Coulter gritted through the pain in his ribs as he twisted, directed the knife over his shoulder before using Fraser’s momentum to spin him onto his ass. The guy recovered quicker than he should’ve, lunging at Coulter with long clean arcs. He jumped back, blocking more strikes with his forearms, getting in a series of hard hits that seemed to bounce off Fraser without leaving a mark.
They came together, grappling for control, when another tank blew upstairs, the resulting concussive wave knocking Coulter into an HVAC stack. Fraser recovered first, tackling Coulter to the ground, straddling him, all his weight behind the knife aimed at Coulter’s throat.
Arms shaking, he held off the blade, but it steadily inched closer. From the corner of his eye, he clocked the flames beginning to flicker out the bottom of the chute — the entire basement minutes away from igniting into a blazing inferno. He gritted his teeth, prepared to deflect the knife into his shoulder, when something scuffed the floor behind them.
Fraser turned, eyes wide, some of his force easing before a loud crack split the air, snapping Fraser’s head back. A red mist sprayed across the wall next to Coulter’s head as Fraser crumpled into a heap across his chest.
Neve limped into view, Beretta clasped in her hand, one eye slightly puffy. She hobbled over, chest heaving, eyes a bit wild. “Fucker never checked my ankle holster.”
She helped Coulter push Fraser onto the floor, his brown eyes, dull, unseeing. She stared down at him, hands shaking slightly, chin quivering before she drew herself up, offered Coulter a hand.
He stood, jumping when another explosion rocked the building, large flames shooting out the bottom of the chute, igniting a patch of oil on the floor.
Coulter shielded her as they moved to the only door in the room, shouldering his weight against the metal. “We should try one of the windows. You should fit.”
Neve shook her head. “Not leaving here without you.”
“If you can get out, maybe you can open the door from the outside.”
“It’s a mag seal. I’ll need Zadie…”
Tires squealed beyond the door, boots hitting pavement a second later. The handle rattled, metal clanging against metal sounding from the other side before the footsteps retreated. An engine growled, revving up high as the door groaned, the entire frame slowly crumpling until the hinges gave way, and the entire structure shot outward, swirling smoke out the opening.
Coulter helped Neve step through, staring at Shepherd as he removed the chain from around the handle, tossed it into the flatbed, then returned to the driver’s side, motioning for them to jump in. They stumbled over, coughing from the smoke, a few flames chasing them into the cab. They slid into the back, the others already inside, the door shutting out the roar of the fire as Shepherd hit the gas, peeling out of the rear parking lot in a billow of smoke and burnt rubber.
Sirens blared in the distance, more emergency lighting brightening the graying dawn as they raced to the next cross street, turned right, then drove along a parallel route. Neve looked out the back window, lips pursed tight, eyes wary. She didn’t talk, just stared at the building enveloped in flames.
Coulter squeezed her shoulder, brushing back some hair when she gazed up at him. “You okay?”
She looked back again, light dimming from her eyes. “I’ll live.”
“That’s not what I asked. What you did…” He leaned closer. “Thank you.”
“Like there was any doubt, I just…”
She didn’t finish, electing to relax against him instead, her head rested in the crook of his shoulder, her heavy breathing cutting deep. While he knew he’d likely be dead if she hadn’t taken the shot, watching her try to make peace with killing someone she knew gutted him. It was the one thing he’d hoped she could avoid.
He’d been wrong, and his miscalculation had cost her some measure of sanity. He only prayed he could help her reclaim it. Whatever the cost, he vowed he’d find a way to make it right.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Coulter stood in the armory doorway, silently watching Neve break down her Beretta only to pause, check her time, then start again, reassembling it just as fast. She’d been timing herself for nearly an hour, each result mirrored in the next attempt.
They’d arrived at the bunker several hours ago, bloody, exhausted, reeking of smoke and regrets. Wynn had whisked them all into the med bay where she and Darwin had spent forever going over every cut and bruise before finally releasing them on the orders to get some rest.
Gus had belayed that with an hour-long debrief, his left eye twitching with each new detail. He’d sat in silence for a moment before shaking his head, pushing to his feet. He’d simply nodded, then marched out with orders to give him a SIT REP once Zadie had decrypted the GPS. Hopefully found a last stand to take to Ramsey.
Shepherd had made breakfast, but Neve had mostly just pushed the food around her plate, finally excusing herself with a hushed, “Thanks.”
Coulter had suspected she’d head off to the armory. Maybe clean every weapon a couple times, or wade through some kind of detailed inventory of their supplies. Anything to keep her from dealing with the preverbal elephant in the room.
Fraser.
He sighed.
She’d been edgy since they’d jumped into the backseat and raced out of the lot, the clinic fully engulfed in flames behind them. She’d tried hard to shove it down, but he’d noticed the signs.
The fidgeting. The sensitivity to light and sound. How she’d jumped every time Darwin had checked a bruise or bandaged a cut. Her nervous system had shifted into overdrive, and if she didn’t deal with the root cause, he’d lose her.
