“Harrow probably warned him.”
We watched Webb disappear into the building. Watched his security detail take positions. Watched the party continue inside through windows that showed wealthy people celebrating their own importance.
“This is pointless,” I said after two hours. “We're not learning anything we didn't already know.”
“Patience—”
The explosion cut him off.
Something had happened inside and it was violent enough to trigger an evacuation.
“Webb's coming out. East exit. Moving fast.”
He was running through the side courtyard. His security detail trying to keep up. Behind them—more men. Not security. Attackers.
This wasn't evacuation. This was ambush.
“They're hitting him,” I said. Already moving. “In public. They don't care who sees.”
“Dom, no—we're supposed to observe?—”
“Fuck observation. They're going to kill him.”
Webb was trying to reach his car while his security detail was engaging the attackers.
One of Webb's escorts went down. Blood spreading across expensive pavement under gold light from the building's exterior lamps.
Cal appeared beside me. “You're an idiot.”
“Agreed. Help me anyway.”
We moved together. I cleared path with size and controlled violence, shouldering through the panicked crowd. Cal navigated by memory and photographic recall of the courtyard's layout, already three steps ahead, calculating angles and exits.
Webb saw us coming. His eyes widened. Recognition or terror, I couldn't tell.
Then someone grabbed him from behind. Dragged him toward a waiting van. This wasn't just assassination. This was extraction. Someone wanted Webb alive.
I closed the distance fast. Five attackers total.
The first one moved to intercept me, his hand already reaching for concealed carry. I didn't give him time to draw. Drove my fist into his solar plexus with enough force to collapse his diaphragm. He doubled over. I brought my knee up into his face. Cartilage crunched. He went down hard.
The second came at me with a baton. Swung for my head with practised efficiency. I blocked with my forearm, felt the impact reverberate down to bone, then grabbed his wrist and twisted. The joint popped. He screamed. I drove my elbow into his temple. He crumpled.
Cal engaged two more simultaneously. Moved like water, redirecting momentum, using their size against them. Disarmed the first with a wrist lock that made bones grind audibly. Swept the second's legs, followed him down with a brutal knee to the ribs that made breathing impossible. Both went down within seconds.
The fifth attacker had Webb. Dragged him toward the van with professional efficiency, one arm locked around Webb's throat, using him as a shield. Smart. Made clean engagement difficult.
I started forward.
A dagger appeared in the attacker's shoulder.
Just materialized. One moment his arm was intact, the next seven inches of steel protruded from the muscle. He screamed. Released Webb. Spun toward the source of the throw.
Lori dropped from the building's second-story balcony. Landed in a crouch that absorbed the impact like she weighed nothing. Rose with fluid grace, another dagger already in her hand.
“Evening, boys,” she said. Smiled like this was entertainment. “Hope I'm not late to the party.”
“Christ,” Cal muttered. “You.”
