| |
––––––––
“They're coming from the stairwell,” Viper announced, striding down the short hallway from the stairwell door into the living room. “I took out two more in there. They weren't expecting to see me.”
Hawk looked up from where he had just dropped the second body from the elevator.
“I’ve disabled the elevator for now. There's blood on the floor, so we don't want that going back down yet.”
“The clean-up crew will take care of it.”
“What clean-up crew?” he asked, straightening.
She flashed a quick grin.
“The one coming when I call them.”
Hawk shook his head.
“First a penthouse in a casino hotel in Atlantic City, now a clean-up crew,” he muttered. “I should have known. It's Frankie Solitto, isn't it?”
“You say that like it's a bad thing,” she said, setting the would-be assassin's 9 mm on the coffee table. She pulled her own .45 from her back holster with one hand and a suppressor from her jacket pocket with the other.
“Well, it's not good! He's the Jersey Mob, Viper. When I told you to cultivate local assets, that's not exactly what I had in mind.”
“No? What about the Chechen separatists that you've been drinking beer with for the past year? Was that more like what you had in mind?”
Hawk shrugged. “That's different. That's business.”
He encountered a swift look from dark eyes as she attached the suppressor to her Ruger.
“So is this.” She finished with her gun and looked at him again. “You want to hit the lights? They're not wearing gear, so no night-vision.”
Hawk went over to the light switch on the wall and, a second later, the large living room was plunged into darkness.
“You said there were two in the stairwell?” he asked. “There were two in the elevator. That's the typical grouping of four. What makes you think any more will use the stairwell? There's a terrace off the bedroom, and another one off this living room. They could come that way.”
“They could,” she agreed, picking up the spare 9mm and sliding it into her jacket pocket. “I'll take the door to the stairwell and you man the windows.”
A creak from the direction of the back stairwell door silenced them both, and Viper moved to the wall beside the short hallway. Hawk melted into the dark shadows of the corner beside the french doors to the terrace. Viper didn't need to look to know that he was watching the hall, ready to move if she missed. Her lips curved coldly.
She never missed.
The thick carpeting in the suite precluded any footsteps, but Viper didn't need to hear to know someone was there. Every hair on the back of her neck was standing to attention, and her heart thumped in her chest before falling into a steady, comforting rhythm. She leaned her head back against the wall and took a silent breath, her Ruger in her hands near her shoulder. A tall shadow passed the edge of the wall, moving into the living room silently.
The round from her .45 entered the back of his skull and exited the front, blowing half his face off.
Pivoting away from the wall before the body even hit the floor, she rounded the corner to intercept another intruder. Already alerted to her presence, this one was ready for her. He swung a meaty fist that she saw coming a mile away and Viper bent to the left, easily avoiding the blow. Stepping inside his guard, she grabbed his other arm at the wrist. Using his own swinging momentum from his leading punch, she spun him around and wrenched the arm up behind him as she kicked the back of one of his knees, buckling his leg and bringing him down hard on the other knee. A grunt of pain was followed by a sharp bellow as the arm cracked and the shoulder popped out of joint. The roar of pain was cut short when she placed the muzzle of her Ruger on his shoulder and shot down, straight into his heart.
Viper was just releasing her grip on him when glass shattered in the living room and the french doors were kicked open. Hawk had company.
The door at the end of the hallway swung open and another figure emerged from the stairwell, a gun in their hand. They never got the chance to fire. Viper put a bullet in their forehead and the body was thrown back out the door into the stairwell. Following, she stepped over the body and fired into the chest of another figure topping the stairs. He stopped, swayed, then fell.
Casting a glance down the stairs, Viper waited a second, then turned to go back into the penthouse. As she did so, a distinctive pop-pop echoed from the living room, then a strangled cry. Hawk was busy. Glancing over her shoulder for one last searching look around the stairwell, Viper moved toward the living room, stepping over the body halfway down. A thud sounded from around the corner, and she entered the living room to find three prone figures scattered around the room.
Hawk straightened up, a knife in his hand, and glanced at her.
