Please, please, please. No moreshots and let Firuzeh be okay.
Kiley charged across the street. One foot in front of the other, her pulse racing. Waiting for the bullet to come. To pierce her back. Her side. Anywhere.
She reached Firuzeh. Dropped to her knees. Saw Firuzeh’s chest rise and fall. Still alive.
Thank you.
A bullet bit into the road by Firuzeh’s head, the report an echo in the eerie quiet. Sharp shards flew, piercing Kiley’s face. Maybe the shooter wasn’t a good shot. Or he was warning Kiley. She didn’t know which. Didn’t matter. She had to move Firuzeh to a protected area.
Kiley holstered her gun, took a good hold under Firuzeh’s arms, and tugged backward. Sticky, warm blood congealed on Kiley’s hands. Fear blazed a path down her back, so raw she could almost smell it. She swallowed it down. “Hold on, Firuzeh. Hold on. I’ll get you to a safe place and call for help.”
Firuzeh slipped in Kiley’s hands, and she shifted to get a better hold. Another bullet cracked through the night, razoring past Kiley’s head. If she hadn’t slipped, that bullet...
No, don’t think about that.
Kiley gritted her teeth and moved backward. Faster. Faster. She bumped around the front of the car. Another slug slammed into the metal behind her. She nearly yelped but held it together and gently lowered Firuzeh to the ground.
“Agent Dawson?” Eisenhower’s voice came from the phone in her pocket. He was still on the line.
Oh, thank you!
She fumbled in her pocket until her slick hand circled the phone. “It’s Firuzeh. Someone shot her. Is shooting at me! I need backup.”
Kiley took a breath. Searched her brain to cut through the panic and think of their address. Shouted it into the phone. “I have to help Firuzeh!”
“Stay put, and don’t try to be a hero.”
Hero, right. Kiley just needed to stay alive. To tend to Firuzeh and keep her alive as well.
She ended the call. And it hit her. She was on her own here. Alone. All alone.
Panic raced in. Took hold. Her hands trembled.
Stop. Getcontrol. Firuzeh is depending on you.
She shone the light from her phone on Firuzeh’s body, the beam wobbling under Kiley’s trembling hand. Firuzeh was still breathing. Barely. Blood pumped from her chest. Spurting.
Kiley dropped her phone. Shrugged out of her jacket. Balled up the fabric and pressed it against the wound. Blood soaked through the cloth and coated Kiley’s hands.
“Stay with me, Firuzeh,” Kiley pleaded, her heart in her throat. “For the love of God, stay with me.”
The mere thought of a terrorist attack so big it made 9/11 seem like a warm-up sent a chill over ICE Agent Evan Bowers’ body. In the ditch overlooking the Port of Tacoma, he staredthrough his binoculars at the dock and couldn’t think of a more important mission than stopping this impending threat.
A cold wind swept across the docks while crickets chirped in the background. Thankfully, insects mingling with the rush of water lapping the port wall were the only sounds. No cranes were moving. No trucks hauling. No workers rushing around. Perfectly still as he’d hoped for at eight o’clock on a Saturday night when most of the workers were off for the weekend and only a minimal crew remained on-site.
He scanned the distance, where tall orange cranes rose like giant skeletons above the murky water steaming from the nighttime cool-down. Stacks of metal shipping containers lined the docks, waiting to be moved, and Evan locked his binoculars on the green one in question.
He’d worked similar covert operations in his job with ICE, and for years as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal technician in the Navy. When an EOD tech, he operated with Special Forces like SEALs and Rangers and also with the Secret Service and State Department to protect the president, vice-president, and other state and foreign officials. He also supported Homeland Security as well as U.S. Customs, the FBI, and state and local police bomb squads.
But that was all in the past. Now he hunted terrorists. The most dangerous threat of all.
“Looks clear to me.” FBI Agent Ryan Cartwright poked his head up from where he crouched in the ditch beside Evan. “We should get moving.”
Evan’s gut warned him to take another sweep before breaching the port’s perimeter. “Not yet.”
“What’s the point of sitting here when our contact is waiting?” Cartwright was a cowboy—rushing in instead of evaluating and planning. The kind of guy who could get himself and Evan killed.
Evan wouldn’t risk a trigger-happy security guard or astartled terrorist training a gun on them, and he sure wasn’t about to explain that his caution stemmed from an incident a few years back when an FBI agent lost his life. Since that day, Evan knew it took only minutes to die and had erred even more on the side of caution, and no better time to be extra careful than when facing brutal terrorists.
