by Juno Rushdan
As they drifted into the living room, the laptop on the end table beeped.
Echo picked it up and typed on the keyboard. “The program finally finished the search. No current hits, but I’ve got footage of Katherine Westcott entering a downtown FedEx store on Saturday. She mailed a package. Paid in cash.”
“Bingo,” Bravo said. “I bet she mailed the hard drives.” When it had been time to sanitize the Outliers’ Lair, he’d gone to the mainframe room to drill holes through each hard drive to be certain no recoverable data survived the fire and discovered she’d taken not one, not two, but three of the damned things.
“Good.” Delta played with his beard. “Now maybe we can get the hell out of here.”
The tiny hairs on Bravo’s nape snapped to attention and his focus split. Like something had struck his internal tuning fork and awareness resonated through him.
Another ping on his senses. But he had no idea what caused it. Then a sound—a low click, maybe a door shutting, something easily missed—had his focus dialing in.
The others hadn’t heard it and were still yammering, but Bravo was certain.
Someone was here.
Adrenaline sparked through him. He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose, straining to source the sound. They were in the dead center of the apartment and it could’ve come from either end. Lifting a finger to his lips, he gave a warning for the others to stop flapping their jaws and stay silent.
His men immediately fell back on their training. They stopped squabbling, put in their communications earpieces, and drew their guns in response.
It would’ve been difficult for someone to creep past the kitchen where they had been a moment ago to the right side of the apartment, but not impossible with the bellyaching and bickering they’d been doing. Bravo should’ve solved that problem yesterday by putting a bullet in Delta.
Bravo directed Delta to go clear that section of the apartment just in case.
There was a Faraday cage back there—an enclosure used to block electromagnetic fields—and a large game room. Places for people to hide.
Bravo motioned for Echo to head downstairs and cover the ground floor in the event anyone slipped past them out of the apartment. Then he gestured for Charlie to move with him to the left side of the penthouse toward the bedrooms.
Each of his men acknowledged the orders with a curt head nod and leapt into action.
17
Kit’s thoughts collided together, her mind racing in time with her frantic pulse. What were they going to do? How were they going to get out of there in one piece?
Her bedroom was in shambles, the same as the rest of the penthouse. She didn’t care about the furniture—it was all meaningless without the Outliers. This place had been for them. Their home. Together.
Her life was as wrecked as her apartment. Trapped on this roller coaster of stress and danger, how much more could she handle?
Emotions piled up in her chest. The upheaval of the last two days, the awful things she’d witnessed, the mental duress, and anger subsumed the terror. She wanted to punch someone in the face. Wanted to kick the universe in the gut the way it kept doing to her.
Castle set her down and she sank against the wall. He was strong, lethal, fearless. Not a glimmer of worry in his eyes. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind he’d do anything to protect her. And she’d dragged him into this position with a lie.
With her bad luck, he’d be the one to get shot.
Her throat tightened at the thought. She couldn’t let that happen. If only one of them got out of this alive, it had to be him.
“Where’s your medication?”
“Bathroom counter. I need the Nitrostat too.”
“Ditch those boots. Do you have sneakers? Any shoes without heels that won’t make noise on the floor?”
No dice on tennis shoes, but she had a pair of ballet flats. “Yes.”
“Change. I’ll grab the pills.” Castle headed to her en suite. Brusque, six-four, two-hundred-twenty-pounds-plus of mean muscle and he didn’t make a sound as he moved.
Kit unzipped her boots and pulled them off. Tiptoeing to her closet, she avoided anything shiny or that looked sharp on the floor.
Her usually immaculately organized closet was chaos. They’d gone through everything.
She spotted the door to the wall safe was open. And all her cash was gone.
No. Oh God. No.
How in the hell was she was supposed to run and disappear without money?
At least her passport was still there. She grabbed it and stuffed it in her bag, along with some lightweight clothes: leggings, tops, underwear. Diving through the pile of stuff on the floor, she fished out shoes.
Castle met her on the other side of the bed and handed her the bottles. Thank God she had her meds. She popped one of each in her mouth and swallowed them dry.
He cupped her shoulders, bringing her so close they were almost nose-to-nose. “Where did you hide the hard drives?” His voice was low. “Please tell me inside a built-in biometric safe that requires your fingerprint to open.”
If only.
Dread as cold as ice water rushed through her veins. Not over the prospect of getting shot or falling into the hands of the vicious intruders in her apartment. But over telling Castle the truth.
In his kitchen, he’d gone from zero to ten on the Richter scale of temper when he figured out that she’d lied. His reaction would be off the charts once she told the truth.
She swallowed past the lump stuck in her throat. “The drives were never here.”
“What?” His fingers tightened on her arms. Understanding dawned in his eyes and it was like watching a flash of solar flares hot enough to incinerate the earth.
At first, she thought he was shaking her, but then she realized he was trembling with fury.
“Then why did we come here?” he asked in a harsh whisper.
