A deep breath and a slide of one foot, and she had her weight balanced. Still teetering but steady enough she could lift her arms—reach for the handle without falling. She grasped ahold if it, leaning too far forward, when the damn thing turned beneath her palms. She had just enough time to shove herself back,stumble backwards three steps onto one knee, before the edge smacked her in the face. Maybe broke her nose.
Two men crowded the doorway. Huge black silhouettes against the backlit room. The weapons strapped to the thighs standing out in harsh relief. She could just make out the ends of what looked like assault rifles jutting out to one side as they paused on the threshold, staring at her as if they hadn’t expected to find her inside.
And she knew, this was the only chance she’d get. That if she was going to fight, it was now. Before they’d made their move. Grabbed her. She lunged at them, reaching out, ready to sweep out their feet as she pummeled their shoulders. Once they were down, she’d steal one of their pistols—blast her way out. She had a moment of forward motion, of her knee coming up, only to trip when her damn leg dragged behind her. Threw her off center.
She hit hard, her head bouncing off the concrete. The force rolling her onto her back. The room faded, filled with colored dots exploding against the darkness. Hushed curses and footsteps sounded beside her, then hands on her shoulders. Another pressing down on her neck, then moving along her limbs.
Had someone said her name? Ellis couldn’t be sure. The effects of the drugs, the deep-searing cold. The endless throbbing in her head. She tried to blink, but it was just a hint of gray against the black. A fleeting image of her future. Of it all fading away.
She made one last attempt to open her eyes, stumble to her feet. She wouldn’t give up. Wouldn’t quit. There was a flash of a man’s face. Of blue eyes staring down at her. Then, nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The water was cold. Freezing, in fact. Not that Colt had expected anything different. Even in the summer, this section of the Pacific didn’t get overly warm. And it was only early spring.
But Colt wasn’t thinking about the cold. About the numb feeling in his fingers. The way the air chilled his wet skin, beaded goosebumps along his flesh as he ducked in behind a section of the large crane positioned just to the left of the warehouse. His team moving silently in behind him. He was focused on the building. On identifying the threats and getting inside. On how every second he used up was one less Ellis had.
It only took a minute to spot the cameras. The snipers on opposite ends of the roof. The patrols circling the building. Six made a few hand signals. Readied one of the rifles at his shoulder. Kam took the other. Colt had raised an eyebrow. Not that he doubted her determination, but she’d been MI. Not exactly known for their sniping skills.
She grinned, then took up the same stance Six had. And damn if that rifle didn’t look disturbingly natural in her hands.
Colt didn’t have time to question it. He and Ice were going in. Trusting Kam and Six to eliminate any threats the two men couldn’t see. Keep a corridor open for them to get back out.Hopefully get clear just as the cavalry arrived. Colt wouldn’t outright kill McCormick, but if the guy’s head happened to pop up in his crosshairs…
He glanced at Six and Kam, acknowledged their signals. They’d take out the snipers as Ice and Colt readied themselves. Two silent shots and they were off—moving fast, staying low. Reducing their profiles as they ran across the open space. The cameras went out first. Four shots, four hits. They’d have to deal with the guys who investigated the disruptions, but that was a distant thought.
Two men appeared in front of them. Walking toward the water. Colt took one, Ice the other. Head shots. Dropped them where they stood. A slight whooshing sound, and the guy about to fire off to their right jerked back, feet flying out in front of him.
Six. Definitely.
Another man dropped standing beside the door. From the angle, it had been Kam. Looks like the lady had some serious rifle skills. Ones he’d ask about, later.
Ice sprinted ahead, hid the man in the shadows then covered the side of the building while Colt headed for the door. He tried the handle. Unlocked. This was why being cocky got people killed. McCormick assumed he’d covered all his bases. Obviously hadn’t thought anyone would get past his defenses. Big mistake.
Colt opened the door. Went in low, Ice high. Sweeping the area. One guy, off to the right. Bullet between his eyes inside of a second. An adjoining door with a large window beside it led into one half of the warehouse, but it was dark. Deserted.
They cleared the room then moved to the next. Empty. As was the short hallway leading off of it. It ended at a set of stairs. What looked like a few offices on the upper level.
Ice went first, sweeping each side once he reached the top, then covering Colt’s ass as he raced up the stairs. There werethree doors. Only one with a bolt on the outside, though it looked as if it hadn’t been fully closed.
Ice waved, guarding the stairwell as Colt headed down the short corridor. He paused to listen at each door, then checked the rooms to ensure they were clear. Ice joined him at the far end.
Colt slid the bolt all the way over, then palmed the handle. They went on three, twisting it open then shoving it aside, only to pull up short. Ellis must have been about to try the damn door handle because she was reeling backwards, tripping onto one knee. Her movements looked stiff. Slow. As if her brain couldn’t quite get the signals through.
She blinked, then lunged toward them. And damn, she might have swept Colt’s feet out if she’d managed to execute the move. Instead, her leg dragged behind her, shifting her balance and smashing her head and shoulder into the concrete then rolling her onto her back.
He was at her side before she could groan, cupping her shoulders. Wincing at the large cut across her forehead, another on her arm. The bastards had stripped her down, again, her skin pale, her fingertips and lips tinged blue. “El?”
Ice knelt beside him, doing a quick body sweep. He grunted, checked her forehead, then rolled her against his chest, lifting her into his arms.
Colt should be the one holding her. Carrying her. But that was just his damn pride talking. His heart. Because Ice was the medic. The PJ. The guy who’d carried all of them at some point over the past twelve years. Dragging their asses back from behind enemy lines. Saving their hides. This was his wheelhouse. His job. Infringing on that would be a slap in the face. And Colt respected the man too much to let his ego cloud his judgment.
Which meant Colt was going out, first. Clearing the way. Making sure nothing got to Ice and Ellis. That Colt would be the one to draw fire. Take a hit if needed. Make any kind of sacrifice necessary to ensure they made it out unscathed.
The thought had him moving. Down the hall, then the stairs, constantly sweeping. He capped one guy when he walked through the doorway, cigarette leaving a smoky trail behind him. Colt grabbed the guy’s ankle—dragged him over the side, then keep going.
Through the next room then toward the exit, only to dive for cover when bullets started flying. Spraying glass across the floor, across him. Punching a few holes in the metal siding separating this room from the main warehouse.
Colt waved Ice back, keeping him out of the room as he returned a few pulls of the trigger. Sent the men scattering for better cover.
