by Jodie Bailey
But keeping himself safe wasn’t his job. His job was to stand between her and any threat.
How much longer could she let him do this? If he died because someone had come after her, Amy would never be able to live with herself. She should give up, walk out the door and turn herself over to whoever was doing this. It was her they were looking for, not Sam. No one else should be hurt because of her. She shifted, but a sharp look from Sam pressed her back against the wall once again. Based on the guilt he already carried, he’d hate himself forever if something happened to her on his watch. This was his calling, his mission. Failure would destroy him.
She was trapped...and so was he.
From the hallway came the sound of voices, barely audible above the blaring alarm. People were likely heading outside away from any smoke or flame. Shouldn’t they be moving out too? If the building truly was on fire, they could die in a scene born out of her worst fears. Could she smell smoke, or was her imagination running on overtime?
She opened her mouth to ask, but Sam holstered his pistol and turned from the door. “I don’t like this.” He paced to the sliding doors that led to a small balcony. Edging to the side, he pulled the edge of the curtain away from the wall and peeked out, then let the heavy fabric drop into place. “This is too coincidental.”
“You think someone found us?” Probably. This was the way her life worked now. She’d be on the run forever, hiding in remote hotels or even in the wilderness, trying to save a life that had ceased to be any sort of life at all.
Whose life was she trying to save anyway? Amy Brady was dead, the victim of a horrible car accident. Amy Naylor was no more. She didn’t exist outside of this room. The truth made her wonder what exactly it was she was fighting to save.
“There’s no way to know for sure, but I’m going to go with the worst-case scenario and assume someone has figured out we’re here. At this point, we’re better safe than sorry.” He muttered something under his breath, then looked from the hall door to the balcony door. “If the goal is to get you out into the open, then I doubt they’ve actually set the place on fire. All that would do is make it harder for them to get inside and would make it harder for them to find you. It’s more likely someone pulled a fire alarm and is waiting in the hallway or near a fire exit for us to make an appearance. The trick to getting out is choosing the entrance they’re not watching. I have no way of knowing if anybody’s really out there, where they are or how many they’ve got waiting.” His words were more for himself than for her. It seemed to be a thing with him, talking through tense situations out loud. It likely was a way to help him think.
Sam drummed his fingers on his pistol at his hip, then strolled to the hall door, out of sight.
Amy slipped to the corner and peered around. He was studying the fire exit plan again, tracing lines with his finger. When he turned, he glanced from her to the balcony door, then back to the emergency routes. He tapped the plastic over the map. “The exits are here,” he pointed to one end of the building, “And here.” A finger tap on the other end and another at the front punctuated his declaration. “There’s no exit out the back because of the pool and the air-conditioning units for the common areas.”
“Okay...”
“If there’s no exit out the back, then I doubt they’ll look for us in the back. If we can get out that way somehow and slip to the truck while anyone watching would expect us to use the main exits at the front and sides, then we can get you clear.” He strode to the balcony door and stared at the curtain.
Amy stood tall and crossed her arms over her stomach, trying to hold herself together. Her eyebrows raised so high they pulled her eyes even wider. She could almost see what he was thinking as a plan spun through his mind. “Are you about to suggest we...? No. I’m not going over a balcony railing and dangling into space like I’m in some kind of action movie. Come up with something else.”
“You act like I’ve never done this before.”
“I act like what?” She dropped her arms to her sides and stepped closer to him, eyeing the back of his head. If she stared hard enough, maybe she could see straight through to his thoughts. Hopefully, they’d be anything other than what she feared. “You’ve climbed over a balcony before?”
“More than once. It’s not very hard, especially when you’re in our situation and you’re only going from the second floor to the first. Guys doing parkour do it all the time.”
“They also climb the sides of buildings and jump between them for giggles. None of those things seem fun to me.”
“It’s not as hard as you’d think. The trick is in using your upper body strength, which your former personal trainer self should have plenty of. Before this night is over, you’re going to figure out you have a set of skills you’ve never even tapped into. Maybe you’ll discover a new hobby.” He looked over his shoulder at her, his amusement fading quickly. “There may not be another way out. For all I know, someone is prowling the halls looking for you while we stand here and debate this thing. We could hunker down in here but I’m not certain that’s the safest option when I have zero intel about the situation or even if there’s a real fire.” As if to punctuate his statement, sirens wailed in the distance. Lots of sirens. “This won’t be the first time I’ve taken an asset over the side of a building, and it’s a lot closer to the ground tonight than it ever has been before. I did some recon when we first got into our rooms. You’ll be fine.”
A chill wracked her, fear worming its way into her bones. “Sam...”
He ignored her, reaching for the black backpack on his bed and sliding it over his shoulders. “Slip over the railing, get your hands down as low as you can. There’s a pole that runs along the corner of the balcony as a support. Slide down it until your feet hit the bottom rail. Think of it like you’re in the playground as a kid on the climbing wall or something. You’ll drop next to the fence that houses the AC units for the main areas downstairs. We’ll crouch behind the fence, get a feel for the situation and get to the truck before anybody figures out we’re gone or how we did it.”