“I thought you said they came in fours? This is more than four.”
She shrugged.
“I guess they figured out that wasn't working.” She looked at the bodies. “Are any of them still alive?”
“No.”
A chill of awareness streaked down Alina's spine and she spun toward the bedroom, raising her gun instinctively as something flashed into her peripheral vision and they heard a muffled pop. As she turned, she moved her shoulders to the right, placing her in a better position to take a shot. She sensed rather than heard the bullet that whizzed past her left shoulder seconds before hitting the wall behind her.
Viper squeezed the trigger, aiming for the center of the assassin emerging from the bedroom. Her bullet tore into his stomach as another shadow moved out behind him. She moved forward quickly, firing consecutively. Another round went into the throat of the first man, and the second figure lurched as a bullet blew out his knee. His leg buckled and he fell sideways, landing on his hip. She looked past him into the bedroom, finding it empty. No one else was behind him.
Viper crouched next to him, looking at the mangled leg. She grimaced.
“That'll never be the same.” A thud and cry from the living room heralded more from the terrace and she sighed. “God, you're like cockroaches! How many more are there?”
The man stared up at her, delirious with pain, and was silent. Her eyes narrowed and a second later, she was pressing the serrated edge of her combat knife against the inside thigh of his good leg.
“How many?” she repeated. “Think carefully before you answer. My blade is resting right above your femoral artery. Do you know what that means?”
The man swallowed painfully and managed a nod.
“Good. How many more?”
“That...that's it,” he rasped out. “We're the last wave.”
Viper studied him for a minute, then applied pressure on the knife, slicing through his pant leg and breaking the skin.
“Two more!” he gasped, his eyes widening. “The living room!”
“Two more incoming!” she called over her shoulder.
A grunt followed by a thud answered her, and she turned her attention back to the man beside her.
“Why so many for li'l ol' me?”
“You're...priority one,” he said, inhaling as she lifted the knife off his thigh. “No one else could get you.”
“Hm.” Viper studied him for a long moment while she tossed her knife in the air, catching it as it rotated down again. She watched his eyes follow it with terrified fascination. “So I've heard. Who sent you?”
Sweat beaded on his upper lip and he stared at her, panic in his eyes.
“I can't tell you,” he said, shaking his head. The blade hilt landed solidly in her hand and she gripped it, blade facing down. She pressed the sharp tip into his thigh and he gasped. “He'll kill me!”
She smiled coldly.
“Oh, I think he's the least of your worries right now.”
The man opened his mouth to speak, but before he got a word out, a bullet tore into his throat.
Viper swung around furiously just as Hawk aimed from across the room. His bullet went through a woman's temple and she crumpled to the floor, a .22 slipping from her hands.
“What the hell just happened?” she demanded, jumping up.
“She got by me while I was dealing with the two incoming,” Hawk replied grimly. “There were three, not two. She went straight for you.”
“She just cost me a name,” Viper said, glaring down at the body on the floor. “You couldn't have got her in the leg?”
“She was aiming at your head! No, I wasn't taking any chances.” Hawk strode over to her and looked down into her face. “I like your head just the way it is, thanks.”
The angry scowl left her face.
“Well, when you put it that way, thank you.”
“You're welcome.” Hawk turned to look around at the bodies strewn throughout the suite. “I hope Frankie's clean-up crew is up for the challenge. You sure you don't want to clean it ourselves?”
Viper nodded, tucking her gun into the holster at her back.
“It's too risky. We can't just set a bomb and walk away. This is Atlantic City, and it’s Frankie's private penthouse. Besides, his hospitality was conditional on using his guys. He owns half this city, and the other half are afraid of him. His guys will get it cleaned up faster than we can and will ensure no one knows anything. I got the impression he didn't want any outsiders in here.”
“Then why did he allow us in?”
Viper smiled faintly.
“I think he was offended that someone took a shot at me in a church. He said it was disrespectful. By helping me, he thinks he's fighting the good fight.”
Hawk shrugged. “Can't argue with that.”
Viper's lips twisted.
