She didn’t bother looking back for Braxton—he could take care of himself—and ripped the garage door open. She fell down the six concrete stairs into the garage. The door slammed shut on its own a moment later, Braxton crashing down beside her. Gunfire echoed from behind the thick steel as musty air worked its way into her system, but they couldn’t stop now.
Braxton took her free hand again, helped her to her feet and pointed to the only window on the far wall of the garage. Wrenching out of his grip, she exhaled hard. It was their only escape. They wouldn’t make it to the SUV parked outside. Not without putting themselves at the end of the shooter’s barrel. He maneuvered her ahead of him. She climbed up the steel shelving, pulling off the pack in the process. Elizabeth shoved the bag through the window first as a loud bang erupted from inside the house.
The shooter had breached.
She pushed herself backward through the window, hung onto the ledge for a brief moment then dropped to the ground. The ringing in her ears subsided slightly. Thank heaven her pregnancy wasn’t farther along. She might’ve never gotten through the window had the shooter come after her a few weeks from now. She got her bearings and listened for any sign she’d been seen.
Nothing.
Braxton dropped beside her, studying their new surroundings as she had. Without a fence separating the house from the woods, nothing could stop them from disappearing into the wilderness. Sirens echoed in the distance. Even a quarter mile away, one of the neighbors had most likely called police from the sound of the grenades.
The definitive sound of a chambering round swept a chill down her spine.
They weren’t alone.
Her attention diverted to her right, toward the shadow at the corner of the garage, and Elizabeth stepped back. How had he found them? Her stomach dropped. “Braxton...”
“Neither of you seem to understand.” The shooter followed their every move as her bodyguard shifted in front of her. Dressed in a nicely pressed suit, ski mask included, the shooter obviously wasn’t working for mobility, an advantage if things got physical. The ringing stopped in one of her ears, but the percussion grenade had knocked out her balance. She’d fight through it. Because there was no way in hell she’d let him take her again. The man who’d kidnapped her not forty-eight hours ago approached slowly, those black eyes sizing up Braxton from head to toe. Then raised his gun. “Elizabeth is coming with me.”
He fired.
* * *
“NO!” LIZ’S SCREAM pierced through the pain-induced haze clouding his head. Blood slipped through his fingers as Braxton gripped his left thigh. The muscles in his leg strained as he kept himself from screaming. The bullet hadn’t come out the back of his leg. Which meant there was a good chance it’d hit bone. Didn’t matter. Liz mattered. Keeping her safe mattered. He focused on the feel of her fingernails digging into his shoulder to keep him upright, her mouth at his ear as the shooter closed in on his prey. Her. “Come on. Get up, damn it.”
He shoved the pain to the back of his mind. The bastard wouldn’t touch her. Not again.
“Get out of here, Liz.” He shifted his weight onto his uninjured leg and took position in front of her. His jeans clung to him in spots where blood spread, but it wouldn’t be enough to slow him down. This ended now. Right here, right now, this was where Liz’s new life started. “And whatever happens, don’t come back for me.”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond as he rushed toward the shooter. The bastard fired another shot, barely missing Braxton, and squeezed the trigger a third time. The bullet skimmed across his chest as Braxton turned to avoid the shot. Snow and ice worked into his boots, distracted him from the pain shooting up his leg. He collided with the shooter and tackled him to the ground. The gun disappeared into a snowdrift, out of sight.
The shooter slammed a knee directly into the right side of Braxton’s jaw, but Braxton didn’t loosen his grip around the operative’s perfectly pressed suit. Braxton pulled his elbow back and slammed a fist into the shooter’s face. Once. Twice. He pressed his knee into the shooter’s sternum to keep him in place as he hit the shooter again and again. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest as the man beneath the ski mask blocked the next hit. With a kick to center mass, Braxton flew backward, his childhood home nothing but a blur as he landed in three inches of snow.
The shooter hauled himself to his feet, brushing snow from that damn suit. “I told you before, Levitt. You can’t stop me. Elizabeth is going to pay for what she’s done. One way or another. And you? You’re just in my way.”
