Rules in Rescue

by Nichole Severn

  “You hired me to protect you.” Anthony took position at the corner of the van. Locking his eyes on her, he resurrected heated flashes of the gut-wrenching kiss they’d shared in her barracks. When he’d kissed her, she’d been lost. His fingers had threaded up the back of her neck and into her hair, and the rest of the world had fallen away for the briefest of moments. The scar disappearing into his full beard combined with tanned, weathered skin had turned him rough, but the way he’d held her, the way he’d touched her, revealed just how much he cared. He’d get them out of here. He’d take care of her. “And I’ll be damned if I let you get yourself killed.”

  She swayed toward him. She nodded to focus. She couldn’t think about that right now, couldn’t think about him. Whoever these guys were—whoever had sent them—they weren’t interested in talking. Professionals only wanted one thing: the target. Glennon glanced at her former commanding officer. If there were casualties in the process, that didn’t matter. She’d get her answers one way or another. “I want to know what the marshal meant about Bennett being part of Mascaro’s operation. I’ll take the shooter on the left. You take the right. We need these guys alive.”

  “You got it, sweetheart.” He rounded the van, weapon aimed, and fired.

  Glennon followed close behind, taking the low ground. The two shooters had taken position across the aisle, each using a vehicle for cover. Gripping her Glock in both hands, she dropped to one knee and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked back in her hand, but she barely registered the pain in her shoulder this time around. Adrenaline pumped into her veins, focusing her senses on the single shooter to her left.

  Kevlar and a bulletproof face mask absorbed her direct hits. Damn it. These two had come in full tactical gear. Army-level gear. She couldn’t get a read on the man behind the lieutenant general’s NTV. Had the shooters come on orders from Staff Sergeant Mascaro himself? Or had they been waiting to ambush the marshal? She redirected her aim, the air in her lungs pressurizing the longer their targets stayed upright. Only one way to find out.

  Sinking to the pavement, Glennon flattened herself against the asphalt. Ice worked through her veins. Two shots was all it took to sweep the shooter’s legs out from under him. He hit the hood of the NTV face-first and collapsed, dropping his weapon in the process. A deep groan hit her ears as she pushed to her feet.

  Anthony closed in on his own target. The second shooter clamped down tight on a bullet wound that had skimmed his neck with one hand, but kept firing with the other. The gun clicked empty as Anthony charged. He slammed the shooter into the pavement, disappearing behind the car.

  Heart in her throat, Glennon waited. One breath. Two. Shuffling teased her ears, but not from the shooter she’d taken down. Her jaw hardened. She gripped her gun tight. If one of those bullets had gotten through his gear... No. She couldn’t think like that. Anthony was a Ranger. He’d taken plenty of hits over the years and delivered thousands more. Even with all those battle scars, he was the strongest, most loyal man she’d ever known. With calculated, slow steps, Glennon edged around the front of the vehicle.

  Anthony wrenched the shooter to his feet, unbalanced.

  “Damn it, don’t do that to me again.” She ran a hand through her hair. Sweat coated her palm. She wiped it down her pants, the tension pulling her shoulders tight then releasing in small increments. She breathed a bit easier. He was okay.

  Until she noticed the dark, wet stain of blood spreading across the front of his thigh.

  Anthony swayed on his feet, his eyelids heavy.

  “You’ve been hit.” The garage blurred in her peripheral vision as her blood pressure skyrocketed. Color drained from his face and Glennon rushed forward, ready to catch him if he collapsed.

  Stinging pain spread across her skull as she was ripped back into a wall of Kevlar. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  She twisted against her attacker’s grip on her hair, hoping to plant her knee straight in his groin... But the hot metal of a gun barrel pressed to her forehead froze her to the spot. Deep brown eyes stared back at her but she couldn’t make out any other features beneath his bulletproof face mask. He swung her around again, bracing her back to his vested chest as his free hand gripped her throat. A single glance at the back of the vehicle where she’d thought she’d taken out the first shooter said it all. She’d been played. He hadn’t been injured, hadn’t even been knocked unconscious.

  “Sergeant Chase—” his deep voice echoed from under the mask “—I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you.”

