Collateral Damage (31 page)

Honor gasped and hit the ground, flipping to her belly to avoid the deadly hail of bullets. “The back! Get out the back!” she ordered Smithers and the civilian.

Wide-eyed, face pale, the man turned and crawled as fast as he could for the door on the opposite side of the office. It was the only way out and they had to get through it before Andrews got in here or ran around the outside and beat them to the exit on the far end of the building.

As she crawled after the civilian Honor’s gaze locked on the cabinet holding the gun safe. There was no way they’d all be able to get out before Andrews blew through that door. She had to get a weapon and take him out, or at least hold him off until the others could escape. Maybe she’d get lucky and get off a shot quick enough to incapacitate him. She’d have only milliseconds to take him down. Time for only one shot if she was fast.

She could
not
miss.

More rounds punched through the door, spraying bits of metal and glass everywhere. Her hand gripped the cabinet handle. She yanked it open, frantically turned the dial and prayed she remembered the combination. Her heart was in her throat as she opened it.

Empty.

She had only a split second to absorb it, for her stomach to plummet toward her feet, when Andrews kicked through the ruined lock. The door flew open.

Her world went into slow motion.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Andrews standing there. He paused a moment, locked on her and began to raise his weapon. Honor drew on all the strength in her body and dove for the far doorway.

A burst of gunfire filled the room. Bullets slammed into the wall above her, their heat searing her right arm a moment before she landed in the hallway on her belly and rolled out of the line of fire.

She scrambled to her knees, then her feet, her heart about to burst from raw terror. She could hear Andrews yelling at her, heavy male footsteps coming at a dead run behind her. Chasing her.

Andrews was hunting
her
. Wanted her dead.

Honor kept her gaze pinned on the door at the far end of the hallway where the civilian was flying out of it. It was the only way out. She had to get out, find a place to hide before Andrews got her. And she had to be outside by the time he hit the hallway, otherwise he’d have a straight, clear shot.

Her boots pounded on the linoleum, her feet racing along with her heartbeat. Too slow. She was too fucking
slow
.

More shouts behind her. Another burst of rounds exploded into the hall. Smithers grunted behind her. He’d been hit.

Honor automatically stopped, the need to help ingrained deep within her. She wouldn’t leave him. Took a lunging step toward him.

Smithers was lying on his side, struggling to drag himself into the hallway. She could hear Andrews crashing through the office behind him. Coming closer.

In that moment Smithers turned his head toward her, the faint light from down the hallway illuminating his pained grimace. “No,” he yelled, face rigid. “Run!”

She ignored him, already halfway to him. She had to grab him, drag him to safety and—

“Dammit,
run
!” he snarled, one hand clutching his belly just as Andrews burst into the hallway. Honor skidded to a halt and ducked, choking on the fear. The barrel of his weapon swung toward her.

Staying to help Smithers now was a death sentence for both of them. She whirled and tore back the way she’d come, leading Andrews away from Smithers. If she escaped she could send help. It was the only way either of them would survive.

As she veered left, a short volley of shots blasted into the hallway, peppering the floor and wall mere feet behind her.

Andrews cursed and she realized he was out of ammo.

The doorway stood open before her like a gateway to safety. Twenty feet away.

She had to get through it before he reloaded.

Behind her she could hear Andrews loading a fresh magazine.

Her thighs burned. Her lungs labored. A crawling sensation tingled up her spine as terror forked through her. Andrews would kill her with his next sweep.

Her boots flew over the linoleum.

Ten feet.

Five.

The ominous sounds of Andrews reloading stopped. Her time was up.

Putting on a last burst of speed she kicked off hard with both feet, launching herself into the air in a desperate long jump, intent on getting through that door. She cleared the doorway, sailed outside into the cool night air.

The toe of her boot snagged on the edge of a stair.

A barrage of shots rang out. A searing pain cut across her left upper arm as she pitched forward and plunged headlong toward the ground.