Pain splintered down his sternum. Braxton bit down harder and shook the ice from his hair as he straightened. Blood dripped into the snow, into his boots. If he could still walk, he could still fight. And hell, he’d fight to the death for Elizabeth Dawson. In fact, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. He’d already lost her once. He wouldn’t lose her again. “Even with a bullet in my leg, you won’t get to her.”
“In my experience, the strongest always fall the hardest.” An audible snap broke through the pounding of Braxton’s heart behind his ears, and a glint of sunlight reflected off the switchblade in the shooter’s hand. The masked man came directly at him.
Wrapping both hands around the shooter’s wrist, Braxton twisted to one side to avoid being gutted right on his own front lawn. He hauled the SOB’s wrist down over his knee—hard—and forced the shooter to drop the blade. Swinging himself around, he wrapped his forearm around the bastard’s neck and squeezed. He locked his arm in place with his free hand, leveraging the shooter’s head against his chest. Gloved hands fought to pry off Braxton’s hold. In vain. But a swift hit of the shooter’s elbow to his rib cage knocked the air from his lungs. The shooter wrenched free, gripped Braxton’s throat and forced him to the ground.
The attacker wrenched Braxton’s arm behind his back and applied pressure. Pain unlike anything Braxton had experienced exploded from his shoulder joint. “Look at her, Levitt.”
Deep in the snow, his body temperature dropped, froze his muscles, anesthetized the bullet wound in his thigh, but he found the strength to lift his head. There, not twenty feet away, Liz searched through the snow. Presumably for the gun the shooter had dropped. Damn it. Why hadn’t she listened to him? She should’ve run as far and as fast as she could. It would’ve been the only way to keep her safe. She wouldn’t find the Glock. Not in time.
“I’m going to kill her after I get what I need from her, but first, I’m going to make her watch you die.” Leaning into Braxton, the shooter intensified the pressure in his shoulder until a bone-crunching pop blacked out his vision. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”
A scream ripped from between his clenched teeth. He couldn’t stop it. The operative had dislocated his shoulder and possibly torn one of the ligaments. The scream died to a groan after a few seconds, and Braxton fought to breathe through the tremors and the wave of dizziness rocking through him. He crushed his forehead against chunks of ice and snow beneath him to stay in the moment. “Touch her, and I’ll kill you.”
“Unfortunately for you, you’re not going anywhere.” The weight against his back disappeared. Snow crunched beneath footsteps, and Braxton shot his hand out to stop the shooter from reaching her and hauled him back. The man in the suit slammed into the ground, and Braxton pushed to his feet with his uninjured arm.
“You’re not very good at listening.” He circled around the bastard, his injured leg barely holding him up. A wave of dizziness distorted his vision. He was losing too much blood. His body had started going into shock. Soon he wouldn’t be able to think. To breathe. His blood pressure would drop, and he wouldn’t be able to stand. His words wheezed from his aching throat. He wrapped his free hand around the operative’s throat and pulled the man in the mask against his chest for better grip. “I said you’re not going to touch her.”
Liz scrambled to her feet, emp
ty-handed. Hair in disarray, her eyes red from the percussion grenade smoke, she only stared at him. Waiting.
Braxton could kill the shooter now. End this. But Liz had too many nightmares as it was. She didn’t deserve to live with that for the rest of her life. He should incapacitate the SOB, tie him up and wait for Anchorage PD to arrive. Then extract himself from Liz’s life once and for all. It was what she wanted. What he should’ve done in the first place. Snowflakes fell in a thin veil of white between them.
“Braxton, look out!” Liz’s warning came too late.
Pure agony washed over him as a second blade buried deep in his gut. The shooter’s gloved hand fell away. Braxton dropped his hold on the shooter’s throat and stumbled back as the man in the mask rolled out of reach. Hell, he hadn’t seen that coming.