“I have my reasons.”
He let her go and raised a finger to her face but stopped short of wagging it.
The entire time, she held her breath, waiting for him to explode.
If anyone was capable of a silent eruption of epic proportions while staying under the radar of the cold-blooded killers in the next room, she suspected it was him.
Castle brought his mouth close, his lips brushing the skin right below her ear. His next words sent a shiver through her. “If we make it out of here alive,” he said, his deep, gravelly voice scraping her senses, “I’m going to kill you.”
Then he pinned her with a glare so dark and ominous she was surprised it wasn’t accompanied by a clap of thunder.
Her belly curled.
He snatched her hand and hauled her to the door. She wished he’d unleash that volcanic wrath on those men skulking around in her apartment. They wouldn’t stand a chance.
Castle cracked the door open a fraction of an inch and peeked into the hallway. She braced herself, a calm resolve settling through her. Whatever awaited them out there didn’t compare to the fire Castle was going to make her walk through later.
Provided they survived.
He shut the door. “They’re searching the other bedrooms. In a gunfight, they’ll have the advantage.”
His gaze darted around. He pulled back the curtains, revealing the windows and door leading to the master suite’s balcony.
Without a word, he ushered her outside, drew the curtains behind them, and closed the door.
The chilly night air slapped her. “Now what?”
The small balcony didn’t lead anywhere. They were trapped.
Wasn’t this predicament worse?
Castle went to the end of the balcony that had a partition support wall and looked around it. “The living room balcony is on the other side.”
“And?” There were a few holes he needed to fill in for
her in that Swiss cheese plan.
“And we climb over,” he said, easy-peasy as if she were a superhero with elastic limbs. “Sneak through the living room. I hold them off while you get to the elevator.”
Kit was stuck on the climb over part. She ventured a look at what he proposed, but her gaze fell to the pool four stories below. What if she slipped?
He was insane.
“It’s impossible.” Her nerves stretched tighter than a rubber band on the verge of snapping. “There’s no ledge for my feet.”
“If it weren’t possible, I wouldn’t have suggested it. Take a leap of faith and trust me. Our lives depend on it.” He cupped her face in his big hands.
Her jaw stopped trembling, not that she could say when it had started. The warmth from his palms was a comforting distraction.
“I do trust you.” The words left her mouth without thought.
“If only that were true.” There wasn’t as much anger this time, more disappointment in his eyes than anything else. A hurt she wanted to erase.
Yes, she had serious, deep-seated trust issues. All warranted. Just like every other man she’d been attracted to, Castle was using her for something. But looking at him right then, she didn’t see a henchman from a dangerous government war machine. She saw a tough, bold man who’d chosen to help her when he didn’t have to.
It was a paradox her mind had difficulty reconciling. Gah!
“Well, I trust you to get us out of here. Okay?”
Rolling his eyes, he grunted. “Come on.”
* * *
Castle’s blood pressure was so high he could hear the rush of it.
Kit was a liar. A habitual, no, pathological, no, no, compulsive liar! His gut churned with white-hot anger, but the sucker punch of betrayal was worse.
She was innocent of collusion with terrorists. That much he believed. But he could only buy stock in eighty percent of what came out of her mouth. And it wouldn’t be so bad if the remaining twenty percent wasn’t going to get them killed.
He sharpened his focus on the task at hand. They were going to get through this, alive, so he could strangle her later.
Castle held on to her waist as he guided her to swing one leg over the side, followed by the other. The breeze blew her dress up higher than appropriate and he caught an indecent glimpse of her ass. Sweeter than he’d imagined.
She stared up at him with those crazy-beautiful eyes, trying to suck him back in.
Damn it to hell, why did he enjoy touching her so much? Why had it taken every ounce of strength in him not to kiss her back earlier when she was shivering in his bed, pressed up against him, wearing nothing but his T-shirt?
Why did he still want to kiss her?
“Put your toes on the tiny lip,” he said, referring to the barely-there ledge, keeping his voice controlled, low.
“Tiny is an overstatement.” She struggled to get her footing stable, her thin-soled shoes slipping around with no treads, but he held onto her.
“I won’t let you fall, Kit.”
Her anxious gaze locked onto his and narrowed. “I know. You want the pleasure of killing me yourself.”
And why oh why did her sassy remarks not only torque him tighter and tighter but also turn him on brighter than a popped flare in the pitch-black night?
“You probably want to use your bare hands around my throat,” she said.
“So you’re a psychic liar. I was trying to pinpoint how to classify you, but I don’t think that one is listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders.”
“Whatev—” She swallowed the rest of the word, controlling her tongue before she pushed him from peeved to righteously pissed.
About time she advanced to Go and collected a clue.
“Those shoes are a problem,” he said. She’d be better off barefoot out here. He took another look at the six-inch thick wall separating her bedroom balcony from the main one and sized up the length of her arm span.
Holding on to one balcony and reaching over to grasp the other might prove tricky for her. Doing it at night in those slippery shoes was suicide.
