Ramsey snorted. “I would but…” He smiled when another one of his men moved in behind him, whispering something Neve couldn’t make out. “I’ve got other plans. You might want to focus more on getting out before the entire place goes up. Oh, and I’ve got another team landing in…” He checked his watch. “Looks like they’re already here. Can’t have any witnesses, now, can I?”
Ramsey took a step back, still smiling when Coulter fired again, chipping the glass but not breaking through. “Great seeing you again — Neve, isn’t it? I have to say, I never suspected your team had survived.” He raked his gaze over them. “Well, most of them. Tell Archer I said hello when you see him on the other side.”
Neve stepped out. “Or, maybe I’ll just let Finch know you failed. Bet he’d be thoroughly disappointed.”
Ramsey laughed. “Finch knows what I want him to know. And I’ll deal with him, when the time’s right. But for now, you’ve got company.” He took another step. “And thanks for showing up. Saved me the trouble of hunting you all down.”
Ramsey turned, sauntering off like a man with nothing but time. Spinning, Coulter scanned the adjoining hallway, smoke already creeping along the ceiling, the temperature noticeably rising, as footsteps echoed down the corridor. He edged in front of her, keeping them all pushed against the wall when Fraser rounded the far corner, a handful of men lined up behind him.
The asshole dodged Coulter’s first trigger pull, taking one in the arm without so much as a flinch. He stayed at the edge of the hallway, his voice echoing along the corridor. “Just what I was hoping for. A rematch. The only question is, who do I want to kill first?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Coulter grabbed his last frag. “Neve, blow the doors. Everyone get ready to move.”
Neve yanked a grenade off her vest, pulled the pin and launched it at the glass, huddling over her teammates as Coulter followed suit, clicked his canister down the hallway just as some of Fraser’s men stepped into the corridor. An eerie silence fell a moment before the first grenade blew, shattering the glass as fire and smoke billowed toward the ceiling.
The echoed blast rattled the walls, glass shards showering the hallway just as the flash bang erupted down the hall, shaking the building with a concussive display of light and sound. A high-pitched whine roared in Coulter’s head, the combined explosions taking him to one knee.
He clenched his jaw, relying on muscle memory to get him on his feet — corral the others and half-shove, half-drag them toward the blown doors. Neve recovered first, tripping her way along, shouldering Wynn’s weight as he grabbed Zadie. Scout trailed behind, not quite steady but managing when a spray of rounds chewed through the smoke, punching through walls, shattering one of the overhead lights.
Scout grunted as a round hit her vest with a sickeningthump, the impact knocking her against the doorframe. She cursed, returned a few trigger pulls before stumbling into the surgical wing.
Fire raged off to the left, the smoke-choked air reducing the room to a thick, gray soup. He backed in, laying down more covering fire as they stumbled into a surgical prep-room, another round of bullets sparking off sinks and shelving units filled with bottles and extra scrubs.
Wynn headed for the far wall, wedging open an emergency exit as Coulter held the men at bay, Neve shouldering in beside him, peppering brass out the doorway as he changed mags. The temperature soared, the resulting heat singeing the hairs on Coulter’s arms where his hoodie had gotten ripped.
His team retreated halfway across the room as Scout and Zadie cleared the adjoining door, slipping into what looked like a stairwell. Coulter waved Wynn on, taking Neve to the floor when a stray round hit the valve on an oxygen tank, blowing off the cap with a resoundingthunk.
A high-pitched whine filled the room, what sounded like a jet engine spooling up, as the valve burst, a hiss of air venting into the flames — turning the entire room into full-blown accelerant.
Wynn inhaled, yelling at them to move a moment before the bottles in the cabinet ignited, funneling a fountain of blue-white flames across the room. The pressurized stream hit the far door, Wynn barely ducked through before it slammed shut, tiny balls of liquid napalm raining down across the floor, the intense heat burning through the linoleum.
Above them, a panel opened with a metallic screech, a heavy-duty fire door uncurling with a bone-chilling whirl. Coulter grabbed Neve, rolled them both across the floor, the bottom of the metal sheet slamming down beside them with a jarring thud — ripping a strip off Neve’s sleeve as it pinned the material beneath it.
Neve covered her mouth with her arm, yanking Coulter to his feet when more bullets whizzed past, bouncing off the metal structure, one punching a hole in a vent. Steam rushed out, mixing with the smoke, turning the air into liquid heat.
Coulter grabbed her hand, tugged her toward an alternate door, shouldering it open before waving her through. They stumbled into a well-appointed operating room, the stainless-steel equipment gleaming orange from the fire. Footsteps followed behind them at that unnatural pace, the empty room echoing the sound off the walls. Shadowed figures moved within the smoke, fading in and out of view like wraiths.
Coulter ducked behind a set of monitors, holstering his Sig before unsheathing one of his knives. He pointed to the tanks and lines strewn across the room. One stray bullet, and the entire room would ignite.
Neve nodded, slung her rifle over her shoulder and palmed a tactical blade, the metal edge glinting in the orange glow, when two men appeared in front of them.
Neve dove to her left, swinging a massive surgical light at the guy who lunged at her, catching his arm as he tried to slice a line down her chest. Coulter managed to kick the asshole in the back of the knee, knock him onto his ass before the other guy landed a strike to his ribs.
Pain flared through Coulter’s chest, stealing his next breath as he blocked a hit, landed a couple massive hooks to the asshole’s temples. The guy stumbled back, shook his head, then lunged forward, slicing a line down Coulter’s arm. Blood welled along the wound, the red color almost black amidst the smoke.
The added sting helped him focus — highlighted all he had to lose. That Neve was facing off against someone just as strong, just as fast as the guy challenging Coulter.
That losing her, here, wasn’t an option.
Anger seethed inside him, and he dodged the next slice, moving in close — eliminating any speed advantage. A couple of throat punches and a headbutt, and the asshole staggered back, putting some distance between them. Coulter used the lull to grab a tray off a small, portable table, brandish it like a shield when the man swung again. His blade connecting with the metal emitted a spine-tingling screech.
Coulter slammed the edge of his shield into the asshole’s elbow, knocked him sideways before catching him in the head, the impact sending a vibration that resonated up Coulter’s arms.
The merc fell to his knees, blood leaking out one ear, his body shaking. A firm boot, and he dropped, head cocked off to the side, eyes squeezed shut. Coulter turned, searched for Neve through the smoke, following a series of grunts, what sounded like boots scuffing the floor.
He circled the table, still scanning the smoke, looking for more of Fraser’s men waiting in the dark before popping out on the other side, analyzing the scene with a single glance. One asshole, laid out on the floor, Neve’s KA-BAR sticking out of his neck. Another had her trapped behind a cart, seemingly indifferent to the flames licking at the ceiling tiles above him or the alcohol swabs catching fire beside him as he reached for her neck.