Had she mentioned to him she had a fear of heights on top of everything else? That she’d always hated sliding down that fireman’s pole thing in elementary school?
Down the hall, a door slammed. Someone pounded on another door at the far end of the hall. “Fire department! Evacuate!”
Finger to his lips, Sam killed the lights in the room, grabbed Amy by the wrist and pulled her toward the balcony. “Fire department hasn’t had time to get here yet,” he whispered. “We have to move.”
Okay, so even worse than her fear of heights was her fear of being murdered. She let him drag her to the balcony.
“Don’t look down and you’ll be fine.” Sam slid the door open enough for them to slip through and led the way out, crouching low with his pistol drawn as he scanned the area. No one seemed to be in the parking lot at the rear of the building. Flashing lights and sirens appeared on the road to the left, racing closer. Smoke hung low, hazing the air.
Someone really had set a fire in the building.
Squeezing her hand, Sam turned toward Amy, his eyes only inches from hers. “I’ll go first. You stay low. If anything goes wrong, I’ll catch you. I promise. Just watch what I do and imitate me.” He started to move, then dropped back onto his heels again. “If anything happens to me, lock the door and forget about being anonymous any longer. Call the police.” He squeezed her wrist, holstered his weapon and slipped over the railing. In mere seconds, his low hiss drifted up from the ground. “Now.”
Amy took two deep breaths before she stood, slipped over the railing and held on tight, her back tensed against an imagined gunshot. Keeping her eyes in front of her, she gripped the thin bars and crouched low, then wrapped one arm around the thick metal pole. She stretched her foot down as far as she could, her toe brushing the rail of the bottom floor patio, then closed her eyes and let gravi
ty inch her lower.
Strong hands gripped her waist and helped her the rest of the way, dragging her to the ground where she crouched with her back against Sam’s chest, desperate to catch her breath. He leaned forward, his whisper warm on her ear and nearly drowned out by the air-conditioning unit on the other side of the fence. “You’re not wearing shoes?”
The strength of his chest against her back warmed her from the inside out. Taking in air was impossible because he stole it as fast as she breathed it. This was not the time. Amy fought for her voice. “Really? That’s your takeaway when I just almost plummeted to my death?”
“Drama queen.” He tugged her to the side and crept toward the corner of the fence. “The truck’s on the other—”
A gunshot cracked over the sound of the sirens and dirt shot up from the spot where Amy had been crouching seconds before. She screamed.
Sam ripped his gun from its holster and shoved her around the corner as another bullet splintered the wood fence inches from Amy’s head.
* * *
Sam pulled Amy close to the side of the brick hotel building and rushed her toward Isaiah’s truck parked at the far end of the lot. The shooter was above them on one of the balconies, but if Sam could keep Amy close to the building, the angle of fire would prevent their assailant from getting a clear shot.
To have found them so quickly, their anonymous attacker had to have known approximately which room they were in all along. Sam would love to step into the open and look up, to get a full view of whoever was attempting to murder Amy. He ached to do so, but he couldn’t without slowing their forward momentum. Priority number one was getting Amy to safety. Discovering the identity of whoever was aiming a gun at them would have to wait until she was secure.
No more bullets cracked into the night, though shouts from the other side of the building indicated the evacuees in the far parking lot had heard.
Great. All Sam needed was some John Wayne trying to be a hero and landing himself in the line of fire. He urged Amy forward. “Keep moving.” There was no way to know if the shooter had backup. They had to get out of the area before their enemy could mobilize and hem them in.
He also couldn’t risk being stopped by a mob of frightened hotel guests who had likely already called 911 with reports of shots fired. He couldn’t take the time to explain things to the police. If the hack to the WITSEC system ran as deep as Dana thought it did and they were held up fighting red tape at a police station, it would give whoever was trailing them time to mount an offensive.
Sam helped Amy into the truck and rounded to the driver’s side, weapon at the ready even though no more shots came. Whoever had pulled the trigger might be acting alone and was headed down to try to prevent their escaping. Throwing his go-bag into the back seat, he jumped into the truck and jammed the key into the ignition. Sam jerked the vehicle into Reverse and skidded out of the space, pausing only to slam the gearshift into Drive.
The rear window shattered as the truck gained traction.
Amy screamed.
For the second time in too few hours, Sam shoved her head toward her knees. He gripped the steering wheel and tore around the side of the building in a skid he could barely hold. He had to get Amy to safety.
Amy clasped her hands at the back of her neck with her head nearly to the floor. “Is this really happening again?”
“I was thinking the same thing.” At least she was vocal and not lost inside fear. If she was anything like him, she’d passed emotions and landed in a place void of feeling. It happened when the panic became too much. For him, his brain sought protection by distancing itself from reality and shutting down emotion. In some ways, the void was worse than the fear, but now Amy’s detachment worked to their advantage. There wasn’t time to calm her if she panicked.
Glancing in the rearview, Sam aimed Isaiah’s truck toward the on-ramp and floored it. They were onto the highway, then off at the next exit, headed north into nowhere before he spoke again. “You can sit up. Nobody followed us.”