He gestured for her to come back and helped lift her over the rail.
“Climb on.” He knelt. “I’ll piggyback you over.”
For once, she simply did as he told her. No smart-ass remark, no protests. No questions. Maybe she did trust him, at least in this.
Standing upright, he adjusted her weight on his back, getting it balanced. “Hold on tight.”
She wrapped her legs around his hips and clamped her arms around his neck in a choke hold.
“Not that tight,” he hissed, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder at the door. The curtain was in place, giving them precious minutes—perhaps only seconds—that might mean the difference between success and death.
He swung his leg over the side and shimmied across the ledge.
The curtain rustled. Their time just ran out.
He stepped up the pace, reaching across the wall to the other side as the drapes were drawn. Castle stared at a man wearing glasses. His gaze was hard and pitiless. He matched Kit’s description of Bravo.
Castle wouldn’t be able to draw his weapon until they were on the other side and he had a free hand. “Kit, reach into my holster and grab my gun?”
“Wh-what? I’ll fall.”
“You won’t.”
“Oh God. I’m going to be sick. I can’t.”
“You can. Trust me. They’re coming. Do it!”
She fumbled inside his jacket, her body plastered to his, legs in a death grip around his waist, and drew his Maxim 9.
The safety was already off.
“Aim at the other balcony,” he said, “finger on the trigger, squeeze, and shoot at anything that moves.”
A swish echoed in the wind as the balcony door opened.
Kit screamed, ducking her head, cheek pressed against his neck, and started shooting, wild and erratic.
For fuck’s sake. Were her eyes even open?
Silencers on both sides softened the pop of the shots. Bits of stone from the concrete wall sprayed in the air. Bullets cracked by his head, too close for comfort.
Castle hooked his leg on the rail of the living room balcony and rolled over, nearly knocking against the steel staircase that went up to the roof. He tucked Kit beneath him, using his body as a shield. “Please tell me your eyes were open when you fired?”
“You said nothing about my eyes.”
Wasn’t it implicit in the bit about aiming?
He snatched the gun from her, hopped to his feet, and aimed for the master bedroom balcony—with his eyes open.
No sign of Bravo.
Ah, shit. “Change of plan.” Gripping her elbow, he hoisted her up. “They’re about to rush us, coming in through the living room doors. Can you swim?”
She gulped and looked over the balcony. “Oh, sweet Lord. You want us to jump?”
“Yes.”
“What if we miss the pool?”
“Push off from the railing when you jump. You won’t miss. Take off your shoes first so you don’t slip.”
“Stop making everything sound so flipping easy. There’s four hundred feet between us and going splat.” She shoved the flats in her bag.
“It’s more like forty feet.” He helped her stand up on the top of the balustrade. “Grip the handrail of the staircase.” He gestured to the metal bar right beside her. “Steady yourself.”
“If we don’t die, we’ll break bones.”
A distinct possibility. “Who’s the crybaby now? If we don’t jump, we don’t make it.”
Once she was in place with stable footing, Castle trained the gun on the French doors, ready to lay waste to anyone who dared set foot on the balcony.
“This plan sucks!”
&
nbsp; “Did I neglect to mention I have a degree in sucky planning?”
The door flew open and a bearded guy darted outside.
“Jump, Kit. Now!” Castle fired, landing a bullet to the cheek. Blood spurted like a geyser and the guy dropped.
Two more shadows moved near the front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The others were prepping to storm through any second.
“Stop being a cupcake and—” Castle chanced a quick glance back, and Kit was gone.
The breath caught in his lungs.
He looked over the edge of the balcony.
Shit, she actually jumped. And made it.
Attagirl.
18
Bravo stood on the balcony, clenching his jaw, and stared down at the pool.
That agent was tall and burly, built like a brick shithouse, and he wasn’t easy to pin down. He hopped from the water, fished out the target—she was gasping, struggling to recover—and slung her over his shoulder with ease. Then he hauled ass.
The fucker was also fast. And quickly becoming a thorn in Bravo’s side.
On the upside, Bravo no longer had to go to the trouble of killing that dipshit Delta.
Charlie came up beside Bravo and raised his sidearm, taking aim.
Bravo seized him by the throat. “You’ll do more harm than good from this distance.”
The greater the range, the lower the accuracy. This situation might’ve turned into a circus, but it still wasn’t the Wild West, where they had the luxury of shooting haphazardly.
“Remember the ROEs,” Bravo said, referring to their rules of engagement, and released Charlie’s neck. “The hard drives are out there somewhere, and she can’t talk with a bullet in her head.” He lifted his cuff and spoke into his wrist mic. “Echo, they’re headed in your direction. Follow and don’t lose them. Copy?”
“Affirmative. I have eyes on target.”
“That operative is good,” Charlie said. “Too good.”
Bravo gave a single curt nod of agreement. “Since he seems to be sticking around, we’ll code name him Caretaker.”