated and remaining personnel escorted from the area. Verifying earlier reports, WTOP has received official word that the deceased’s identity has been confirmed as Colonel William Grayson. A thirty-year veteran with the Department of Defense, Colonel Grayson was shot and killed while entering—”
Heart pounding against his rib cage, Chase turned the radio off. The silence that followed rang loud in his head. When his brain came back online eight minutes later, he realized the phone in his pocket vibrated repeatedly, and he’d automatically taken the MD-223 exit to Clinton.
Still fifteen minutes from Washington’s Executive Airport, foot flat against the floorboard, it wasn’t possible to make the van go any faster.
“Doc sent an update,” Jay swiped at the screen of his phone. “They were ambushed. Cody caught some lead. They’re headed for the new base. Z says it’s secure.”
Chase acknowledged with a nod.
Another mile passed before Jay asked, “Now what?”
The colonel was dead. The rest of them were scattered and on the run, and one person, and one person only, occupied Chase’s thoughts. He took a second to glance at Jay’s profile before fixing his gaze back on the centerline. “I need to get to Gray.”
“Need” was a poor choice of words in the face of the overwhelming urge spurring him to act. Every fiber of his being screamed at him in a language that shouted she came first. “Need” didn’t even come close.
“Are you in?” Chase asked.
Called out as the JTT’s MVP, Jay was now—unofficially—the most wanted man in America. The smart move would be for him to disappear. Not a problem for a tech wizard with a couple billion dollars in disposable income.
Jay shook his head. “You’re an asshole, Mac. You still want me to get Kincaid on the phone?”
Chase nodded. “Tak too. We need to come up with a plan.”
“How’s she doing?”Tak asked.
Looking over his shoulder to confirm he was out of earshot, Grant responded quietly. “Better than expected.” The mic attached to the earpiece he wore transmitted his voice loud and clear to the sniper one building over but left the other occupant of the warehouse oblivious to the conversation taking place. Not that she listened anyway.
Thinking she couldn’t be too damn comfortable, Grant watched Gray doze. Ass parked in a hard plastic chair, she lay slumped over a small table, her head cradled in her arms. The cold slice of pizza she’d been picking at sat next to her elbow. Any sudden moves and the concrete would be wearing a slice of all-dressed with extra cheese.
