Escape (Last Chance Series, Book 3.5) (8 page)

“You take that knife to his arm and you’ll lose the chip forever.  It’s about the size of a pea.  You make the wrong cut and it’s lost in the resulting mutilation.  If you want it, it’s going to take surgical precision.  And to do that, I’m going to need a scalpel.”

Seth bit back a groan.  There was no way in hell her little scalpel was going to win out over two armed men.  But at least she was trying.

“All right,” Marshall acquiesced.  “Where is it.”

“Over there,” she pointed toward an instrument tray near the adjacent table.  “In the jar of astringent.”

There was a slight emphasis on the last word, and Seth’s beleaguered mind pulled forth a night a few months ago when he’d interrupted her in her lab, coming straight there from his latest assignment.  They’d almost made love right there on one of the tables. But when he’d knocked a jar of something onto the floor, she’d pulled away, quickly explaining that it had held a strong cleaning solution of bleach, powerful enough to eat through the finish on the floor.

It had killed the mood. 
At least until they’d made it back to her apartment.  But right at the moment he’d be happy to bathe in the stuff.  If only it wouldn’t burn the crap out of his skin.

Marshall reached out to pick up the jar, and Seth sent a quick prayer off to
whomever might be listening.  Please let him give her the whole goddamned thing.   With a sharp exhale of frustration, Marshall handed the container to Tracy.  “So get to it.”

She nodded, and started to bend over the body, her forehead creased as if considering the task, the jar of bleach still in her right hand.  Marshall leaned in for a closer look.

Directly above him, Seth could see the edge of an iPad.  The internet might be down, but the the little computer would pack a hell of a punch.  That is, if he could get there before Henry had a chance to react.

Sucking in a breath, his muscles bunching in anticipation, Seth watched as Tracy strung out the drama, waiting for Marshall to lean even closer, and then he saw her shoulders tighten as she lifted her right arm.

Tracy threw the contents of the jar in Marshall’s face, spinning away as the man screamed in agony, dropping his gun and covering his face.  Henry, unnerved, spun around, and Seth pushed to his feet reaching for the iPad, but he was two seconds too late, diving for the floor as Henry fired, the shot ricocheting off the wall. 

“Run,” Seth screamed at Tracy. 

Marshall was still clutching his eyes as he struggled against the pain.  Henry lifted the gun for a second shot, but Tracy grabbed a rib spreader, and swung with the ferocity of a Yankee at the World Series.  The man howled in pain, and another shot dug into the wall. 

On his feet now, Seth crossed the room and grabbed Tracy by the hand.  Together they sprinted for the door, keeping low, as bullets strafed the floor. 

“Stop them,” Marshall yelled, his voice strangled by pain.

“Nicely done,” Seth said through gritted teeth as they ran into the hall, Henry lumbering behind them, still firing his gun.  “Are you okay?”

“As much as I can be, considering the circumstances.”  As if to emphasize the point, another bullet whizzed past her shoulder.

Ahead of them the elevator to Tracy’s apartment loomed, the doors tantalizingly open.  “Better to go with the sure thing,” Seth called, as they ducked inside the relative safety of the metal box. 

Tracy slapped her palm against the button to her floor.  “If we make it up there, we’ll have a phone and my gun.”

“I’ll settle for the latter.  Anything to even the odds between us and that bastard behind us.”

The doors began to close just as Henry’s face appeared in the opening.  He snarled, lifting his gun, but before he could discharge it, the elevator lurched upwards, the doors firmly closed.

“Son of a bitch.” Seth breathed on a sigh.  “That was close.  Have I ever told you, you’d make a great FBI agent?”

Tracy gave him a quick smile, then wiped her hair out of her eyes, blood streaking across her face with the motion.

“You’re bleeding,”
Seth said, his heart in his throat.  “Are you shot?”

Tracy shook her head.  “I don’t think so.”  She twisted to look over her shoulders.  “Do you see anything?”

“No,” Seth said, his breath coming easier. 

“It must be coming from my head,” she said, lifting her hand to touch a cut along her hairline.  “Henry seems to have a thing about using his gun as a
billy club.”

“Well, thank God, there’s no serious damage. Which is more than I can say for Marshall.”

“Score one for the good guys.”  She smiled again, wincing a little as she used the sleeve of her t-shirt to wipe off the blood.  “Now if we can just summon help before Henry manages the stairs.”

“Or before they bug out.  If they got the chip, then it’ll be better to cut their losses.”

“Point taken,” she said, her smile widening. “Except that they don’t have it.”  She opened her hand, a tiny rectangle displayed on her palm.  “I do.”

“I don’t care what they say about women, I’ll take one in the trenches any day,” he teased.  “Especially, if that woman is you.”  For a moment the silence stretched between them—words unspoken hanging in the air.

“Seth, I—” Tracy lifted a hand, but behind them the elevator bell sounded and the doors slid open. 

Seth shook his head, holding a finger to his lips.  The hall was empty, but he knew they only had seconds before Henry, and quite possibly Marshall, joined them. They had to pass the stairwell to reach the apartment’s door, with the elevator to the ground floor another hundred feet or so beyond that. 

“You sure we shouldn’t just make a break for the other elevator?” Tracy whispered, still clutching the chip in her hand.

“It’s tempting, but if we can get inside the apartment we can arm ourselves, and I’d feel a hell of a lot better about the odds. For we all we know they’ve got accomplices on the front entrance.” 

She nodded as he stepped out into the hall, gesturing her forward.  Keeping low, Tracy in front, they ran for the apartment and had just passed the stairwell when the door behind them slammed open.

“Go,” Seth urged, as they sprinted for the relative safety of Tracy’s apartment. 

