He adjusted his grip, started lowering Alister, again. “Ask me, again, when my heart isn’t about to explode.”
Sparks brightened the seam of the door as Bodie reached the end of the makeshift rope, nothing but a clear drop between Alister and success. “On three, Dalton.”
Bodie counted it off, forced himself to let go. The last sheet slithered over the edge, fluttering in the air as Alister fell out of sight. A grunt sounded a moment later, followed by Dalton giving him the all clear.
Bodie readied his rifle, nodded at Tierney. “Go. We’ll be right behind you.”
Tier clenched her jaw, glanced at the door, then jumped over the edge. A breath, and a whispered prayer, then she let go, boots screaming against the metal, a hushed gasp lingering in the air.
He nudged Rowan. “All right, sweetheart, your turn.”
“You should?—”
“Not this time.” He shouldered up beside her. “I promise you can go last the next time we’re staring down mercenaries.”
“Liar.” She planted a quick kiss on his cheek, eyes glassy, what looked dangerously like love staring back at him, then vaulted over the lip and down the slide.
He waited for the noise to stop — Rowan to get clear — when the damn door burst open, a squad of men pouring through, their massive silhouettes outlined in the strobing light. He fired off a few cover rounds, hitting the floor when a stream of bullets sprayed across the wall.
The men moved forward, leap-frogging off each other as they took turns firing, kept him pinned to that square of space. He grabbed a canister, pulled the pin, then tossed it. It bounced along the floor, spinning to a halt in the middle of the room.
“Frag.”
The man’s voice cut off as the flash bang exploded, washing everything into a blinding white light, the deafening roar knocking a few items off the shelves. Bodie pushed to his feet, ears ringing, the floor tilting beneath him. One of the men managed to get off a shot, catching him in the vest as he torpedoed into the chute, boots barely touching the sides.
He screamed along the metal slide, tumbled out the bottom onto the stack of pillows Tierney had tossed down. The impact slammed his leg, stabbed pain up his thigh and through his ribs, but he pushed through, shoving it down as Dalton offered him a hand.
Bodie breathed in the stale air, the alarm a distant pulse down the metal tube. One of the old dryers tumbled in the background, a sickeningly sweet fragrance permeating the air. Shouts echoed down the chute, a few bullets emptying into the pillows.
Dalton had Alister over his shoulder, his rifle at the ready before Bodie could argue, though based on the fire shooting up his leg, he would have slowed them down if he’d tried to carry the other man. Instead, he took point, swept toward the door, when it burst open, two men barreling through.
He engaged, kicked one guy in the knee as he throat punched the other, sending them both reeling backwards. The bigger guy grabbed a wrench, swung it. Bodie dodged, used the guy’s momentum to send him headlong into a steel cart. He cracked his head, dropped, as Tierney charged across the room, plowed the other asshole into the wall. He hit hard, crumpled, passing out a moment later when she finished him off with a sharp, precise blow to his temple.
Bodie turned, his right leg burning white-hot from the strain. All the healing from the past several days fading into the grind of metal on bone. Rowan shouldered up beside him, weapon at the ready. She arched a brow, silently asked if he was okay. He nodded, smiled when she shook her head, read through his lie, then headed for the exit.
They got within striking distance when it bounced open, Nick, Buck, and Avery stepping inside, weapons tight to their chests.
Nick jogged over, a black receiver clipped to his belt. “I called our ride. Foster’s inbound, but the weather’s gone for crap. Said our window’s quickly closing.” He held up the radio. “And if that’s not enough, Graves has a team rappelling down the elevator shafts, with another coming in hot. We’ve got ninety seconds to get to the cliff.”
Bodie nodded. “Then, what the hell are you waiting for, brother?”
Buck took point, clearing the grounds as they poured onto the gravel pad. Rain slashed sideways across the grass, the wind physically pushing them back. Massive diesel generators roared next to them, the oily scent staining each breath.
They headed for the back corner, moving in sync, Rowan and Avery running point. Branches thrashed along the perimeter, the hum from the microwaves carrying up through the ground.
Nick bolted ahead, killed the sensors with the second EMP as Buck clipped the chain-link in record time. Dalton barely slowed as Buck reefed the sides apart, helped Dalton through.
The rest of the team flowed through the gap, shouts rising behind them. Those teams Nick had mentioned closing in fast. Bodie cleared the fence line when a black SUV skidded around the far bend, grass and dirt spraying out the side. It fishtailed left and right, the tires finally gaining enough traction to shoot it forward.
He went to one knee, covered his team as the SUV roared to a halt, the doors swinging open before the chassis stopped rocking. Three men spilled out, took cover behind the doors as a fourth guy slipped from the rear driver’s side, stepped into the rain.
Holt Graves.
Buck whistled, and Bodie backed up, laying down cover fire when Holt’s men tried to rush the fence line. They hit the ground, mud splashing into the air, the sensors humming back to life.
Holt shouted something, the words swallowed by the rain and the wind, the distant crash of waves. They sprinted along the trail, Buck tossing a couple countermeasures into the woods. The bombs detonated a heartbeat later, crashing some deadwoods across the path. What might buy them a minute or two. They reached the rock face, clothes soaked through, the rain slicing like knives across the ridge.
Dalton handed Alister off to Buck, shouldered up beside Bodie. “You’re limping, again.”