  Chapter Seven

  Anthony’s grip tightened around the unconscious shooter in his grasp while the second pointed a gun at Glennon’s head. Pain splintered his racing thoughts. He couldn’t see her face, but the deep reserve of rage he’d buried over the years took control all the same. It had started with losing every member of his team behind enemy lines and it had ended when Glennon had walked out the door. He wasn’t about to lose another teammate. He wasn’t about to lose her.

  “Break a single hair on her head and it’ll be the last mistake you ever make,” he said.

  Sweat beaded under his jawline, his vision blurring for a split second. His heart jolted in his chest. Fury built in him, a deadly rage that wouldn’t be controlled. He let the bastard’s partner collapse, the body hitting the pavement hard with fifty-plus pounds of gear. His fingers curled into his palm, tingling with the urge to wrap his hands around his Beretta. Or the bastard’s throat. He wasn’t picky. If it came right down to it, he’d beat the life out of any man who dared threaten her. No matter how much blood he lost. Which, by looking at the puddle under his left boot, had been quite a bit.

  “Big words coming from a man bleeding out in the middle of a parking garage.” The shooter’s voice lacked any distinct accent, his face hidden beneath layers of gear. Anthony could barely make out anything clearly other than brown—almost black—eyes. Six feet, about two hundred pounds of pure muscle. No visible tattoos or birthmarks. The only way they’d get a clue to this guy’s ID and whoever had hired him would be with an autopsy. And as the seconds passed, Anthony was becoming more comfortable with that route.

  The shooter was playing it safe, positioning Glennon fully in front of him, using her as a shield as he moved the gun barrel to her temple. “What do you think, Sergeant Chase?” He pressed his face mask against her ear and the muscles down Anthony’s spine jerked. “Should I finish him off now or let him go out the hard way? My orders never said anything about bringing him back alive. I was only paid to get intel out of you. By whatever means necessary.”

  Sergeant Chase. Orders. The way the guy talked spoke volumes. They were dealing with soldiers. Nothing he hadn’t handled before, but the bullet in his thigh might be a problem. He had to stay conscious. Keep her alive. With his veiled admission to needing to bring Glennon back alive, the shooter had given away more intel than he’d probably meant to. The bastard had been sent by Mascaro. And with Lieutenant General Sykes’s involvement, they now had proof—her and Bennett’s investigation for the army had been compromised after all.

  “What makes you think he’s going to let you walk out of this alive?” she asked the shooter. Glennon nodded to Anthony, her expression steady. Not an ounce of fear darkened those mesmerizing green eyes, but he read her uncertainty in the way her knuckles whitened as she held on to the shooter’s wrist at her throat. She swallowed hard.

  “Should we test that theory?” The shooter pressed the barrel of the gun harder into her temple, throwing Glennon off balance. “If I’m not walking out of here alive, neither are you.”

  Not going to happen.

  Rage exploded from behind Anthony’s rib cage and spread fast. The edges of his vision darkened, putting the bastard in the middle of his own personal crosshairs. Adrenaline dimmed the pain in his leg as he rushed forward. Screw the Beretta. He’d tear this SOB apart with his bare hands.

 
Understanding exactly what he intended to do, Glennon twisted and threw her elbow back into the shooter’s face mask. Her captor dropped his hold from her throat, giving her an out. Anthony closed the distance between him and the shooter as she dove for the ground.

  “She’s not going anywhere with you.” Fisting the Kevlar vest in his grasp, Anthony ripped the face mask and underlying ski mask from the shooter’s head and tossed them at the nearest car door. The vehicle’s alarm and flashing headlights kept rhythm with his racing heartbeat. He pulled back his arm, ready to end this once and for all. For Glennon.

  Black hair and tanned skin were all he registered as a fist slammed into the right side of his face. The world tilted on its axis, but Anthony refused to let go of the man in his grip. Another hit landed home and he collapsed to one knee. Pavement cut into him. Copper and salt filled his mouth as the wound in his leg bled faster. But the pain—the dizziness—was nothing compared to what he’d endured for his country.

  “Come on now, Ranger,” the shooter said. “I’ve read your file. Give me a challenge.”