Amy rose and swiped blond hair away from her forehead. She braced her hands on the dash and stared out the front window, almost as though she were trying to ground herself to something that wouldn’t let her down. “How did they find us?”
It was the question he’d hoped she wouldn’t ask. His theory was one he didn’t like, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to handle the situation if he was right.
“Sam? Don’t clam up on me now. We’ve gone through too much together.”
“We ditched everything you were carrying back at the college. I left my phone and radio behind. We have nothing we started out with.”
“There’s nothing left to track us with unless...” She jerked her hands from the dash as though it had burned her.
She was thinking the same thing he was. Somehow, someone had managed to track Isaiah’s vehicle. “This is Isaiah’s personal truck.” It was also new, and Isaiah wasn’t going to like the new ventilation in the rear. “It wouldn’t be hard for a savvy hacker to find us via GPS.” Although that didn’t make sense. If they wanted Amy so badly, why set off the fire alarm? Why not simply wait for them to get back to the truck and take them out then? Or plant a bomb in the vehicle?
It felt as though someone was toying with them the way a cat would a mouse. Catch and release. Attack and withdraw. No, whoever it was couldn’t be tracking the vehicle. It had to be something else, something he was missing.
“What do we do now?” Amy hunched in the seat, her head below the headrest, probably half to dodge the frigid air filling the cab through the broken window and half to keep herself hidden if more shots were fired.
“We should ditch the truck as soon as possible, even though I doubt it’s the source. It’s still the last known link someone can use to trace us.” After that, he was still working out the plan. No matter the situation, there was always a way out. All he had to do was work through the scenarios and get them to safety. He would then be free to make contact with his team and get orders.
Sam desperately needed his team. He’d grown used to having people behind him, people who could trace calls and license plates, who could work three steps ahead of him to clear the way. This James Bond/Lone Ranger routine was a test of his abilities, a stretch of his skills. In one way, he welcomed the challenge. In another, he was desperate for backup. History had proven he didn’t work well on his own.
He was no good alone. In the army, it had been all about the team, each member a piece in a moving machine. Those men had never failed to have his back. Barnes, Caesar, Rich...
Rich.
One hand gripping the wheel, Sam grabbed his go-bag and tossed it into Amy’s lap. “There’s a burner phone in there in the inside pocket. Turn it on and call the number I give you. Ask for Richardson. Tell him what’s going on.” He rattled off a number, then his voice dropped to a low mutter. “We’re about to need all the help we can get.”
Since they were winding up the side of a mountain, it was possible Amy wouldn’t be able to get a signal to even make the call. Driving aimlessly wasn’t his favorite way to spend a night, and he needed another set of eyes. At the rate they were going, without outside help, they’d be dead before morning.
“This must be someone you trust a lot if—” She broke off and her tone shifted. “Is this Richardson?”
“Tell him you’re with me and you need a vehicle and a place to lay low.”
She relayed the information, slouching deeper into the seat as she shivered against the cold. “He wants to know if you need him to come to you or if you can come to him.”
There was the solution to the vehicle problem. Ditch the truck and hitch a ride with Rich, an old army buddy who’d been through the darkest times with him. “Tell him to come to us.” If they could meet him without being followed, this would work. Without the truck, they’d be off the radar and completely untraceable.
Sam glanced at the gauge. “Between half and three-quarters.” Thankfully, it had been full when Isaiah tossed him the keys.
As she relayed the information, Sam fought curves, wary of bleeding off speed. He was itching to talk to Rich himself, but this phone wasn’t connected to Bluetooth and he didn’t dare take a hand from the wheel. Besides, he didn’t want Amy to hear anything he had to say, any conjectures he had to make. She’d panicked already, and though she seemed to be holding it together now, they didn’t have time to make a roadside stop.
Through the phone, the hum of Rich’s voice talked, paused, then went on some more, loud enough to hear his voice but not loud enough to decipher the words. Sam massaged the steering wheel and dug his teeth into his tongue to keep from moving the conversation along. Lindsay had always accused him of having control issues and Sam had never denied it, especially not in situations like this. He needed instruction, direction, something solid before headlights could show up behind them.
Although they may not have a tail at all. If whoever was shooting at them was somehow tracking the vehicle, it was only reasonable to think they wouldn’t give chase. They’d simply wait to strike again at the next stop. “Tell him to give me a meeting location but not to make it obvious. Code it. I’m not sure yet if the bad guys are listening in.” The truck could merely be bugged.
But how?
Amy relayed the message, then listened for a moment. “He said to tell you ‘blue and gold, fifty-seven, 0430.’”
“Blue and gold, fifty-seven, 0430.” Sam scanned the road in front of him, trying to see the words, to make pictures out of them. The silence hung thick, both in the truck and over the phone as Rich waited. He was trying to direct them to safety but...
0430 made sense. Military time. Four thirty in the morning. But blue and gold, fifty-seven? Fifty-seven... The number tickled. He tried to put the colors and numbers together into one picture. Caught a flash of memory, the number fifty-seven in gold on a royal blue field of color.