The Sleepless Stars (25 page)

Flynn rubbed her hands together as if she’d performed a magic trick. “There. That will take care of the fire.”

“Who cares about the fire? We need to stop Rossi.”

The look Flynn gave him was pitying. “She’s not an idiot. The doc won’t use that grenade here where it would cause more harm than good. We’re too close to the hospital, and she knows you’re nearby. She’d never risk hurting you.”

Too damn late for that.

Flynn kept moving. He rushed to catch up, his ribs stabbing with each step, but his breathing grew easier as they moved past the smoke. “Where are we going?”

“She’ll want a contained area so she can be sure she’s only risking bad guys, right? Someplace isolated, away from any innocents. I know where she’s going.”

“Where?” How bad had things deteriorated that he was taking tactical advice from a kid? How the hell had he let things get so out of control?

“The bell tower at St. Tim’s. We can beat her there, set up an ambush.”

<<<>>>

DEFINITELY NOT ONE
of my better ideas, I couldn’t help but think as I stepped off the ladder in time to get drenched by the sprinklers. It made for a nice diversion, though. The Lazarettos were scrambling, dropping their now-useless flamethrowers, fighting through smoke made thicker by the water squelching the flames.

I waited a safe distance from them. Close enough that when they aimed a light in my direction they could see who I was, far enough that they couldn’t easily reach me.

As soon as their light hit me and one of them called my name, I turned and ran. They followed. A few shucked their fire gear to move faster, but as soon as they outpaced the others and threatened to close the distance, shots rang out from above. One more down, then another one left hobbling, grasping his knee with both hands.

I glanced heavenward, giving Ryder and Flynn a nod of thanks before resuming my flight. From eleven down to five, not bad. Maybe I wouldn’t need to follow through with my plan after all.

As I kept racing down the corridor, holding the binoculars up to my eyes to keep my bearings, the covering fire from above ended. I risked taking a quick look at the map Flynn had sent to my phone and realized that I’d come to the point where the catwalk she and Ryder were on diverged from the path my corridor took.

Men’s footsteps pounded behind me. I thought furiously about where to lead them. The catwalk and tunnels didn’t converge again until past St. Tim’s. But that meant Ryder and Flynn would reach the cathedral before I did. I hoped they’d planned some kind of ambush. If not, I’d have no choice but to lead the Lazarettos safely away to where no one could get hurt if I detonated the grenade: the bell tower.

AN EMPTY CATHEDRAL
at four in the morning the day after Christmas. As he and Flynn took positions in the cathedral’s antechamber at the top of the steps leading up from the tunnels, Ryder tried to decide if it was the best place to die or the worst. Good place for an ambush, but also no cover, so every time they took aim, they’d be exposing themselves to the enemy. At least they had the high ground.

Flynn was on her belly, making herself the smallest possible target. “I can cover everything except the far left corner. The way the stairs curve, there’s a blind spot there.”

He stood, sighting his weapon, shuffling back and forth until he had the area covered. “Got it.”

“Yeah, why don’t you paint a bull’s-eye on you while you’re at it.”

The clatter of footsteps came from below. “It’s me,” Rossi called. “Me, me, me. No bad guys.”

“We got you,” Ryder shouted back. “Get up here.” He tried to keep the fury from his voice, but seeing her made his adrenaline spike. “Are you okay?” he asked when she reached the top of the stairs.

Rossi stepped over Flynn, who looked up only long enough to flash a wink. “I’m fine.”

He glanced away from his position to see for himself. “That was either the stupidest or the craziest thing I’ve ever—”

“Gave you the chance to take three more of them down,” she retorted.

“How far back are they?”

“About thirty yards. But they aren’t moving fast. I think they know it’s a trap.”

“No duh,” Flynn snorted.

“Get out of here,” Ryder told Rossi. “We’ve got this. Go hide in the rectory, tell Father Vance not to trust the city cops. He’ll protect you.”

“Like I’m going to get a priest killed? Do you not get it? They cannot take me alive. Period.”

What the hell? He didn’t move anything except his eyes, sliding his gaze away from his sights for a precious second. “No one’s going to take you anywhere.”