Liz rushed forward from across the yard, eyes wide. Too far away. Snow kicked up around her as he collapsed to his knees. His heart pounded even louder behind his ears. He had to slow his pulse. Braxton swallowed to get rid of the muffled ringing in his ears. The faster his blood pumped, the faster he’d pass out. And that wasn’t an option. Cold worked through his jeans. He placed his uninjured arm on the ground to keep from falling over. No. He wasn’t going to die. Not until she was safe. He fought to stand but fell back as the muscles in his thigh finally gave out.
The shooter maneuvered into his vision. Headed straight for Liz.
“Liz.” A growl reverberated through him as he climbed to his feet. His vision blurred again, only the spotting of red dots in the snow clear enough. He forced one foot in front of the other. Move. He had to get to her. Determination propelled him to his feet. No thought. Only her. His Elizabeth.
Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he had enough focus to keep her in sight. A glint of metal caught his attention at his feet. One of the shooter’s blades. Sinking into the snow a second time, he wrapped his hand around the handle then used every last bit of strength he had left to stand. Two steps. Three. Pain and exhaustion drained from his muscles as he caught sight of Liz’s wide, fearful gaze. She countered the shooter’s steps as he closed in on her but wouldn’t be able to outrun him. Not unless Braxton slowed him down.
That was all he had to do. Give her the chance to escape.
Police sirens echoed in the distance. Anchorage PD would take him in, the NSA would send an agent to the station claiming him in the interest of national security and he’d never see Liz again. Probably spend the rest of his days locked away inside some black site the government would deny existed if she ever came looking for him. But she would be safe.
And he could never hurt her again.
Reaching out for the shooter, Braxton clamped his hand on the bastard’s shoulder, but he was caught off guard when his opponent spun in his grip. Braxton hiked the blade over his shoulder and thrust down with everything he had left. Only the blade never made contact.
Grip tight around Braxton’s wrist, the man in the suit wrenched the knife to one side and forced him to drop it. “Don’t worry, Levitt. I’m going to take real good care of her for you.”
“No.” The rush of adrenaline Braxton had been surviving off drained from his veins as blood pooled in his shirt and jeans. Pain flared up his uninjured arm, but he wouldn’t back down. And he’d never give up. Not when it came to Liz.
“Let him go.” The chambering of a round into a gun barrel claimed his attention. Over the shooter’s shoulder, he spotted Liz as she widened her stance, both hands gripped around the shooter’s gun. Chocolate-brown eyes shifted to him as the man in the suit dropped his hold. With hands above his head, the shooter turned toward her, and she followed every move. “I stopped Braxton from killing you the first time. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”
Braxton stumbled back, hand over the stab wound in his side. Blood dripped onto the snow as sirens grew louder. It was over. The nightmare was over.
“Are you going to kill me in cold blood, too, Elizabeth? Just like you killed Justin Valentin or any number of other operatives with your program?” The SOB didn’t give her a chance to answer, lunging straight at her.
“No!” Braxton rocketed to his feet. Darkness closed in around the edges of his vision, but he fought back with everything he had.
Liz pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. The gun never fired. Her mouth dropped open. She stumbled backward toward the tree line, caged by a line of pines, reaching for something to use as a weapon as the shooter closed in. “Braxton!”
There was too much distance between them. He couldn’t get to her fast enough.
“That gun doesn’t work.” Wrapping his arms around her, the man in the suit hauled Liz off her feet and spun her around, her back to his chest. The shooter pulled a smaller gun from his ankle holster and aimed directly at Braxton. “But this one does.”
Gunfire exploded in Braxton’s ears—then pain—right before darkness closed in.
Chapter Thirteen
“Braxton!” Elizabeth couldn’t take her eyes off him, off his lifeless body in the middle of ever-darkening red snow. No. He wasn’t dead. It wasn’t possible. Because the last words she’d spoken to him had been filled with hatred for what he’d done. She’d told him she never wanted to see him again, that he’d never get to meet his daughter. The shooter tightened his grip around her waist, hauling her into him. She pushed against his hands, but he didn’t budge. “Get up! Please, get up.”
Her throat burned. Eyes stung. He couldn’t be dead.