  Anthony spat salty blood onto the asphalt. This guy wanted a fight? All right. He’d give him everything he had. He straightened, but with the amount of blood pooling on the asphalt, quickly sank. He caught sight of Glennon reaching for her weapon a split second before the shooter planted his boot in the middle of her back.

  A small gasp wheezed from her mouth.

  “Don’t worry, Sergeant Chase. I haven’t forgotten about you.” The bastard kicked her gun underneath the nearest car then fell to one knee beside her rib cage as he lowered his voice. Blood from the raw wound along his neck dripped onto her flawless features. “Before this is over, you’re going to give me what I want or die in the process.”

  A growl exploded from his chest as Anthony came up swinging. His fist connected with the shooter’s bullet wound—shocking his opponent—but the guy wouldn’t stop there. He lost the Kevlar, the protective gear that was only weighing him down.

  Sweat slid underneath the collar of Anthony’s shirt as Glennon scrambled for her weapon. “Take care of him.” He nodded at the first shooter who still lay unconscious at the back of the car. “I’ve got this.”

  She disappeared behind the car, blood smeared across her expression.

  His attacker charged. Catching the bastard at the neck and waistband, Anthony flipped him and slammed him into the pavement. The smell of cigarettes drifted up from the shooter’s clothing as he landed a boot in the center of Anthony’s chest. Anthony staggered back, but went in for another strike. The shooter rolled off the pavement, hands up, and blocked the hit. Legs staggered, knees bent, shoulders squared, elbows in. This guy was definitely military. Green Beret, if Anthony had to guess. And the only way to take down a Green Beret was death.

  “There’s the Ranger I’ve heard so much about.” The shooter pulled a blade from his ankle. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  Combatives training took control. Anthony wrapped his fingers around the guy’s wrist and pulled him closer. Rotating the blade away and up, he drove his elbow into the shooter’s twisted arm. The crunch of bone breaking quaked down his spine as the clash of steel and asphalt echoed throughout the garage. His knuckles met his assailant’s jawbone and he quickly followed through with his elbow to the same spot.

  The guy fell hard. A deep growl filled the silence. “That’s more like it.”

  A combination of sweat and blood loss blurred Anthony’s vision. He swayed on his feet. He didn’t have long before he blacked out. Fisting the bastard’s shirtfront, he wrenched the Green Beret to his feet. Pain surged through his thigh with the additional weight. “You tell Nicholas Mascaro as long as I’m around, Glennon Chase is off-limits. Understand?”

  Swelling consumed one deep brown eye, an uneven smile curling the shooter’s mouth. “You can’t protect her forever, Ranger. Even if you kill me now, they’ll send someone to take my place.” A deep rumble of a laugh worked up the SOB’s throat. “One way or another, your woman and her partner are dead. You’re just extending the date they’ll carve on their gravestones.”

  His woman. Anthony’s grip tightened.

  Overhead lighting glinted off a flash of metal in his peripheral vision. But he wasn’t fast enough. The Green Beret swung another small blade fast, and it landed home. The breath rushed from Anthony’s lungs, agony ripping through him. He’d taken bullets, sustained stab wounds. None had taken him out of commission before, but he doubled forward now. Glennon’s engagement ring fell from under his shirt collar. The edges of his vision darkened.

  “No!” Her shadowed outline rushed toward him. “Anthony!”

  “Don’t worry, Sergeant Major Harris.” The blade slid from between his ribs as a strong grip squeezed his shoulder. The shooter set his mouth against Anthony’s ear. “I’m going to take real good care of her.”

  Two distinct gunshots exploded. From a Glock. Glennon’s service weapon? He couldn’t be sure. The shooter jerked against him but didn’t go down, spinning toward the source. Anthony shook his head to clear the fuzziness closing in fast, but strength drained from his muscles every second he wasted trying to get his bearings.

  The grip on his shoulder vanished. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Where was she? He blinked to restart his system. Blood and sweat drenched his clothing. He had to get up. Had to get Glennon out of here. Fisting his hands, Anthony shoved to his feet. He’d lost a lot of blood, but he had enough left pumping through his veins to finish this.

