A bullet smacked into the wall beside Rachel and it was only then that she realized she could barely hear the sound of the gun going off. They were using silencers.Crap. That meant they were more professionals.
Cursing, Rachel wrapped her arm around Jennifer and spun around, not only to put her body between the woman and the incoming bullets, but because the only way out of there was the way they’d just come. She made it half a step before catching sight of two other men in coveralls tucked away in opposing doorways halfway down the corridor. They were far enough out of the line of fire so they wouldn’t get hit by their buddies’ bullets while still clearly making it impossible for Rachel and Jennifer to escape.
Rachel considered turning back and attacking. It would be unexpected and since the first two guys apparently only carried handguns, she might have a chance. But then the reality of leaving Jennifer unprotected in the hallway struck, and she knew fighting back wasn’t an option.
Tucking the trembling woman close to her body, Rachel ran down the corridor toward the two men guarding their escape, then darted into the nearest filing room just as a round caught her in the calf. The wound didn’t hurt much, but the impact of the high-speed bullet almost took her leg out from under her and she stumbled, clipping the doorframe with her shoulder. Unfortunately, Jennifer’s head hit it, too.
Rachel flinched hard at the grunt of pain Jennifer let out as they both tumbled to the floor of the filing room. But when she heard the sound of pounding footsteps outside, Rachel knew she didn’t have time to check on the woman. Dragging a woozy Jennifer to her feet, she ran toward the back of the room, getting as many heavy steel filing cabinets between them and the approaching bad guys as possible.
A quick look around confirmed she was in a square-shaped windowless room with only one way in or out—the door they’d just stumbled through.
Two men charged through the door as Rachel ducked down behind the last row of cabinets and gently eased the prosecutor to the floor. There was a small gash along the left side of Jennifer’s head and blood was already running down her cheek and neck. Head wounds always bled a lot, but this one didn’t look too bad. Still, the impact with the doorframe had been bad enough to knock Jennifer senseless. She wasn’t unconscious, but damn close to it.
Grabbing her weapon from its holster, Rachel popped up from her hiding place and fired off a half dozen rounds in rapid succession to get the bad guys to duck a little. Then she dropped back down and thumbed her radio, first sending a quick SOS to the DAPS people waiting outside the loading dock, then flipping the channel button and putting out an Officer Needs Assistance call on the DPD main channel.
Her nose and ears told her all four men were in the room now. Rachel didn’t wait for a reply on the radio. She stood and shot off another few rounds in the men’s direction. She didn’t have much of a chance to aim because all four of their weapons were unloading on her at once, but she wasn’t too worried about that. Her DAPS backup was seconds away. All she had to do was hold on until they arrived. Then they’d have the four hired guns trapped.
But minutes later and already down to her last spare magazine of ammo, her backup still hadn’t arrived. She tried to call them again but got nothing. It was like there was no one on the channel, even though it was the same one she’d used to talk to them before she and Jennifer had come down here. Maybe the signal was blocked because they were in the basement. But that shouldn’t have mattered. The DAPS guys still should have heard the shooting. They were only a couple hundred feet away. Had more bad guys taken them out?
She had to stop worrying about that because the four men trying to kill her and Jennifer had split into two teams, each moving toward them from a different direction. Rachel was hesitant to leave the still nearly unconscious ADA alone, but if she stayed where she was, she’d draw the killers right to the woman.
Having no other choice, Rachel shoved Jennifer into a small space between two cabinets. Praying she’d be safe there, Rachel darted toward the nearest of the two approaching kill teams. She stayed low so they wouldn’t see her head above the cabinets, letting her nose and ears guide her toward her targets. As she moved, Rachel let her body shift as far as it would go, claws fully extending, fangs hanging over her bottom lip. She wasn’t too worried about the men seeing her like this because, in a minute or two, they’d be dead—or she would.
Rachel lifted her Sig as she reached the end of the row she was moving along, taking a breath and readying herself. These men were clearly experienced. They moved with a silent confidence that nearly matched her own and she had little doubt they’d go for a head shot if they had a chance. A bullet there would put even a werewolf down for good.
She only hoped seeing someone with claws, fangs, and glowing, green eyes popping out in front of them would stun them long enough to give her a chance to take the first shot.
When she stepped out from behind the cabinets, she got exactly what she wanted. Both men stood there stock-still, stunned to silence. But instead of pulling the trigger, Rachel was also frozen in place because the man closest to her suddenly had frizzy hair, a face covered in white greasepaint, a permanently demented smile, and red, glowing eyes.
“Hello, pumpkin,” the clown whispered in a horribly familiar voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Rachel panicked, her heart beating so fast she thought it would explode. She’d be hyperventilating too, if she could breathe. Fear clawed its way up from her belly and into her throat. Any second now, she was going to scream. Something told her that this time, she wouldn’t stop until she was dead.
Then the guy on the left—the one who didn’t have a clown’s face—lifted his weapon with shaking hands to shoot her in the head. She flinched just in time for the bullet to tear through her left shoulder. She was so numb with terror she barely felt the injury, but it was enough to jerk her inner wolf to growling, snarling life.
Rational thought disappeared as instinct took over and she simply reacted. It felt like someone else controlling the strings of her puppet body as she jerked her gun up and shot the clown in the face. Seeing him go down, her heart sang with perverse joy, knowing he’d never haunt her again.
The second man lifted his weapon to shoot her again, and her body reacted, her left arm sweeping out, her claws ripping through the man’s throat.
Rachel had no time to think about how she was going to explain a gruesome injury like that to anyone, not when the other two men were already closing on her from the far side of the room.
She spun just as one of the silenced weapons went off. The bullet grazed her side where it wasn’t covered by her bulletproof vest. The wound seemed to hurt more than the one to her leg or shoulder, and a part of her knew it was because she was too terrified from that damn clown to function at full strength.
She instinctively ducked behind a file cabinet as gunfire rained in her direction, then immediately popped back up to return fire. Until the upper receiver on her Sig locked back on an empty magazine. The men immediately charged, probably trying to reach her before she had a chance to reload. But they slowed as they realized she was already out of ammo, one pulling a knife as he crept closer. Rachel wasn’t sure why he’d bother with a knife when he was already holding a gun.
She tensed to leap at them, something telling her it was better to get in close than to let them shoot holes in her from a distance.
But as she started to lunge, one of the men stopped where he was. His face suddenly changed right before her eyes and he became the clown of her nightmares. The thing grinned, then began to laugh, the sound echoing in the room all around her.
Rachel froze, the fear stronger than ever, and she couldn’t do anything but stand there and wait for the clown to do his worst.
* * *
Knox weaved his bike in and out of rush-hour traffic, knowing without looking at the speedometer that he was doing over 120 as he raced for the courthouse. At least he prayed that’s where he was going. He still didn’t know his way around Dallas very well. He knew it was a big building with lots of glass somewhere off Commerce Street. How hard could it be to find?
He slowed only long enough to turn onto West Commerce, then hauled ass again, maneuvering in between cars and trucks, running every light he came to. Drivers swerved to avoid him, honking their horns, but he didn’t slow. More than a few people shouted obscenities out their windows, but he ignored them. Considering this was Texas, he was lucky no one had taken a shot at him—yet.
Even if someone had, he wouldn’t have slowed down. Rachel was in trouble, and it was taking him effing forever to get to her.
