Cath ran, sleek dark head bobbing as she bolted for the stairwell.Rowan didn’t waste time, just turned on her heel and lunged for the second hallway branching from this one.Hang on.I’m coming.
No!Sheer refusal.Get out.Get your backup out.Gonow!
How had they found her?Well, where else could the Society replenish their coffers in short order?Go where the money is, that was a standard law.Maybe they’d just been waiting around for someone to make a run, or her codestringing with Yoshi this morning had tripped an alarm.
I’m on my way,she told him, stubbornly.I haven’t gone through the past five months to lose you now.
Another stairwell, as she’d predicted.Know your exits.She could still hear his voice in the long, dim, faraway region of time of her initial training.Knowing your exits will get you out of any number of tight spots.
Now he sounded bleakly furious.Get the hell out, woman!There’s nothing you can do here.
“Like hell there isn’t,” she muttered, spilling into a concrete stairwell.No carpeting or smooth pale paint or little Egyptian knickknacks, only the stairs and confused people.The mood of the entire casino tipped and spun, scraping against her sensitive brain.She didn’t care how she looked now, barely keeping feet under her as she bolted down the stairs.
It took less time than she’d thought to reach the bottom.The alarms hadn’t been on long enough for the crowd to really start massing at the doors.She broke out onto the first floor and found herself at the end of another long hall, restrooms to one side, the glow and tingle of slot machines at the other end.
Justin!She reached for him, frantically, almost reeling under the wave of burning agony form his direction.Had he been injured?
No time for thinking, because two women in tan trenchcoats moved across the end of the hall and paused, seeing her.Rowan’s head gave another agonized flare and her stomach flamed, the veggie omelet she’d eaten that morning rising in rebellion.
Revolting food.Why did she always had the urge to laugh at the most inappropriate of times?Revolutionary hash browns, anyone?Resistance pancakes?
One of the women reached under her coat.Rowan sped for them, gaze locking with the shorter woman’s, hazel and wide and full of the sparkle that saidpsion.The nausea twisted inside her belly again.She had a split second to reach for her own gun, clear leather and decide if she was going to take a life here in this gawdawfully decorated place.
The first woman dropped, legs folding.The second paused, hand closing about her gun—then she buckled too, eyes rolling up, and her military-short blonde hair ruffled as she hit the ground with a thump audible even through the fire alarms.
And there, behind them, slipping something back into his pocket, was Justin Delgado.
He looked like hell.Gaunt, his cheekbones standing out, and his hazel eyes were just as dead and flat as ever.Tall man, stubborn dark hair cut military-short like her father’s.
He had a nice face, even cheekbones and a firm mouth, now drawn tight and haggard.Same clothes as usual—dark hip-length leather coat, jeans, and a pair of engineer boots.Easy to move in, if a bit overdressed for the Vegas heat.
But there was the shadow of a bruise on his face, dark circles under his eyes, and the way he moved would have told her he was in pain even if she couldn’t feel it against her own nerves.
Rowan flung herself down the hall.When she was less than four feet from him, the crackling jolt of nearness ran along her skin.
She ran to him.He didn’t move aside, just opened his arms.When she hit, his arms closed and he whirled, using the momentum to help her down as she heard a popping, shattering noise.
Gunfire.The nearest slot machine exploded in a shower of glass and shredded plastic, change zinging from its ruined bottom and sparks flying.The noise was incredible.Rowan gasped and swallowed a shriek.
“Justin!Justin!”She was yelling his name, over and over again.
They hit hard, her cheekbone bouncing against his shoulder, and fireworks spilled across Rowan’s vision.Justin rolled, untangling himself from her.He had a gun, too, somehow rising into a low crouch and returning fire.
“Itoldyou to get the hell out!”he yelled over the sudden screams and shattering glass.Sounded like he’d hit something.Her head rang, both with pain and his nearness, and her stomach twisted against itself even harder.“Move, woman!”
Nice to see you too.But he was all business, clear and cold, with the peculiar fierce concentration he used under fire.Sigma had trained him to be a machine, and he’d trained so many Society operatives to move coolly and think clearly under stress that his reputation had become something of a legend.
Her own gun bobbed as she scrambled along the row of slot machines.Justin followed her.Here.He’s here.Childlike, the way her chest suddenly eased.Everything’s going to be all right.He’s alive.He’s all right.
His hand closed around her upper arm, hard, and she stopped dead.He pushed her aside, scanned the end of the slot machines’ row.
Back corner.It would be almost impossible to shoot their way out through the large open place where the roulette and blackjack tables lurked.Short, harsh carpet ground under Rowan’s boots as she half-turned, glancing over her shoulder to make sure their six was still clear.Cordite and air conditioning, a chill against her sweat.Fear sour in her throat, her heart pounding.No one was braving this aisle of slot machines yet.
“Who did you come with?”he barked.“Who’s your backup?”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.“Cath.She’s getting out.I told her I’d draw fire.”
He swore, fingers moving automatically as he slid another mag into the 9mm.He didn’t glance down, pointing to a fire door with his chin.“Go that way, out the fire escape.I’ll clean up in here and find you.”