Liam’s boots pounded on the asphalt as he raced for the building where Honor was trapped, just thirty yards ahead. Up ahead in the distance he heard a burst of automatic fire and his gut dropped.

Hang on, baby, just hang on for me. I’m coming.
Another minute was all he needed to catch up and end this.
Please, baby…

“I got your six,” the MP yelled at him, several paces behind.

Liam didn’t respond. His body flooded with adrenaline, he leaped up the five concrete steps with a single stride and smashed his boot into the door lock with all his might. The metal snapped, gave. One more solid kick, and the door swung open. Weapon up and trained into the darkness beyond, Liam scanned the room, the eerie silence filling him with dread as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. What he saw inside made his heart seize.

A soldier lay crumpled on his side in the hallway near the door to an office, his eyes half-open and bullet holes peppering his chest. A pool of blood surrounded him, already congealing on the linoleum floor. Unmoving, making no noise. Dead.

“Shit,” the MP breathed as he came up behind him, weapon aimed.

Liam didn’t answer, all his focus shifting to the office door standing open down the hall, riddled with bullet holes. He motioned to the MP to shut the last door behind them, so the light streaming in wouldn’t backlight them. His pulse throbbed in his ears as he carefully entered the room.

Empty.

More bullet holes pockmarked the walls, the desk and cabinets, as though the shooter had sprayed random bursts of fire in a haphazard attempt to kill everyone in the room.

Then his gaze landed on a wide smear of blood staining the carpet. Liam followed it toward the far doorway of the office. Whoever had been wounded had gone through it, and likely the gunman too. He was terrified it would lead him to Honor’s body.

He stepped into the open doorway, checked to make sure the hallway was clear. Faint light coming through the windows and the open exterior door at the far end of the corridor allowed him to see the blood trail as it continued down the hall. His rubber-soled boots were almost silent on the floor as he hurried toward the far exit door, standing open a foot or so.

He paused when he heard a muffled groan, whipped his rifle toward the figure of a man edging out of the doorway of another office. “Hands up and don’t fucking move,” Liam snapped as he approaching the wounded man.

Behind him, the MP flipped on a Maglite and aimed the beam at the suspect. The man was now lying sprawled on his back with one hand pressed to his belly, his dark skin glazed with sweat and blood pouring out of the wounds in his stomach. Liam kept his eyes on the man’s hands, which were empty. He could still have a weapon close by though.

While the MP kept his weapon trained on the man, Liam knelt and quickly checked him for weapons. He was not only unarmed, but bleeding out. Still conscious, his pain-glazed eyes focusing on Liam. They widened slightly in what seemed like recognition, although Liam didn’t know him. “Hon-or,” he rasped weakly.

Liam gripped the man’s shoulder, urgency flooding him. “You saw Honor? Where is she?”

The man rolled his eyes toward the far door. “An-drews…after…her…” One bloody hand came up to grab Liam’s wrist. “H-help her…”

Andrews. Whoever he was, he was going down. “I will.” A vow, one he’d die keeping.

“You go, I got him,” the MP said, and Liam surged to his feet, took off toward the far door. It flew open under the force of his shoulder. Weapon up, Liam exited the building and visually swept the area just in time to see a man carrying a rifle disappear around the corner of the next building.

Liam leaped off the steps and charged after him. A cold, deadly rage burned in his chest, raising the hair on his arms. That fucker Andrews was a dead man walking.

****

Girard was a dead woman.

Andrews could barely contain his elation as he ran after her. He’d only done coke a couple times in his life but this rush felt exactly like that—an insane jolt of endorphins blasting through his system, so intense he could barely think. His heart was beating out of control and he was panting like he’d been running for miles instead of a few hundred yards.

She’d been hurt from a fall on the stairs, slowing her down slightly, but he’d decided this was better. He’d given her just enough lead time to let her think she might have a chance at getting away, but not enough that he couldn’t maintain a visual on her. He was good enough with a rifle that he probably could have picked her off at this range, but he was better at hitting a stationary target than a moving one.