She blew out her breath in a huff and shook her head. He knew he’d missed something, something she’d been trying to tell him back up on the catwalk before she’d fled with her idiotic idea of a diversion—at least she hadn’t used the damn grenade. Speaking of... “Go. But give me the grenade first.”

“No way.” She backed away from him. “I’m going up to the bell tower.” She grabbed a clutch of hymnals from a stack on a table near the entrance to the church’s nave. Threw down one after another as if leaving a trail of breadcrumbs.

“Rossi, what the hell?” He couldn’t find the words to say anything more, not with his attention divided between her and his mission.

Flynn sighed. “She’s right. Go with her. Protect her—more fun for me down here.”

Rossi vanished through the arch into the cavernous main space of the cathedral. Ryder glanced back at Flynn. “There’s five of them, I can’t leave you.”

“Don’t you get it? They want Angie’s DNA to experiment on.”

Again, Ryder had no words. “Experiment?” he echoed. “Like hell.”

“That’s why they need her alive. If I can stop them, great. If not, then you take care of the rest, and she won’t need that grenade. Then maybe Louise can figure all this genetic bullshit out and save the kids. If not,” she shrugged, “been good knowing you.”

More footsteps approached. These were slow and thoughtful. Determined men moving into tactical positions.

“Go,” Flynn repeated. “I got this.”

Echoes of Rossi’s steps pounding up the stairs to the choir loft thudded through the church. A blind man with a deaf guide dog could follow her trail. She wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

Neither was Ryder. “Thanks, Flynn.”

He turned and ran after Rossi. She’d just reached the door at the top of the bell tower when he caught up with her.

“No.” She shook her head at him. “You need to help Flynn.”

Before he could answer, the sound of gunfire reverberated through the ancient space, echoing from the cathedral’s stone walls like ricochets. Flynn taking fire.

Ryder reached past Rossi to push the heavy wooden door open, glancing around the bell tower to assess its tactical properties. Cover: none. Lines of sight: three hundred and sixty degrees for the area outside, only the doorway for the interior. Only thing the place had going for it were the thick stone walls and the almost as thick wooden door. Enough to stop a bullet or shotgun slug.

“Get out there.” He pushed Rossi through the door, then changed his mind and leaned into her for a quick kiss. As soon as they parted, her eyes wide and stunned, he closed the door between them, holding it shut with one hand, leaving her trapped on the outside.

She tried to yank the door open, pounded her fists against the wood, but he barely heard it as he focused all his senses on the spiral stone steps leading down. Last line of defense, he had to hold strong.

Unfortunately, as far as tactical advantages, the narrow landing at the top of the steps where he stood had even less going for it than the tower outside.

The gunfire below stuttered to a stop. Ryder waited. At the sight of the first muzzle inching around the curve of the steps, he fired. Was rewarded with the heavy thud of a man falling. But then the bullets came flying toward him. The first few caught him in his vest.

The next felt as if it exploded in his head. He almost dropped his weapon, slumped to the ground just as the door behind him opened. He wanted to shout at Rossi to stop, to close it, to stay safe. The words floated through his brain like intangible wisps, and even though his mouth was moving, no sound escaped.

<<<>>>

DEVON HEARD GUNFIRE
coming from the tunnel leading to St. Tim’s. He drew his pistol and raced in that direction, but by the time he reached the exit to the cathedral, the sound had died. Cautiously, he climbed the steps to the church basement, then up to the main floor. There he found two dead men in firemen’s suits lying on the stairs. At the top of the steps, Flynn sat in blood, struggling to use a windbreaker as a tourniquet, blood gushing from a wound in her thigh.

“There’s still three more,” she said through clenched teeth as Devon knelt to wrap his belt around her leg. A thin scream emerged from her when he wrenched it tight, but the blood slowed to a trickle. “One’s wounded, not sure about the other two. Would’ve had them but ran out of ammo.”

“Angela?”

“She and Ryder went up to the bell tower. She won’t let them take her alive. Has a grenade.” Her voice was going blurry, and her eyes fluttered as she fell back, limp.

“What’s going on here?” Father Vance bellowed as he approached from the cathedral, carrying a heavy candlestick as a weapon.