“Save your energy, Elizabeth.” The man in the suit pressed the gun’s barrel against her temple. Police sirens drew closer, but the shooter barely seemed fazed. “You’re going to need it before I’m through with you.”
She clenched her teeth to fight the fresh rush of hot tears. No. Something inside her snapped. Adrenaline flooded through her system. Digging her bare heels into the snow, she wrenched out of the shooter’s grip and shoved him back. He wouldn’t take her again. He wouldn’t win. Braxton couldn’t protect her anymore. She had to protect herself. And their daughter.
“I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.” The shooter stalked toward her, gun still in hand.
“That’s funny. I really want to shoot you.” Elizabeth stepped back toward the pines to keep space between them, hands fanned out to her side. Pain shot through the back of her foot as she stepped on a medium-size tree branch that’d fallen near the tree line. Cold worked through her borrowed sweats as her attention flickered to Braxton, still unconscious twenty feet away. She’d trained to defend herself and she’d do just that. For him. No time to grieve. Time to survive. She wrapped her grip around the dead branch and swung as hard as she could. The wood reverberated through her hand at contact with the side of the shooter’s head.
She didn’t wait to see if he’d gotten up and pumped her legs hard. The police must be close. They had to be close.
A growl reached her ears, and she pushed herself harder. Puffs of crystallized air formed in front of her lips as she headed for the thick wilderness behind Braxton’s childhood home. Tears froze in their tracks down her cheeks, the dropping temperatures working to slow her down. She was a runner, but exhaustion pulled her down. Barreling footsteps echoed from behind.
“Help!” She screamed as loud as she could, branches cutting the skin across her neck and face as she raced into the woods. It was the only place she could lose him. Her mouth dried, her breathing loud in the silent wilderness. Was that an Anchorage PD cruiser she’d just heard from behind?
The trees started to thin, the light brighter here. She didn’t dare stop. Didn’t dare look back. Keep going. Get to the road. Survive.
A wall of muscle slammed her into the icy dirt.
“You’re faster than I gave you credit for.” His lips pressed into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. A tremor raked across her chest, intensifying everything around her. The trees. The roots. He wrapped both gloved hands
around one of her ankles and pulled. “You know, in a way, I’ve always admired you. Your determination. Your creative nature when it came to your work. Who else but you could’ve created a program like Oversight?”
Elizabeth dug her nails into the frozen ground. All too easily, she imagined her boss, Sullivan Bishop, having to come down to the morgue to identify her and Braxton’s bodies. Not going to happen. She had to go back. She’d lost Braxton once. She couldn’t do it again. He was a part of her. The good and the deceit. He was hers to protect now. He was the family her daughter deserved.
“You’ve chosen a really awkward time to hand out compliments.” Clamping on to the nearest root, she heaved herself closer to the base of the large pine. The root broke away clean, and he dragged her backward. She couldn’t think—couldn’t breathe—but kicked at him as hard as she could.
A groan filled the clearing, his grip on her ankle loosening, but she sure as hell wouldn’t ask her attacker if he was okay. She clawed across the foliage, jaw locked against the pain tearing through her. A whooshing sound reached her ears, and she exhaled hard, frozen tears stinging her cheeks. A car. She’d reached the next road over.
Elizabeth embedded her fingernails into the nearest tree and lifted herself to her feet. Run. No looking back. Just run. She stumbled forward, gaining strength with each step before she was finally able to pick up speed. Every muscle in her body screamed for release.
Another car drove past. Louder. Closer. Breathing became easier, but...slower. Something wet and sticky clung to her borrowed clothing. Sap? Taking refuge behind a large tree, she looked back over her shoulder. No movement. He hadn’t followed her? Pain registered as she forced her heartbeat to slow. Not sap. She touched the spreading stain on her right side. Blood. When had that happened? She hadn’t even felt an injury. She couldn’t think about that right now. Braxton was bleeding out from at least two gunshots and a stab would. She’d run out of time. Deep breath. She could do this. Clamping her hand over her wound, she pushed forward. Couldn’t stop. The shooter would catch up any minute. She had to flag down a car and circle back to Braxton—
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