The man coughed and let go of her hair.
Freed, she burst toward the French doors, still left unlocked. She yanked it open as gunshots shattered the glass over her head. She ducked through to the second-story balcony, rolled over its rail, and vanished into the snow.
Men shoved outside and searched below, but visibility had dropped to nearly zero.
“Go after her!” Keir shouted.
Two men leaped over the rail. Others fled out the door behind him.
Tag stayed on his knees, allowing a hard grin to show. Ferhat pointed his pistol at the back of Tag’s head.
“What about him?” Burman asked.
Tag stiffened his back. “You won’t get me to talk, Mister Marchand.” He paused to enjoy the shock on the CEO’s face at being recognized. “I declined your employment offer in the past. And I’ll do so again.”
Keir turned and eyed the dagger in Ferhat’s other hand.
Tag shrugged, trying to sound brave. “Do your best. I’ve dealt with pain all my life.”
“That may be true.” Keir collected himself, turned, and placed his briefcase down, then snapped it open. “While this method will unfortunately take longer, it will get the job done.”
Tag shifted higher and spotted an array of syringes and vials nestled inside the case.
“What about afterward?” Burman asked.
Keir sighed. “I suppose we must keep him alive. For now. At least until we recapture the girl.”
As NeuVentis’s CEO began prepping the syringes, Tag turned to the balcony. The door had been left open, allowing gusts of snow to sweep in along with the cold. A lone gunman stood outside, searching below.
Tag remembered his earlier statement about Naomi being hislifesaver.
He willed her to keep running, to buy him more time.
To be my lifesaver again.
45
7:04 p.m.
Naomi gasped as she fled through the blinding snow. Pain and terror drove her onward. Her twisted ankle stabbed fire up her leg with every step. Still, she dared not slow. Behind her, she had heard the heavy thud as men crashed with a clatter of armor behind her, taking the same hard exit as she had.
Her parka, still unzipped, flapped around her like the broken wings of a bird. Winds buffeted her, finding every way through her clothing to reach skin. By now, snow had started to crust over her. Still, adrenaline and terror kept her warm.
But for how much longer?
She fought to go faster, especially knowing she was leaving a trail through the snow. The storm sought to help her—by blowing powder and filling her prints—but she did not have enough of a lead for this to make a difference.
She searched for help, some straggler battling home, but she knew running into such a person would only get them both killed. The gloam of lights through heavy snowfall drew her onward. She prayed to find an open restaurant or shop, somewhere with enough people to ward off an attack, but everything had been shuttered tight.
She glanced back, rubbing the back of her wrist across her frozen eyelids, but she could see nothing except a blanket of white. Still, she heard her pursuers steadily closing on her. The crunch of boots on ice, the rattle of body armor, the grunt of coordinated commands.
As she faced around, her foot slipped on a patch of ice. She lost her balance and slid headlong into the snow.
No . . .
Panicked, she struggled for half a breath before regaining her legs. She shoved off—but not before noting a darker shadow blooming in the snowfall behind her.
They’re almost on me.