Henry opened fire, bullets ricocheting off the walls.  He was closing fast, and the door to the apartment was shut.  “Get down,” Seth yelled as Henry lifted his gun again.  At this range it was going to be impossible to miss.

Seth dove to cover Tracy’s body with his.  If one of them had to die, it goddamned well wasn’t going to be her.  The shot rang out and Seth waited for the burn of the bullet.

But instead there was only silence.

Slowly he rolled off of her, praying that the cavalry had come to the rescue.

But instead he faced the barrel of another gun.  This one wielded by someone Seth recognized. 

Victor
Cherov.  The man was a shadow.  A mercenary who sold his gun to the highest bidder, his specialty was cleaning up messes.  Henry, his lifeless body sprawled across the floor behind him, was clearly a superfluous part of Cherov’s latest assignment.

And as soon as Victor secured the microchip, Seth had no doubt that he and Tracy would be considered expendable too. 

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.  Just hours ago she and Seth had made love on the credenza.  And now they were standing in her living room looking down the barrel of Victor
Cherov’s gun.  Seth was standing next to her, his shoulders stiff with tension.  There was dried blood on the makeshift bandage around his head.   But at least it hadn’t started bleeding again.

She had no doubt that push come to shove he’d sacrifice himself to try and save her.  But he’d have to fight her for the honor.  She wasn’t about to let him die on her watch.  She owed him that much.  Hell, she loved him that much.

The thought came with an ease that surprised her.

She loved him. It was that simple.  And nothing—not a wedding ring, not a seasoned killer—was going to stop her from cherishing the fact.  “Let him go,” she said to
Cherov, her hands clenched, anger giving her courage.  “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.  He was just trying to protect me.”

“Yes, well, Agent Forester has a way of turning up like a bad penny.”

“You know him?” Tracy shot a look in Seth’s direction.  He shrugged, the edge of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. 

“Occupational hazard.  I tend to run into a lot of scum.  Present company included.”  The barb went wide,
Cherov only smirking.  “We tried to nail him for the death of a Texas oil man.   Guy was playing footsies with the Iranians, and there were people, connected people, who wanted it to stop.  But one of our witnesses disappeared and the case fell apart.”

“Things happen,”
Cherov shrugged.  “And although I enjoy a trip down memory lane as much as the next guy, I think there are more pressing matters at hand.”  He paused, taking a step toward Tracy. 

Seth immediately started to move between them, but
Cherov waved him off with the gun.  “Stand down, lover boy.  In fact, put your hands on the counter and keep them where I can see them.” 

Seth complied, but if looks could kill…

“Now Ms. Braxton, I believe you have something I want.”  He held out a hand. 

“I don’t have the chip,” Tracy lied, trying to buy time. 

“Nice try, but I saw you show it to Forester.”

She frowned, shaking her head.  How the hell had he seen?

“The surveillance cameras in the elevator.”  Cherov smiled, the sentiment  not reflected in his eyes.  “I’ve been watching since you first came down to the labs.  I saw you dig the damn thing out of the body.”

“So why the hell did you wait until now to make your play?” Seth asked.

“I figured I’d let your girl here do the hard work, and besides it was entertaining to watch her.” 

Again Seth started to move. 

“Hands.” Cherov said, leveling the gun. 

Seth blew out a frustrated breath, but stayed still, hands on the counter.

Cherov’s attention shifted back to Tracy.  “You’re a very strong woman, Ms. Braxton.  Under different circumstances…”  He shrugged again, his dark gaze raking over her.

Tracy shivered.

“So let’s try this again.”  Cherov’s fingers widened, the other hand keeping the gun trained on Seth.  “The microchip.”

Again Tracy hesitated. 

“I’ll kill him,” Cherov warned, the sound of the gun being cocked giving credence to the statement.

“You’re going to kill him anyway,” she taunted defiantly.

“Quite possibly,” Cherov shrugged, “but this way you’ll always know that he died because of you.”

Her heart twisted.  He was right.  If she hadn’t made such a mess of things none of this would have happened.  Marshall and Henry would still have taken the chip, and
Cherov would have killed them for it.  But she and Seth would have been safe up here in her apartment.

Bile rose in her throat at the thought.  It
was
her fault.

“It’s okay,” Seth said softly, as always, reading her thoughts.  “I love you.”

Tears pricked the back of her eyes and she dug the chip out of her pocket.  Son of a bitch wasn’t going to kill Seth.  No fucking way.

“Here,” she said, “go and get it.”  She tossed the chip at the window, the metal casing hitting the glass behind
Cherov before dropping to the floor.

“You stupid, bitch,”
Cherov said, leveling his gun, taking aim at Seth. 

Rage flooded her with adrenaline and without another thought she launched herself at
Cherov as the gun went off.  She hit him full on, catching him by surprise, and despite his superior weight she knocked him off his feet, the two of them careening backward into the plate glass window.  

The glass shattered, the cold night air whipping into the apartment.  One minute they were standing at the edge of the window and the next, they were falling, still locked together.  Fighting to breathe, Tracy reached out for something—anything—
to  break the seven story fall.  She could feel Cherov holding onto her thighs, and moving on instinct she tried to twist free, her hands closing around the metal framework that in summertime held a window box.

For a moment, they hung there swaying,
Cherov trying to claw his way up her body.   Her muscles screamed with pain from the effort to hold their combined weight, but this wasn’t the time to let pain stop her.  Tightening her muscles, she swung her body outward, the movement surprising Cherov, his grip slipping.

Again she swung her body, and was rewarded with the sensation of air against her ankle as
Cherov lost his hold.  Her left leg, now taking the full brunt of his weight felt like it was going to come free of the socket.  The pain was searing.  But this was life or death, and she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

Again she swung out, this time kicking his head with her free foot.  For a moment she thought he’d found a hold again, his fingers back on her ankle, but then just as suddenly he was gone.