  The shooter closed in on her. Her gun clicked empty and she took two steps back, that beautiful green gaze searching for something—anything—to fight back with. She widened her stance, fists up. Blocking the first hit, Glennon knocked the Green Beret’s weapon from his hand but wasn’t fast enough to counter the second hit. His fingers wrapped around her neck as he sandwiched her between his body and the hood of the nearest car. She bowed against the metal, one hand on his wrist, another hitting her attacker as hard as she could—but the hit barely fazed him. He was too strong.

  “Let her go.” Every cell in Anthony’s body propelled him forward. No thought. Only Glennon. In a split second he secured the shooter’s head between both hands and wrenched as hard as he could. The body collapsed to the asphalt. He stared down at the single brown eye that hadn’t swollen shut from the fight, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs.

  It was over. For now. He sank his weight into his uninjured leg, clamping a hand over the stab wound in his side.

  “On second thought, I’ll tell Staff Sergeant Mascaro myself,” he said.

  * * *

  THE GRIM REAPER had arrived. And her attacker had most certainly pissed him off.

  Glennon rubbed at her throat, swallowing back the last twenty minutes. She leveraged her weight against the hood of the car to keep from collapsing. Bodies littered the ground. The marshal’s escorts, the marshal himself, the two shooters sent to retrieve her. So much blood. What the hell had Bennett gotten himself into?

  “Anthony,” she said.

  His name left her lips as a whisper. That was all she could manage right now. She locked her attention on the engagement ring around his neck, the one smeared with crusted blood. She closed the distance between them slowly but he never focused on her. A pool of dark liquid collected under his left boot. Bullet to the thigh. Stab wound to the rib cage. Had there been more damage? Framing her fingers along his jawline, she forced him to look her in the eye. “Talk to me.”

  Sirens reached her ears. She glanced toward the garage entrance. Ambushing the marshal, capturing one of the shooters in the hope of doing their own interrogation...this whole thing had been a mistake. And all to find a missing partner who might be involved in the very operation she’d been trying to bring to justice. She had to get Anthony out of there before local police showed up. “Okay, come on.”

  Glennon stopped cold. Guns. Wh
ere were their guns? Hell, she couldn’t leave them behind. Their prints would put them in the center of a manhunt once Anchorage PD collected them as evidence. And the army would follow. She couldn’t have her name on those reports. Couldn’t put her son at risk.

  Swinging Anthony’s arm over her shoulders, she maneuvered him against the side of the nearest car. And she couldn’t do that to Anthony. Not after everything he’d done for her the past two days. Her stress response drained from her system as she crawled beneath both parked cars. One Beretta, one Glock.

  Anthony pushed away from the vehicle, trying to stand. How he was still conscious, she had no idea, but she couldn’t do this by herself.

  The sirens grew louder. She didn’t have time to collect bullet casings, and there were far too many scattered across the entire garage for her to get them all. Exhaustion dragged her down as she hefted Anthony into her side again. His solid weight unbalanced her. “You can do this, baby. I’m going to get you help. We just have to get to the SUV.”

  Baby? Heat crawled into her cheeks. Where the hell had that come from? Glennon shoved the thought to the back of her mind. She had more important things to worry about right now. And, with any luck, he wouldn’t remember any of this later.

  He mumbled something unintelligible as she hauled him up the garage entrance ramp. Sunlight blinded her for a split second. She guarded her eyes against the blazing sun, but quickly leveraged her hand into his chest to hold Anthony upright as his legs started giving out. He’d parked the SUV a little over a block away on the other side of the street. They would make it. She had to believe that. Her throat ached. “Come on. You got this.”

  Head down, she dragged him across the road. Pressure of civilian stares as they passed built in her chest. Two people, both covered in blood, walking down the street. Nothing to be alarmed about. The first patrol car swung around the corner at the end of the block and she rammed herself into Anthony’s uninjured side to take cover behind a car parked along the road. The street was about to be shut down and when Anchorage PD identified the bodies, the army would take over. They had to move. Her previous experience with local PD told her they had about three minutes. Another patrol car rounded the block, lights and sirens blaring. Make that one minute. Shoving her hands in his cargo pants’ pockets, she searched for the SUV’s keys. “Don’t get any bright ideas. I’m trying to save your life.”