Midnight Pursuits (26 page)

D encountered trouble literally three seconds after he and Juliet split up. In an instant, he went from running on two feet to lying flat on his back as a barrel-chested man in green fatigues tackled him with the skill of an NFL linebacker.

His M16 clattered to the concrete floor and skidded out of reach. He managed to hold on to his HK, but not for long; his attacker swiftly kicked it from his grasp before 180 pounds of muscle came crashing down on his chest.

A meaty fist pummeled D's jaw with a sickening crack, but it was the only blow the blond soldier succeeded in landing. D struck out with a right hook that sent the other man's head flying back. But it didn't knock the guy out—it only brought a rush of fury to his eyes.

They wrestled on the ground, rolling over as each one tried to gain the upper hand on the other. D grunted when his opponent kneed him in the balls, but he'd been trained to ignore the pain. He managed to land an uppercut to the man's lip, splitting it open and causing a spurt of blood to splash him in the eyes. Breathing hard, D swiped at the blood obstructing his vision and concentrated on gaining control of the situation.

He'd just gotten his attacker in a headlock when the guy grabbed hold of D's left arm with both hands.

With one sickening twist, D's bone broke cleanly in half.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

A roar of pain flew out of D's mouth. A kaleidoscope of stars flashed in front of his eyes, and he nearly passed out from the agony streaking through his arm.

The other man's triumphant laughter bounced off the walls, which only succeeded in triggering D's fury and giving him a jolt of adrenaline that allowed him to heave his attacker off him. The man landed on the floor with a thump, providing D with just enough time to fling out his uninjured arm and grab his fallen pistol.

The other man had just gotten to his knees when D pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was deafening. His ears started to ring, pulse off-kilter as his arm continued to throb like a motherfucker.

Gulping in shallow breaths, he somehow managed to stand up. The world spun for a moment. He waited until the dizzy spell passed before examining the other man's body to make sure the guy was dead. Then he took a tentative step toward the doorway his attacker had emerged from.

“D, you copy?”

He cradled his broken arm to his chest and tried to breathe through the pain. When the nausea subsided, he touched his earpiece with his good hand and said, “Yeah, I copy.”

“Main hallway's clear. No sign of the rookie. Status?”

“Got into a little skirmish with a tango, but it's all good. I'm still looking.”

He adjusted his grip on the HK and approached the open doorway cautiously. Ignoring the shooting pains in his arm, he took a breath and peered into the room.

Then he activated the comm again.

“Scratch that—I'm not looking.” He exhaled in a ragged burst. “I found him.”

•   •   •

Juliet stared at Orlov, unable to believe that he was actually right there in front of her. It was like being handed an early Christmas present—well, not that she had much experience with that. She'd never had a real Christmas. Her only decent holiday memory was the year she and Henry had stolen a box of cookies from the cupboard and hid under Deke and Maria's bed to eat them.

At the thought of Henry, her shoulders tensed, and her index finger involuntarily tightened over the trigger.

“Who the hell are you?” Orlov snapped, his dark eyes blazing.

“Keep your hands where I can see 'em,” she snapped back.

His cheeks hollowed in anger, but he didn't move his arms, just left them dangling at his sides. Juliet swept her gaze over the man who'd consumed her thoughts for so long now. Everything about him sickened her—his perfectly combed hair, his gratingly handsome features, the expensive gray suit he wore.

“Where's Ethan?” she asked in a deadly voice.

He arched a brow. “Who?”

“The man you captured. Where is he?”

Orlov smirked. “Dead. Just like you're going to be.”

She ignored the clench of pain she experienced at his cavalier response.

Dead
.

No, he was lying. She refused to believe Ethan was gone until she saw his body with her own two eyes.

Now Orlov chuckled. “Do you truly believe you'll get out of this bunker alive?”

She shrugged. “Don't care if I do, as long as I kill you first.”

He tipped his head to the side. “Would you do me the kindness of telling me what I did to earn your wrath?”

