Especially when faced by a skilled opponent.
As Kowalski reached for Elle, Valya lunged forward and drove her dagger through his forearm. He reflexively yanked his limb back, ripping the blade’s handle out of her grip.
Disarmed, with her other limb in a sling, Valya bowled into Elle, driving the botanist away from him and into the grip of Yerik.
The huge man snatched an arm around Elle’s waist and carried her away, toward a passageway behind them. He used her as a shield, protecting Sychkin, who cowered behind the mute giant.
Valya and Nadira hurried with them.
Kowalski raised his pistol, but he hesitated, fearing he would hit Elle.
Any further choice was taken from him as gunshots ripped around him, coming from the remaining two guardsmen. The pair had collected themselves amidst the chaos.
Forced away from the tunnel, Kowalski backpedaled, returning fire. He retreated into his cell, where he was pinned down.
But his other teammate wasn’t.
Marco had withdrawn toward the far passageway, likely still adhering to Tucker’s original order to protect Elle—or maybe the dog’s instinct to guard the woman was intuitive, born of a bond that had been clearly growing between them.
Either way, the dog was in the line of fire and had no Kevlar vest to protect him.
Kowalski bellowed to Marco, reinforcing Tucker’s original command, trusting Elle to keep the dog safe. “GUARD PRIMARY! STAY CLOSE!”
Still, Marco hesitated, shifting on his legs.
“GO ON,DAMN IT!”
It wasn’t one of the commands Tucker had taught Kowalski, but it did the job.
Marco spun and headed after Elle.
Kowalski returned his full attention to the two shooters. They had spread out, covering the cell door from two angles, which made one thing clear.
Not getting out of here any time soon.
Which was a problem.
He kept his pistol raised and tried to ignore the blood pouring over the fingertips of his other hand.
Valya’s dagger was still impaled through his forearm.
8:59A.M.
Seichan lay sprawled under the smoking ruins of the bed. She pointed her rifle toward the door. To one side, the nightstand that had sheltered her during the grenade blast was a pile of kindling. Its marble top—two inches thick—had cracked in half, but it had saved her life.
If not my hearing.
Her ears rang in a continual hum.
Following the detonation, she had used the smoke to roll into hiding,turning the ruins of the bed into a makeshift sniper’s nest. She now had a direct line of fire through the door. Four bodies lay out in the hall, but there were more combatants, as evidenced by the occasional potshots into the room.
As of yet, between the smoke and her concealment in the bedding, no one had fixed her new position. She bided her time but knew she had to move. Someone would eventually lob another grenade in here.
And I have no other place to hide.
She did, though, have another possibleexit, but to reach it would leave her exposed. She stared near the door, where a crater had been blasted through the floor to the level below. The opening was barely larger than her waist, all surrounded by jagged floorboards.
She’d prefer not to have to use that escape route.
