She kept tripping over her duty shoes. Whether that was because she was being intentionally rebellious or because she was clumsy with fear, he couldn’t say. Either way, he snarled in her ear, “Pick up your damn feet, woman.”
What he silently added was,I refuse to die here. Not today.
He was almost to the door—and a bright burst of victory fired through his veins—when O’Toole suddenly became a dead weight.
He struggled to keep hold of her. She was just a little thing, after all. But even a little thing was too much for him to handle one-handed.
She hit the ground like a sack of rocks, and the room exploded into chaos.
Keplar and Britt Rollins raced for their weapons. Sabrina and Knox dashed toward the safety of the elevator bank with the auburn-haired behemoth hot on their heels. But it was the guard who, surprisingly, sprung into action and took the first shot.
Boom!
JD heard the pistol’s report at the same time he saw the muzzle flash from the corner of his eye. He immediately realized he’d underestimated the man.
The force of the bullet punched into his thigh like a molten hammer. The impact had the syringe flying out of his hand and sent him sprawling as agony shot through him, white-hot and relentless.
His hand instinctively pressed against the wound. Warm blood bubbled up between his fingers as a sticky, scarlet flood oozed down his pant leg.
His vision blurred. His head swam. Fragments of his life surged to the surface—fractured memories of his mother introducing him to the cartel’s kingpin, long nights spent hammering out his new identity, and the beautiful line of zeros stacked up behind the lead number in his offshore bank account because the cartel had beenverygenerous to him over the years.
The wound wasn’t fatal.
He could still get to the money.
He could still make it out of this.
He pushed to his feet and…Boom!A second shot rang out.
Bracing himself for the impact, he blinked when it didn’t come. Instead, a scream tore through the lobby. He turned to see Agent Julia O’Toole grip her chest as a dark stain bloomed beneath her blouse.
The guard’s luck had run out. His aim was no longer true.
That worked out fine for JD since Britt Rollins roared his dismay alongside Agent Douglas. Both men ran for Agent O’Toole. Neither cared about JD or the fact he’d regained his feet.
He could count his heartbeats roaring in his ears, fast and furious. His fingers trembled as his blood-slicked hand found the door handle. Freedom was just a breath away.
I made it!
Another explosion shattered the air.
This time, when he felt it—the searing, devastating impact between his shoulder blades—he knew it was over. He knewhewas over.
The bullet tore through muscle and bone before erupting out of his chest in a red mist. The iron-rich smell of his own blood filled his nostrils. And the force of the impact flung him forward.
He crumpled to the ground, half in and half out of the doorway.
The cool afternoon air kissed his cheek, mocking the warmth that quickly drained from his body.
Strange. From the very beginning, he’d known he’d been playing a dangerous game. From the very beginning, he’d known that game could end in his death. But call it vanity or arrogance or pride—hell, call it all three—but he’d truly believed he’d make it out alive.
How did this happen? How did I end up here?
He’d never know the answers to those questions. And as his vision dimmed, he barely registered the heavy footsteps pounding toward him. Then, a dark shadow fell over him, and he had just enough strength to flip from his side to his back.
The first thing his waning eyesight registered was the raised weapon. Smoke coiled lazily from the barrel. The second thing he saw was…
Ryan Keplar.