Considering she was about to end his life, she figured there was no harm in letting him know why she was doing it. “Zoya Harkova.”

Recognition flickered in his eyes. “The Harkova woman? Don't tell me a professional of your esteem allowed herself to form an emotional connection. You are a professional, are you not? I'd hate to think I was bested by an amateur.”

“Oh, I'm a pro, all right. And as a pro, I'm well versed in the art of vengeance. When you ordered Grechko to execute Zoya, she wasn't the only one he killed. My brother is dead because of you.”

He seemed surprised to hear the word
brother
, but she didn't let him speak. She just kept going, a wry note entering her voice.

“Before he died, he ordered me to hunt you down and kill you. I don't think he would have been against me doing a little torturing either. But as much as I'd like to drag out your death—really make you suffer, you know?—I'm afraid I don't have a lot of time at the moment. So—”

Without another word, Juliet shot him in the chest.

Horror exploded in his eyes as his body jerked from the impact of her bullet. A dark red stain bloomed on the front of his suit jacket, but even as he lay there wheezing, his lips quirked up in a self-satisfied smile that made her blood run cold.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” she demanded, a thread of worry unraveling inside her.

As his face grew pale, he gave a hoarse laugh thick with triumph. “I'll see you in hell, bitch.” Another breathy laugh. “And not too long from now, I imagine.”

His words sent a chill up her spine. Swallowing hard, she pulled the trigger again, putting two more bullets in his chest and one in his forehead, officially shutting him up.

A moment later, Orlov's eyes rolled to the top of his head, his victorious expression freezing on his lifeless face.

Fighting a jolt of panic, Juliet dashed over to the dead man and searched his body, hoping to find a clue that would explain what that bastard had been so smug about.

When her hand slid into the inner pocket of his jacket, she discovered the source of Orlov's pleasure.

A remote detonator.

Goddamn it.

Her gaze involuntarily shifted up to the ceiling, where a brick of C4 was affixed to the concrete, then to the second set of explosives mounted right beneath the doorframe.

A flash of movement suddenly caught her eye, drawing her attention to the digital watch circling Orlov's wrist. She realized it was counting down to something, and although there was no way to know when the count had started, she damn well knew how much time was
left
.

Five minutes and twenty-two seconds.

Shit.

Juliet tore Orlov's watch right off his wrist and flew to the door just as D's gravelly voice crackled in her ear. During her exchange with Orlov, she'd heard Morgan and the others talking over the comm, but she'd blocked them out before.

Now she listened to every word.

“Scratch that—I'm not looking. I found him.”

Relief soared in her chest as D's words registered. “You found him?” she blurted into her mic. “He's alive?”

D's grunt of assent was the most beautiful sound in the world, but her joy faded as quickly as it appeared.

“Get him out,” she said urgently. “Everyone needs to get out now. The entire bunker is rigged with explosives and Orlov just set off the detonator.”

Morgan joined the feed. “How much time do we have?”

She glanced at the dead man's watch. “A little less than five minutes.”

“And Orlov?”

“Taken care of,” she said without a trace of emotion.

“Copy that. You heard what the lady said,” Morgan barked. “Everyone get the fuck out.”

D spoke up in a hesitant voice that was completely unlike him. “That might be a problem, boss.”

“Why?” Morgan demanded.

“The rookie's in bad shape.”

Juliet's heart plummeted down to her stomach.

“So carry him, damn it.”

“I would if my arm wasn't broken.”

Morgan cursed. “Jesus. Stay put. I'm coming to you.”

“No,” Juliet said sharply. “I'm closer. I'll go.”

“Juliet—”

She was already out the door. “You and Sully are all the way on the other side of the damn bunker,” she cut in as she ran down the hall. “This place is three-quarters of a mile—it'll take you two minutes to get to D and two minutes to get out. You won't fucking make it. I'm closer.”

“We can make it if we run,” Sullivan spoke up, sounding determined.

“She's right,” Morgan said flatly. “Get the fuck out, Sully. That's an order. I'll deal with it.”