“I'm sure there are many who would,” she murmured, pulling out her phone. “We're not most people's version of the good guys.”
She hit a button on her phone and stepped over a body to walk over to the shadows inside the terrace doors. Keeping to the side and out of sight, she peered out the doors into the night as she held her phone up to her ear. A moment later, she spoke.
“Call your boys,” she told Frankie, turning away from the terrace. “There's a large head count, and one is at the bottom of the stairwell. You might want to seal that off altogether for containment.”
There was a soft sigh.
“I'll take care of it,” Frankie said. “I've got people in the hotel and in the casino. I'll send them in.”
“Frankie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
There was a brief silence, then he spoke.
“Forget about it. Just keep yourself alive long enough for me to pay back that favor.”
“Are you sure you don't want to come in and hang out for a bit?” Stephanie asked as Angela rolled to a stop in the parking lot outside her apartment complex.
Angela nodded.
“Yep. I'm going home and passing out,” she said. “You and Blake relax.”
Stephanie turned to look out the back window.
“Where is he? He was supposed to be right behind us.”
“He got caught at a light. He'll be here soon.” As Stephanie picked up her purse from the floor, Angela reached into the backseat to grab her walking cane. “Dinner was fun,” she said, handing it to her. “I'm glad he showed up.”
“Me too. Too bad Alina and Damon wouldn't come,” Stephanie said, reaching for the door handle.
Angela sniffed and tossed her head.
“I'm glad they didn't. I'm still mad she made me delete my journal account. I think she way overreacted.”
Stephanie looked at her.
“Angie, that account was a bad idea from the start. Why you ever thought it was smart to put such personal information online is a mystery to me. It was only a matter of time before someone hacked it.”
“But that's my business!” Angela exclaimed. “It's none of Lina's concern what I do. The idea that someone was reading about her is ludicrous.”
Stephanie remembered what Alina had said about the terrorist knowing things about her past and she shivered involuntarily. Angela had no idea of just how much damage her online journal had caused, nor could she ever know.
“Perhaps, but you did the right thing in deleting it, regardless,” she said. “Go back to writing in books. It’s safer. So what if they take up room? At least they can't be hacked by complete strangers.”
Stephanie opened the door and swung her legs out of the car, setting the cane on the tarmac.
“Thanks for driving. I had fun. I know you needed to get out too, but I really needed this,” she said, preparing to pull herself up. “Thanks.”
“We have to do it more often,” Angela replied, watching as Stephanie got out of the car. “Will you be okay getting into the house?”
Stephanie nodded.
“I'll be fine, and Blake will be along in a minute anyway. Get out of here. Text me when you get home.”
She closed the door and turned toward her apartment building. Angela beeped her horn once and pulled away with a wave. Stephanie raised her hand briefly, then made her way down the sidewalk to the alcove for her apartment. She glanced over her shoulder once more toward the parking lot, looking for Blake's Challenger, then shrugged and pulled her keys from her purse. He'd be here soon enough. She wasn't standing around waiting for him.
Stephanie unlocked her front door and pushed it open, stepping inside. The door swung closed behind her, and she reached for the light switch on the wall. Suddenly, she sensed rather than heard something behind her. She started to turn and blinding pain shot through her temple. White stars exploded in her eyes and then everything went black.
Blake Hanover pulled into the empty parking spot next to Stephanie's Mustang and turned the car off. There was no sign of Angela's BMW, so obviously Stephanie had no luck in convincing her to stay for a drink. Blake wasn't sorry. He liked Angie well enough, but he was tired and wanted to catch up with Stephanie without any drama. And, as he was quickly learning, Angela was nothing if not dramatic.
He undid his seat belt and felt a cold, wet nose press against his neck.
“Yes, Buddy, you can get out,” he murmured, raising his hand to rub his dog's head. Buddy rested his chin on Blake's shoulder and huffed in his ear, drawing a chuckle from his master. “Yes, alright!”
Blake opened the door and got out, pushing the seat forward so the dog could leap from the back. The pit bull landed beside him, shaking himself, his hind quarters wagging back and forth ecstatically.
