King came to in a rush, the taste of burning fuel and smoke in his mouth. Even knowing Ella and Madoc hadn’t died that day, the scene was still fresh. He’d allowed himself thirty minutes of rest time. It hadn’t been enough.
“Bad dream?”
Allie’s sultry voice was balm to his fraying mind. He’d lost so much that day in Lebanon. Even if Samson was the only one gone, his loss would haunt King.
“Bad memories,” he corrected her as he sat up in the chair and wiped a hand over his eyes. “How long you been awake?”
She was sitting against the headboard, head cocked to the side, a book of some sort on her bent knees. Her hair was a waterfall of white-blond strands, and he wanted to sink his hands in it.
She grimaced. “Long enough to hear you yell your men’s names in terror.”
He hissed in a breath and glanced at her.
“You should really let me go,” she said, and there was a plea in her voice. She closed the book and looked at him.
“I know.” And he did, but he couldn’t. Not until Dresden and Savidge were six feet deep. Not until she was safe.
“I’ll never be safe again. This crusade is fruitless,” she dropped into his silence.
“I would imagine being Gray Broemig’s daughter is fraught with all manner of danger. But Savidge is after you, probably to get at your father, maybe to get at me. Either way, I’m a bonus, but he also wants you for things you don’t want to know about.”
Her breath hitched, and he felt it in his chest. “So we’re back to me blindly following you?”
“It might be easier if your eyes are wide open. But however it works best for you is how we’ll do it,” he said.
“Can I ask for one thing?”
Her chest rose and fell, and the sheet she’d been holding for dear life earlier was dipping lower with each exhalation. He wanted it to fall. He wanted to pull one of those beaded nipples in his mouth and taste her.
“One. That’s the limit.”
“Kiss me,” she said aloud. “I need to know if it’s as good as I remember.”
Or maybe that was wishful thinking. Whichever it was, he gave in to the need.
He took her mouth, sinking deep into the warmth of her, tangling his tongue with hers, and sipping from her the only way he’d allow himself right now. Her fingers wrapped in his hair, tugging as she became desperate. He held her head still, tormenting her lips, evading her demanding tongue, and giving what he wanted and nothing more.
Until she sighed his name and he was lost. A knock on the door, a louder bang moments later, and King pulled away from her. Their time was up. King didn’t question how Savidge’s men had found them so quickly.
He trained his gun on the door and said, “Allie, take the gun on the bed. Now.”
“Who is it?” he asked through the door.
“Room service” came the muffled response. King didn’t question his instincts. Savidge’s men were here. There’d be time later to figure out how he’d found them so quickly. For now, King had to get Allie out safely. He glanced at her. He was glad he’d had her dress earlier. He watched her settle the gun in her waistband. He nodded to the balcony.
“Get there now. There’s a rope ladder to the roof. Take it and wait for me there,” he ordered her. She hesitated. “Now!” he demanded.
She moved, fear a tattoo on her face before he said, “They’re here, Allie. Trust me, and I’ll get you out of this.”
She scrambled to the balcony as shots began to pelt the room through the door. King grabbed his pack, strapped it over his shoulder, then meshed his back to the wall, checking the rounds in his gun and taking a single deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Allie heading up the ladder.
He counted to ten, stepped away from the wall, and began firing in return, steady shots in a pattern that would keep them guessing—through the wall, through the door, whatever it took to buy them some time.
He dropped the empty cartridge and reloaded, firing again, dodging sporadic return fire, and watching as the thin wooden door began to splinter from the gunshots.
King saw an arm through one of the holes and fired, hitting the man and hearing him scream in pain. Two more shots, and he was on the balcony. Instead of climbing up the rope to join her, he waited for them to make entry.
Could be suicide, but he had to buy her time to hide on the roof, and he’d do whatever was needed to accomplish that. Another few shots from the men on the other side of the door, and it broke down the middle.
King aimed and dropped the first man with a shot to the head. He fell but two more stepped over his body, firing continuously. King drew back behind the balcony doors, waiting for them to reload. Bits of wall and wood pelted him, and above was Allie, yelling his name.
Something in her voice tugged at King but he had men on his ass. He heard a brief silence, knew it was his moment, and stepped out from behind the balcony wall, firing and dropping two more men.