“For the love of God, Morgan, I can handle it,” Juliet snapped, while sprinting down the corridor like she was competing in the Olympics.

D's voice again. “Damn it, boss, go with Aussie. We'll get him out. Trust me.”

There was a beat of silence, then a heavy sigh. “Run like your fucking lives depend on it,” Morgan finally said.

And then the comm went quiet.

Juliet had never moved faster in her life. When her lungs screamed for oxygen, she realized she'd forgotten to breathe, and she inhaled a gulp of air, her heart pounding so hard and so fast she feared it would beat right out of her chest. Her boots slapped the concrete as she tore down the hall. When she reached the path that connected the east and west corridors to the main one, she flew around the corner—and then skidded to a stop.

“Oh God,” she burst out.

Ten feet ahead, D was trudging forward, one muscular arm supporting a bare-chested man whose back was sliced up with a series of zigzagging cuts that oozed blood.

Juliet's heart stopped when she recognized Ethan's dark head. Oh, sweet Lord. What the hell had they done to him?

She raced after the two men, reaching them just as D glanced over with a somber look. She'd never seen the big mercenary so subdued, and when she came up on Ethan's other side and saw his face, she understood the reason for D's defeated posture.

“Oh God,” she whispered again, immediately wrapping her arm around Ethan's trim waist to ease some of the load off D.

Ethan's hazel eyes flickered at the sound of her voice, but they were so glazed she knew he wasn't seeing her. Blood dripped down his chest, forming little rivulets along the countless lacerations marring his skin. Parts of his flesh seemed to have bubbled up, as if he'd been burned as well as cut.

Ignoring the shrieking of her pulse, Juliet ripped her gaze off Ethan's mangled chest and tried to encourage both men to walk faster by picking up her own pace. A glance at Orlov's watch showed that they had two minutes left.

Two fricking minutes.

At the pace they were traveling at, they'd never make it out.

She shoved the disturbing thought out of her head and forced herself to study the wires strung along the ceiling.

“The explosives are targeted at structurally weak spots,” she told D.

“That's usually the way to do it,” he muttered. “Target the building supports and the whole thing will cave in with a few strategic blasts.”

“It won't cave in completely.” She chewed on her lip, trying not to look at Ethan, for fear that she might break down.

He hadn't said a word since she'd joined them. His head was drooping forward, his breathing labored as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

Juliet was overcome with awe. The man was a walking zombie, for Pete's sake, yet somehow he'd found the strength to keep moving. Seeing him do it sent a rush of pride to her heart.

“Where the fuck are you going with this?” D demanded.

She looked over and noticed that his left arm was dangling uselessly at his side. She didn't ask how he'd broken it, didn't care at the moment. All she knew was that neither she nor D possessed the physical strength to run and carry Ethan, and unless that happened, there was no way any of them were reaching that exit.

“Keep walking. I need to check something out.”

She reluctantly released Ethan and sprinted ahead, ducking into the first room on her right. The deserted space was wired with C4, so she hurried out and tried the next one. No explosives there, but the ceiling right outside the door boasted a fat brick, which meant the room would most likely take a huge hit. Down the hall she went, checking the empty rooms until she hit the jackpot.

The room she found herself in was one of the few that not only contained supplies, but reinforced steel. And no C4 in sight. It must have been a weapons locker, judging by the deep compartments dug into the walls, but Orlov's people had been using it for storage. Long racks took up the space, shelves lined with boxes of ammo, spare clips, and an array of other useful goodies.

Juliet checked the countdown. A minute and a half. Shit.

She dashed out of the storage room and intercepted D and Ethan in the corridor.

“Go,” she told D.

His coal black eyes flashed. “Fuck you. I'm not leaving.”

“Yes, you are.” She quickly moved to support Ethan's waist, her tone brooking no argument. “We're not too far from the stairs. You can make it if you run.”

“No. Way.”

“Look, there's a room up there that I can take Ethan to. It's structurally sound, walls reinforced with steel. There's a good chance it'll stay intact when the place blows.”