He grabbed the overturned couch with one hand, muscles burning as he dragged it into position. He shoved her behind it as another round tore through the wall six inches from his head.
Controlled three-round bursts. Suppressors. Ghost's blood went cold. These weren't thugs. These were professionals.
He grabbed her arm, fingers digging in. "We need to go. Now."
Rachel nodded, breathing fast and shallow.
Ghost grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the front door. His weapon was already in his other hand, safety off, finger outside the trigger guard. Every step was deliberate. Silent.
Rachel stayed pressed against his back. Glass crunched under their feet. Bullet holes pocked the drywall. Blood was probably smeared on the floor from where the intruders had searched earlier. Ghost didn't look. Only one thing mattered, getting her out alive.
At the door, Ghost stopped. He peered through the narrow window. Scanned the street. Two men on the sidewalk, trying to look casual. One at the corner pretending to check his phone. Black SUV idling across the street, windows tinted, engine running.
"Two on the sidewalk. One at the corner. SUV across the street. Light gear. Suppressors. Extraction team. Not expecting resistance."
Rachel's breathing hitched behind him.
Ghost squeezed her hand. "Stay behind me."
He opened the door.
Sunlight blinded him for half a second. Ghost stepped out, weapon up, eyes already adjusting. Across the street, one of the men spotted them. His hand moved toward his radio.
Ghost shoved Rachel behind the brick wall and pivoted left, drawing their fire. The first shot cracked past his ear.
He fired three times. Center mass. The man stumbled, weapon clattering on concrete.
"Go!" Ghost yanked the gate open. His body stayed between Rachel and the shooters. "Run!"
Rachel sprinted toward the alley, head down, legs pumping. Ghost moved with her, weapon tracking, covering every angle.
More shots. Concrete chips exploded from the wall beside him. Ghost returned fire without breaking stride, keeping his body angled to shield her.
They hit the alley. Rachel's breathing was ragged. Ghost's heart hammered against his ribs but his hands were steady.
He'd get her out. Whatever it took.
30
Ghost's boots slammed against pavement, his hand locked around Rachel's wrist as they hit the alley. Sunlight beat down on them, making them visible targets. His jaw clenched. Being pushed into an alley was textbook ambush setup.
The alley narrowed between brick buildings, heat radiating off the walls and making sweat run down his spine. Behind them, a shot cracked. Metal sparked as a round hit a dumpster.
Ghost grabbed Rachel's arm and yanked her behind the rusted steel. His body covered hers, blocking her from the shooter's line of sight. His heart hammered against his ribs but his breathing stayed controlled.
"They're herding us," he said through clenched teeth.
Rachel's back hit the wall. Her chest was heaving. "What do we do?"
Ghost scanned the alley. Fire escapes were too high, too exposed. The street behind them was a kill zone, then he spotted it, an unmarked door, rusted steel, no security camera. He grabbed Rachel’s hand. "Come on, baby."
He crossed to the door and drove his shoulder into it. The metal shrieked. The latch snapped. He pulled Rachel through and kicked the door shut behind them.
The temperature dropped fifteen degrees in the span of a breath. Ghost blinked against the sudden darkness, his pupils still contracted from the bright alley. The smell hit him before his eyes adjusted, stale beer soaked into wood, cigarette smoke layered thick enough to taste, and underneath it all, something sour that made him think of spilled liquor and decades of poor ventilation.
A bar. Nearly empty this early in the day.
He kept Rachel's hand in his, fingers laced tight, and pulled her deeper into the dim space. His posture shifted without conscious thought, shoulders relaxing, head angling down just enough to look less vigilant. Anyone watching would see a guy in Navy fatigues with his girl, nothing worth a second glance. In San Diego, half the city wore cammies. He let himself disappear into that normalcy.
