“It’s a hefty spread. But in a pinch…” Six moved in closer. “We ready? This building is higher than the others, and there’s a two-foot ledge around the perimeter. So, stay low until we can determine if there’re snipers.”
Then, he was moving. Colt gave the man a boost—held firm as Six opened the window then shimmied out. A second later, Six’s hand dangled down from the ledge, motioning to Ellis.
Between them, she was up and out in two seconds flat. Feet disappearing over the lip. A beep sounded on Colt’s watch. Front door alarm. Bastards were inside.
Six appeared, again. With a few steps and a leap, Six had Colt’s forearm, was pulling him up. Colt grabbed the other side, lifted himself over the edge. He scooted to the left as Six closed the window—moved to the right. The glass settled in place just as a beam of light illuminated Colt’s bedroom from below, the circle dancing across his bed.
Damn, the squad was moving fast. Another minute, and they’d be trying every window. Kicking out the skylight.
Six was already scanning the surrounding buildings, muttering to himself. “Tangoes, south side. Bastards are lower, but if we stand…”
Colt moved in beside him. “Crawl. The lip should keep us from showing up on thermal. And we’ll just have to pray those assholes don’t figure out where we went too fast.”
Six struck off, staying low, gun at the ready. Body primed to react to any sudden change. Colt waved Ellis on, determined to keep her wedged between them. She followed quickly. Though,Colt noticed the stiffness in her movements. How she favored her right side. She was hurting. And not just a bit.
Colt fell in behind her, dividing his attention between the wall they were heading for and the area behind him—listening for the hum of a possible drone. Though, Ellis was probably right. The steady rain and fog would hamper the effectiveness. If anything, the assholes might use one to get a bead on their target’s location. Try to get ahead of them—cut them off. And Six hadn’t been joking. It was easily seven or eight feet between them and the adjoining warehouse. Not something Colt wanted to attempt unless necessary.
Noise, behind him. Not much. Just a soft scrape of glass over metal. Nearly lost in the rumble of distant thunder. Colt stopped, peered behind him just as Six inhaled.
He spun to face them, already pointing his gun. “Vent. Now.”
Colt lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Ellis then rolling them to the right—slipping behind an air conditioning vent as bullets pelted the metal casing, pinging off in every direction. Six returned fire, ducking in beside them as more shots whizzed past.
Ellis tapped Colt’s arm, gaining his attention. She made some signals with her hand—wanted them to split up. Flank the enemy. Damn hard when they couldn’t stand—were stuck crawling across the damn roof.
Six shook his head, held up a container. Colt gave the guy an arch of his brow, but Six merely grinned, motioning to Ellis.
Colt grabbed her, locking her head against his chest. “Eyes and ears, sweetheart. Then, we fly.”
Ellis inhaled. “He wouldn’t…”
She tucked in hard against him as he curled over her. A soft whoosh, a click, then the world exploded. Lights. Smoke. A deafening shock wave.
Six popped up, laid down a bunch of cover fire, then they were moving inside the smoke. Springing to their feet then racing across the roof. Dodging vents as they ran toward the edge. Shouts carried on the breeze, the acrid smell of propellant heavy in the air. They had maybe ten seconds to reach the other side, start down the damn ladder before the bastards would begin recovering. Less if they’d trained and gained some resistance to the grenade’s effects.
Six had another canister in his hand—was tossing it over the edge as they zeroed in on the fire escape. The man didn’t slow, didn’t seem at all fazed when the second flashbang erupted on the pavement below them, illuminating the alleyway in a blinding light. He just kept moving, grabbing the rails then sliding down, his feet hugging the sides—not even touching the rungs.
Colt grabbed Ellis’ arm, tugged her against him. “Arms around my neck. And don’t fucking let go.”
She didn’t argue, plastering herself against him as he climbed over the edge. She released one hand to fire off a few rounds—send the couple of men who’d managed to stumble after them diving for cover—then she was holding tight. Flying with Colt down the ladder, friction burning a line across his palm.
But it didn’t matter. Didn’t slow him down. Ice could treat him later, if needed. Right now, they had to move.
Gunfire popped around them as they hit the pavement, Six shoving them against the side of the building as he countered—keeping a couple of bullets from catching Colt in the shoulder—Ellis in the head. His buddy grunted, cursed, then palmed Colt’s side and pushed.
Colt ran, sweeping the area with every step, his other hand grasping Ellis’. He was moving fast—probably faster than she could go, still recovering, than she should go—but she kept up. Managed to match his steps, sprint across the street, vault overa fence, then down an alley. Footsteps echoed behind them. Steady. Strong.
He kept running, taking a sharp right, then an equally sharp left. He wound through a parking ramp, jumping concrete barriers then over a railing. Six was bringing up the rear, keeping himself between the men chasing them and Ellis. Blocking her from a possible shot. Risking his life.
Was Six slowing down? Grunting? Breathing harder than usual? Or was it Ellis? Colt couldn’t tell for sure. He was too focused on weaving—on not trapping them in a dead-end alley or parking garage. Mentally calculating if that Suburban could reach them—cut them off.
Tires squealing a few streets over had him changing direction, again. Increasing his pace. Ellis fell behind—his grip dragging her along. Forcing her to match his strides. He knew he was pushing her. Probably opening up her damn wound, but Ice could fix that. Dead was permanent.
Rain pelted his face, soaking through his clothes as they raced through the darkness, each step marked by a splash of water on the pavement. They were nearing the end of their endurance. Even he couldn’t keep up the pace much longer, his fingers starting to tingle. He made one last adjustment—angling toward pier. He didn’t want to take them in, but he was out of options. They couldn’t fight. Not outnumbered and likely outgunned. With limited resources. And he doubted the bastards would follow—risk drowning in the icy water.
Headlights cut through the fog off to his right. Spaced wrong for a Suburban. Jeep. Most likely a Wrangler. It headed straight for them, swerved, executing a perfect one-eighty before the passenger door popped open.
Jericho jumped out, laying down impressive cover fire as she yelled for them to get in. Colt hit the vehicle still sprinting,pulling Ellis in behind him as he shuffled over to the far side, giving Six room to slide in beside them—slam the door.