From the corridor came a sound that had the air in his lungs freezing—rifles being locked and loaded. He had no idea how many men were in the corridor. He reloaded and took off up the ladder, turning to fire below. Keep them guessing, and they might not get a clear shot.
His head was clear. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and he climbed to the roof faster than he’d ever climbed in his life. Allie was there at the top, up and over the small ledge.
A single shot fired, and pain ripped along his calf. It was a graze, but it stung like a razor blade.
He crested the roof and turned to shoot at the men attempting to scale the wall. “I’ve got you,” he said through gritted teeth.
Allie didn’t respond, and as he looked around, his heart leaped to his throat.
Allie was on her knees, a large man behind her holding a gun to her head. Her eyes were wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. The look in her eyes nearly destroyed him. It was acceptance.
“No,” he responded to that look. Then he lifted his gun, and with a move he’d perfected long before he’d ever joined the SEALs, he fired a single shot to the forehead of the man holding her. Blood splattered in her hair, and she fell forward as the man fell back, his hold on her hair broken by his sudden death. King couldn’t stand anyone having their hands on her. He’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her.
She scrabbled to him, tried to crawl into him, and he was up, tugging on her arm and refusing to let her stop moving.
Her sobs were silent, though no less vicious because of it. He felt her trembling even as she ran with him, and when he jumped to another rooftop, she followed him, never breaking stride.
They fled over the rooftops with the report of gunfire ripping through the early morning until he pushed her behind a metal shed on top of one of the buildings. She fell to her knees and released one of the sobs she was holding on to.
King winced hearing it, a part of him wanting to soothe her pain, but knowing that if he didn’t kill whoever pursued them, he’d never be able to comfort her. They’d both be dead.
He unstrapped his pack and placed it beside her. He reloaded his Kimber and handed it to her. “Shoot sporadically, enough to keep them guessing. It’s got a wicked recoil. Be careful,” he said in a rush.
She nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He looked at her then, noticing her pale cheeks, the circles under her eyes, and the fear darkening her gaze.
“I’m here, baby,” he promised.
She nodded again, hiccupping but chambering a round. She put her free hand on his face, rubbed her thumb over his lips, and smiled. “You’ve got this.”
Her faith staggered him, took him right out of his element for a precious moment before the sound of shots peppering the metal in front of them brought him back to the present.
He reached inside his pack, pulling out his rifle.
“Put your hand around the side and shoot three times, Allie,” he urged her.
A muffled scream echoed back to them.
“See? You’re a better shot than I thought,” he said as he assembled his rifle, loading the big killer with ammunition.
She didn’t say anything, but she fired five more times, her face grimacing with each shot, and his heart ached.
“I’ve got it now, Allie. Get behind me. I’m going to step out. You stay here. If something happens to me, you run. Do you hear me? Run hard, run fast, and don’t stop until your heart does,” he urged.
She gazed up at him, eyes unfocused and filled with tears.
“I’m afraid if you fall, my heart will have already stopped,” she whispered.
His calf burned, his head pounded, but in the space between them, her words reverberated in his soul.
“Then I won’t fall,” he told her.
He took a deep, fortifying breath, sinking into that space inside him that was all killer. The air became heavy, his vision sharpened, and his hearing became keener. He heard the pounding footsteps and muffled wheezes of the three men following them. Peeking around the structure he and Allie were hiding behind, he located the men. Two rooftops away now.
He counted their steps, used his hearing to guide him as he set his scope to his eye, and stepped from behind his cover.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Three shots. Three kills.
Silence reigned, and King was left with cotton in his ears until the adrenaline cleared for a moment. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, grabbed his pack, and reached for Allie.
Her hands were over her ears, and tears streamed down her face.
“No time for tears, baby. Let’s go,” King demanded.
She got up, as he’d known she would, and they were once again running over the rooftops, sirens cutting through the air and people shouting below. When he knew she could run and jump no more, he took them down to the ground and located a car.
Like the Yugo in Douala, this car was nothing special but it responded to his attempts to hot-wire it, so they had wheels. He stowed his gear in the back, settled Allie in the passenger’s seat, and they were heading away from the village of Alcala de Henares toward Madrid.