“Sit!” Blake commanded and Buddy dropped to his haunches, gazing up at him adoringly.
Blake bent back into the car and pulled his leash from the center console, clipping it onto his collar before he closed the door. Walking to the trunk, he popped it open and pulled out his overnight bag, swinging it over his shoulder before slamming the trunk closed again.
He started across the parking lot toward the apartment building. Buddy padded happily alongside him for a few feet, then he paused, stopping and standing very still. Blake glanced down as a low growl sounded deep in his dog’s throat.
Blake frowned and cast a swift glance around. The parking lot was empty and so was the sidewalk running the length of Stephanie's building. There was no one in sight. The growl continued, and Buddy took a few measured strides forward before the growl got louder and more intense. His back hackles rose and, suddenly, the pit bull surged forward, straining against the leash.
Blake didn't think, he simply reacted. He let go of the leash and reached for the gun in his side holster. Freed from restraint, Buddy bounded forward, running straight for Stephanie's alcove. Blake unsnapped his holster and pulled out the sidearm, following close behind his dog. He didn't know what was wrong, but Buddy sensed something, and it was never a good thing when he went into attack mode.
Buddy bounded into the alcove and erupted into barking. Rearing back on his hind legs, he pawed frantically at the door, alternating between barking and growling. Blake tried the door, frowning when it opened easily. Stephanie always locked her door.
As soon as the door cracked open, Buddy threw all his weight onto it, pushing it wide and darting into the apartment. He streaked through the living room snarling, heading straight for the sliding doors at the back of the dining room. Blake entered the living room in time to see the door slide closed just as Buddy reached it. Buddy reared up again, teeth barred, as his paws crashed against the glass.
Blake started to follow his dog, then paused. Something wasn't right. Where was Stephanie?
Spinning around, he flipped the switch on the wall. Light flooded the apartment, and Blake dropped the bag from his shoulder. Stephanie was sprawled on the carpet at his feet, motionless.
Dropping to his knee beside her, Blake felt for a pulse. It was steady beneath his fingers, and he exhaled a sigh of relief. She was only unconscious.
He looked around. Nothing in the living room was upset or out of place. Her walking cane was laying a foot away where it had landed when she fell. Her purse was beside her, and her keys were next to her hand.
His mind spinning, Blake stood up and strode to the sliding door. Buddy had dropped down to all fours and was contenting himself with barking incessantly through the glass. Blake grabbed his leash and wrapped it around his wrist as he slid the door open. The dog leapt onto the patio, yelping when he was brought up short with a firm tug from Blake's arm.
Blake stood on the small patio and looked out over the grassy courtyard. Lamp posts were placed at intervals around the perimeter, casting sufficient light to see that the area was empty. Across the courtyard, the back of another apartment building faced them, all the patios dark and quiet.
Stepping off the patio onto the grass, Blake looked along the building in both directions. Nothing.
Whoever had been in Stephanie's apartment was gone.
Buddy stopped barking and, lowering his nose to the grass, sniffed around the entire area, huffing occasionally. Blake let him nose around, waiting to see if he would pick up any scent in a particular direction. After a moment, though, he just sat down and looked up at him, as much as to say, “Well, I don't know where they went.”
Blake sighed and holstered his weapon, turning to go back into the apartment. He stepped inside and closed the door, bending to unhook the leash. Buddy shook himself, then trotted across the apartment to where Stephanie was still unconscious on the floor. He nudged her with his nose, then whined and sat down next to her, looking back at Blake with big, sorrowful, brown eyes.
“I know, boy,” Blake said, walking over to kneel next to them. “She'll be ok.”
Blake rolled her onto her back and examined the swelling next to her temple. Grimacing, he got up to go into the kitchen. He went through drawers until he found dish towels and, grabbing a clean one, he opened the freezer and got a handful of ice, wrapping it with the towel. As he went back to Stephanie, he looked around again, and the scowl on his face deepened. Nothing was out of place.
Whoever had knocked her unconscious hadn't been trying to rob her. They had been waiting for her.