Besides, he
liked
knowing she was afraid. Got off on knowing she was running for her life, panicked and looking over her shoulder for him every step of the way. His cock hardened as he imagined her fear, so vivid he could almost taste it.

Helos were still in the air and he heard the occasional jet fly by but no one was after him yet. He still had time. A few people were running away from his position. One or two of them shot him a nervous look when they saw him holding the rifle but kept going when he didn’t take aim at them. He wanted them to think he was one of the defenders, here to help end the threat.

In reality he was one of the hunters, but focused on one target in particular.

Up ahead he caught a flash of red-gold hair under the lights on the side of a storage building. Stupid of her not to stick to the shadows. Not that shadows would have helped her live much longer. Another wave of excitement flashed through him. He couldn’t wait to corner her, drink in the terror in those wide aqua eyes as he aimed the muzzle of his weapon at her. He wanted to watch her panic, hear her fucking beg for her life before he killed her.

“You’re dead, bitch,” he mumbled to himself, keeping to a steady jog as he followed. Triumph filled his veins. She represented everything he hated, and all the reasons why his life had gone to shit. Now she would pay the ultimate price for what she’d done to him.

He’d already killed Ipman and Smithers; once he killed Girard there’d be no one left to identify him as the killer except that civilian with them, and there’s no way the man could ever identify him given the low lighting and how fast everything had happened. He was long gone now anyway. By the time anyone reviewed the CCTVs and other security systems it would be too late, Andrews would already be on his way south.

The other four shooters were from sleeper cells here in the States attached to Safir’s network. He’d helped them get on base by giving them fake military IDs and uniforms he’d stolen. They would all be long dead by now, a calculated sacrifice made by Safir and his network. They’d each smuggled their disassembled M-16s one member had provided for them onto the base by hiding the components in various places in their vehicles. His fingerprints were on file but he’d worn gloves to avoid leaving prints. As soon as Andrews killed Girard he’d dump his weapon and escape to the barracks with everyone else and wait until the base wasn’t on lockdown before making his escape.

The money he’d been promised would be in his bank account by now. All he had to do was make it off base, find an ATM and access enough cash to get across the border into Mexico, where he’d start over. He’d live like a fucking king the rest of his days.

Up ahead, a door slammed shut in the building Girard had just entered. He smirked. The stupid bitch had just given herself away again.

Andrews smiled to himself and curved his finger around the trigger as he increased his pace, anticipation curling in his gut. He had a fresh mag loaded and ready to go, and another one in his pocket just in case. He’d make sure he pumped her full of enough holes in non-lethal places first, then listen to her scream in agony. Maybe he’d finish her off after that, maybe he wouldn’t. He hadn’t decided yet. Maybe he’d just let her lie there and bleed to death alone.

His dick got even harder at the thought but he ignored it, focused on the rush of being on the cusp of exacting revenge. The game of cat and mouse had been fun but now it was time to end this.

In another minute it would be over and he’d be able to start his new life, feeding off the satisfaction that he’d gotten his revenge for years to come.

****

He was gaining on her.

Honor’s breath sawed in and out of her aching lungs as she ran down the length of the storage warehouse, dodging pallets of equipment and supplies. Her left upper arm was throbbing where a bullet or ricochet had hit her, and so were the bruises from where she’d landed after her fall on the stairs but she barely felt any of it through the haze of adrenaline.

She had to escape. Had to lose him. Ipman was likely dead and she didn’t know about Smithers but if either of them were still alive, at least they had a chance with Andrews chasing her.

Through the windows above her, light streamed in from streetlights and from the building across the road. Her gut reaction was to hide but if she stayed in here she’d be trapped. She needed to lose him completely. Get out the far door of this building and veer off to the next before he saw her.

She stumbled over something on the floor. Throwing out her hands, she barely caught herself before her face smashed into the concrete. When she shifted her foot hit something soft. It moved. Scrambling onto her knees, Honor looked down, squinting in the dimness.