“Shhh, they’re still here.”

“Where? I didn’t see anyone. Who?”

“Can you call an ambulance? Take her out the back alley?” The bell tower faced the front entrance, and the last thing Devon wanted was to get any paramedics shot. But Flynn couldn’t wait for help much longer.

“Yes, of course.” Vance knelt and gathered Flynn in his arms. He was a former bodybuilder, her thin frame no match for his strength.

Knowing Flynn was in good hands, Devon kept moving through the cathedral, pistol at the ready. More gunfire came from the front of the church, above him. The choir loft. He sprinted toward it.

A man’s body lay at the foot of the steps leading up. Carefully, he stepped over it and climbed, sighting his pistol. A second flight of steps kept going up to the bell tower above. Before he could make the turn and continue up, a man stepped out from behind the massive organ and aimed a semiautomatic at him.

At first, he thought the man was going to shoot. He was a few inches shorter than Devon, with dark, Mediterranean looks. Devon took a chance. “Lazaretto? I’m Devon Price.”

“Mr. Price. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now. Seeing as how you’ve reneged on our deal.”

“You need me alive if you want Angela Rossi.”

“I think not. My brother has her cornered in the bell tower above us.”

“Then there’s no time to argue. She’s got a grenade, and she won’t be taken alive.”

I’D BARELY HAULED
Ryder through the doorway when another man—Grey, Ryder had called him—appeared, aiming a pistol at us. “Let him go, Angela.”

Grey spoke as if he knew me. Given his dark hair and eyes, maybe he did. If he was a Lazaretto, then we were probably related.

I ignored him and tugged against Ryder’s weight, trying to get his body clear of the door in time to slam it shut, protect us both. His scalp was bleeding. It looked like only a graze, but even a graze could result in a skull fracture and hemorrhage. Ryder muttered something and tried to focus on me, all good signs, but then he went limp once more.

Grey began moving up the steps before I could get the door closed. Using the grenade was out of the question. Not with Ryder there with me. Instead, I bent and grabbed his pistol.

“Stop!” I screamed, raising the gun with shaking hands. But Grey didn’t. He kept coming at us, his own pistol aimed not at me, but at Ryder. “Please,” I begged. “Stop.”

“You’re not going to shoot anyone. Put the gun down, Angela,” he said, his tone absolutely calm and certain as he reached the doorway. “Now. Or I shoot Detective Ryder.” He knew I would do anything to protect Ryder. Including give myself up.

He was right. I would do anything to protect Ryder.

But Grey was wrong about me not shooting him. I was shaking so badly I might have missed if he hadn’t been walking toward us. The boom of the gun made my entire body jerk. I felt the vibration as my finger kept squeezing the trigger over and over—but the top part of the gun had slid open, and I realized that one shot was my last and only chance.

Grey took another step toward us. I tried to cover Ryder’s body, knowing that whether I surrendered or not, this man would leave no witnesses behind. Grey used both hands to steady his aim, but as he reached the doorway, he sank to one knee. His expression turned to one of shock.

I stood between him and Ryder—there was no way Grey could shoot without hitting me. I waited, wondering what it would feel like when the bullet struck.

He sank back, leaning against the wall to his left, still holding the gun with both hands, now aimed at the floor. He kept trying to raise it, but it was as if gravity simply refused to cooperate. His mouth formed words I couldn’t hear, and flecks of blood flew free with them.

There was no wound that I could see, not until his body sagged to one side and his coat flapped open. A small ring of blood and charred fabric at his upper-right abdomen, just below the edge of his bulletproof vest. Little bleeding externally, which was a bad thing—for him.

I couldn’t simply let him die. Not only because I was a doctor—and definitely not because I’m any kind of good person. But Grey knew things, had information that could help save the children. If I could first save him.

Cautious of the pistol he still gripped, I crawled toward him. He didn’t seem to remember that he even held a weapon. His face filled with terror, and he cringed back against the wall, as far away from me as he could get.

Suddenly, he was my father, all those years ago. “No.” His plea was choked with blood. “No.”

“I’m a doctor. Let me help.”

Words gone, he shook his head. His color had gone gray, and sweat coated him. Shock. He didn’t have much time left.