Chapter Fifty-Three

“Chick?” Nina was clearly outraged with Westlake’s choice of word. “Chick?” her voice rose an octave.

Uh-oh, Rory thought. Lena was back.

Considering their present situation, he greeted the shift of alters with ambivalence. Lena could more than handle herself in a fight, but she was also bound to complicate things. She was way too unpredictable.

On his stomach at the edge of the ditch, his heart was beating frantically with a mixture of fear for Nina’s safety and basic adrenaline. His survival instinct worked just fine, boosting his energy levels without fail. Though very familiar with being in the midst of violence throughout his career, the less useful response of fear was difficult to tamp down. Had to be done. Anxiety had no place in a situation like this.

Beside him, Lena was rolling up her skirt, revealing the enticing length of her legs as she withdrew her Smith & Wesson. “What does that make you?” she demanded, glaring at Westlake. “A moron?”

Flicking her other wrist, she opened a butterfly knife and slit the straps of her sandals.

“This isn’t the time to start bickering, Lena,” Rory muttered, even though he couldn’t completely suppress a smile. “We’ve got more important things to think about.”

Like why the fuck Creed was shooting at him. It implied definite fucking intent. His heart pumped madly in his chest. What had made him the little bastard’s target? What had set him off to begin with?

“Tell that to the bozo.” Lena threw Westlake a glare, then said cheerily, “Guys, I don’t care what you do, but I’m outta here.”

Before any of them could object, she dashed off on bare feet.

Bullets instantly pursued her, peppering the grass with impressive speed. She was going to get herself killed.

“Fuck!” Rory jumped over the two men and went after her, using trees for cover.

She didn’t.

“Lena, don’t! Get back here.”

Twenty feet ahead, she vaulted over a fallen tree, her skirt fanning wide before she ducked behind it. Screaming projectiles slammed into the trunk. When the shooting ceased momentarily—he hoped for reloading—he joined her with a mad dash and a lunge.

Falling back against the rotting wood with a thud, he ground out, “Don’t fucking do that again.” He sent her a scowl and yanked her down as new rounds pounded the trunk.

“And miss all the fun? No way.”

She sat up and peered over the dead tree at a building visible through a large gap in the canopy of leaves, then ducked a split second before another bullet whizzed over their heads and smashed into the ground behind them. He almost had a heart attack just from watching the near-miss.

“Seventh floor, fourth window to the right,” she murmured. “Got you now, asshole.” Almost before the words had left her lips, she agilely bounded away in a semi-crouch.

Pressing back tight against the trunk, Rory ground his teeth. For God’s sake, she was completely nuts. She was actually grinning.

Shit!

“Jericho!” he called. “Office building at three o’clock. Seventh floor, the fourth window to the right. Keep him busy.”

He pushed away and chased after Lena, who burst through flowery bushes and dashed across the empty pathway.

Thank God the pedestrians had all scattered to safety. Creed seemed to be shooting at anything that moved now.

Lengthening his stride, it took Rory about five seconds to catch up with Lena. Not bothering to call out, he tackled her to the ground just as a new burst of gunfire shredded the grass across her intended path. Heart hammering like crazy, he dragged her behind a bronze statue of some Civil War general and jammed her body against the marble pedestal. Dirt and grass spat up around them. His breathing was ragged, adrenaline raging through his system as he tried to find a way to keep her out of trouble.

“What are you trying to do, you little fool?” he demanded, chancing a peek at the window she’d pointed out before storming off. “Get us both killed?”

She was breathing heavily, too. With her skirt rolled up her thighs, her long, bare legs flanked his kneeling form.

The faint sound of shattering glass across the street announced that Jericho and Westlake were returning fire. Their weapons weren’t very accurate at this range, but at least they were keeping Creed busy.

From the boardwalk bordering the park, terrified people had sought shelter wherever they could and were staring at them. No doubt someone had already called the police. They couldn’t risk being brought in for questioning.

He hauled Nina to her feet and sprinted.

Once safely under the cover of colorful awnings that ran along the length of the building, he leaned out to look past the overhang. He immediately located the tip of a large rifle barrel sticking out of the window Lena had pointed out, still shooting at Westlake and Jericho.

“What are we waiting for?” she demanded impatiently, twisting her arm, trying to get free. “He’ll get away.”

No doubt she was right. But Rory would not allow Lena to risk her life. “I’ll deal with Creed. You wait here,” he instructed.

“You’re certifiable. I’m going.” She jerked her arm again, harder this time. Her body was wired for action and tightly wound. “Either with you or around the back on my own. The choice is yours.” The look on her face was uncompromising.

“All right.” He barely recognized his own voice. “But stay behind me.”

Her eyes narrowed at the order, but she remained stubbornly silent.

She lowered the Smith & Wesson and hid it in the folds of her skirt. Following suit, he stabbed his weapon into the pocket of his loose-fitting slacks. He tightened his hold on her. “I mean it, Lena. Behind me. At all times.”

If looks could kill.

“Whatever. Can we go before he dies of old age?”

A final tug of her arm, before they made for the entrance of the building where Creed was positioned. In the lobby, people looked at them nervously as they sped past and slipped between the slowly closing elevator doors.

“Jeez, O’Donnell. If I’d known you were going to be this much fun, I’d have hooked up with you years ago,” she mocked drily. Making a show of inspecting it for damage, she rubbed her arm. At the sight of the faint red bruise above her elbow, he suppressed the urge to apologize, and glared at the elevator buttons instead. He pressed the one for the seventh floor.

“I don’t get what you’re angry at me for,” she said petulantly as she ejected the clip of her semiautomatic for a quick check and shoved it back in. “I’m not the one shooting. Yet.”

That last gleeful specification didn’t do much to improve his mood. His job was to keep her safe, and here they were rushing toward the very danger that threatened her life.

Great.

“You keep behind me. If I have to, I’ll knock you unconscious. Do we understand each other?” Right now, Joey’s suggestion about how to handle Lena didn’t sound so drastic.

The muzzle of her Smith & Wesson moved toward him. “You and what army?” Her tone was deceptively mild. “I gotta warn you, O’Donnell. I won’t go down without a fight.”

He didn’t doubt that for a second.

A cold smile formed as she added, “And considerin’ we’re about to meet up with your little friend, Creed, you really can’t afford to mess with me, too.”

A ping announced the seventh floor. Rory faced the opening doors and said in a near growl, “Just do as I say and stop taking stupid risks.”

With a quick look, he made sure the corridor was empty. His weapon at the ready, he panned to the left while she checked the other side then gave him cover. Movements measured and sure, she followed like the experienced agent she had once been.

“All clear,” she said, walking backward as they headed for the room where they suspected Creed to be. “Second door to the last.” She indicated it with a jerk of her head, never taking her eyes off the corridor behind them.

Nothing stirred, and all was quiet in the gray, narrow stretch of passageway. Bright fluorescent lights hummed overhead, emphasizing the deserted feel of the place.

Not good. This was supposed to be a busy office building.

“It’s under construction,” she informed him as if reading his mind.

Again.

She nodded at a quartet of ladders that stood poised in a crossing corridor they passed. Her knack for knowing exactly what he was thinking was more than a little disconcerting…but it could come in handy.

Creed was a dangerous man, and though Rory hated to admit it, going after him alone could be a fatal mistake.

With a nod at her, he kicked open the door. His Beretta held at eye-level, he panned the sparsely furnished office.

Empty.

“Clear,” he said.

“Surprise, surprise,” she murmured.

He crossed to the window where a mounted, long-range rifle gleamed dully in the afternoon light, and ignored her comment. The open window had an unobstructed view of their previous rendezvous point.

How the hell had Creed known to pick this spot ahead of their arrival?

A quick touch to hot metal was proof that this was the rifle that had shot at them. A multitude of empty shells was scattered all over the floor.

They could have been killed…should have been killed.

Why weren’t they?

He swore under his breath and scoured the park below for a sign of Jericho and Westlake. They should be making their way across the park to join him and Lena.

“Anything interesting?” she asked, coming up behind him.

With a grunt, he took a step aside to show her the rifle.

“Hmm.”

He didn’t catch the movement on the other side of the doorway.

Lena did.…