by Juno Rushdan
“It’s not here.” The clerk rifled through the boxes and large envelopes a second time. “Nothing for Mendoza.”
“Kit, are you sure it’s been delivered?” Lenny asked, his brow furrowed.
“FedEx said delivery no later than nine.” Kit looked at the clock on the wall. 8:45. “Maybe it’s not here yet.”
“We have to go,” Castle said.
“Not without the hard drives.”
“Those Zanteon guys will be here any second. We can’t wait.”
25
They couldn’t leave empty-handed, not after coming all this way. “Can you check the mail set aside for EECS?” Kit asked the clerk. “A box, eleven by eight by four. Please.”
“From FedEx,” Lenny added.
The clerk huffed a sigh and schlepped back to the deliveries.
Oh God, the box had to be here. If it wasn’t, there was no time to wait for the delivery and they might not get a chance to return.
They needed the information to stop the attack. And the wrong person could do terrible things with Ever Shield if they got their hands on it.
Castle left her side. His hands clenched, no sign of fear on his face. Her personal commando looked ready to take on an army.
“Bingo!” the clerk announced. “Had it categorized by department.”
Lenny took the box and in turn handed it to Kit.
She clutched the package to her chest, vowing never to part with the hard drives again. “Thank you.”
“Are we good?” he asked, rubbing her arm.
“Yes.”
“Go, Kit,” Castle said. “Right now.”
A truck pulled out of the bay. Two men rushed inside through the open door, spotted them, and ran toward the dock.
Castle grabbed Kit’s arm and hurried her and Lenny through the double doors. “Keep going and don’t stop for anything while I take care of these two.” He slipped into the darkness underneath the stairwell.
She and Lenny hit the steps, racing upward. She heard the double doors swing open, slamming against the wall. Noises from a scuffle echoed below.
When they reached the main floor and stepped out into the light, she took a deep breath, fighting the urge to go back. There had been two against one. She might be able to help—she had a gun. Castle was strong and capable, but—
“Come on.” Lenny wrapped an arm around her, guiding her along the corridor.
“We can’t leave him. What if he’s in trouble and needs our help?”
“He can handle himself,” Lenny said, his tone so cold she barely recognized him. “We have to get out of here.”
They moved as quickly as possible without running, trying not to draw attention. Leaving Castle behind felt thirteen shades of wrong, but he had told her to keep going and not to stop.
“Hello, luv,” Alistair said in her ear.
She sensed she was being watched and looked around but didn’t see the irritating Brit anywhere.
“Up here.”
Her gaze flicked to the upper landing to find Alistair staring at her.
He winked. “There’s a guy coming for you.”
“What? Where?”
Alistair tapped his ear, reminding her to key the comms device so he could hear her.
She tapped the button. “What are you talking about?”
“Red MIT sweatshirt,” Alistair said. “See him?”
Her heart stuttered, gaze searching frantically for the person he was talking about. Students and teachers seated at tables and in comfy lounge chairs chatted in groups. Others milled about reading and typing on their laptops. Plenty strolled the halls, sipping coffee.
“Do you know how many freaking people are wearing MIT sweatshirts?” She glanced back at the second level, but the damn Scouser was gone.
Where in the hell did he go?
“He’s the one headed your way,” Alistair said low in her ear in that smooth, posh, fake accent, his tone riding the eerie cusp between intimate and playful. Reminded her of Hannibal Lecter talking to Clarice. This was a piss-poor time to play games. She wanted to scream as she spun in a circle, trying to find the assailant who had her in his sights.
“What’s wrong?” Lenny asked.
“Not behind you,” Alistair said. “Straight ahead. He’s got a real hard-on for you. Or maybe that’s just the gun in his pocket.”
That was when she saw him. Charlie or Delta, one of the killers from the alphabet hit squad.
She had already glossed over him two or three times. He blended in with every other student, wearing a cardinal-red cap and MIT hoodie, except for the bulge in the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
Kit came to a dead halt.
“No, no, luv,” Alistair said. “Keep walking slowly toward him.”
“I know you’re crazy, but are you trying to get me killed?” she asked.
“Do you know what that beast would do to me if I did?”
“Rip off your nutsack,” Castle said through the earpiece, “and shove it down your throat. I’ll be there once I’m done zip-tying these two. Do as he says, Kit.”
“See.” Alistair’s voice rang with annoying satisfaction.
Kit clutched the box with one hand, held Lenny’s arm with the other, and proceeded down the hall as if they weren’t about to be snatched, or worse, shot.
“What’s going on?” Lenny asked her.
“We need to keep walking.” One foot in front of the other. “Don’t stop.”
The distance shrank from one hundred feet to seventy-five to fifty. Her chest tightened painfully, her skin crawling with fear.
Alistair appeared out of nowhere in the hall, waltzing up behind the guy when he’d just been on the second floor a moment ago. Forget Houdini. He was freaking Spider-Man.
In one lightning-quick move, Alistair threw an arm around the guy’s throat. Neck locked in the crook of Alistair’s elbow, the man strained to break loose.
Then Alistair ducked into a maintenance room, dragging the hit squad member with him.
Fast and smooth, it’d happened in a blur, so well-executed that no one else nearby seemed to notice. Like a scene from a movie.
Whatever training Alistair and Castle went through had to have been seriously impressive.
“Holy shit.” Lenny stopped. “Was that guy about to get us? Do you realize how close he was?”
Did she ever.
A burly man wearing a blazer and utilitarian boots rounded the corner. Their eyes locked. He lifted his cuff to his mouth, said something, and took off at a dead sprint straight for her.
They just kept coming. One after another. They weren’t going to stop until they got her and the hard drives.
“I’m sorry, Kit,” Lenny said as if reading her mind. “You have the package. Whatever is inside, I don’t want to know.” Wincing apologetically, he patted her cheek. “This is too much. I’m out.” He turned on his heel, ran up to the man from Zanteon, his palms raised, and pointed back at her, speaking in a rush.
She read his lips. I gave her the package. You don’t need me.
What a backstabbing toad!
They were no longer good. No way, no how. They’d never be good. Ever.
She turned to run. Another Zanteon contractor was coming from the opposite direction. This one lanky and blond. She whipped around, looking for a place to hide, somewhere to run. Her gaze snagged on the sign for the auditorium.
The beefy guy shoved Lenny aside and made a beeline for her, unconcerned by the attention he drew from bystanders.
Kit dashed to the auditorium, wrenched open the door, and rushed inside.
It was empty, the lights off.
“Two more are after me.” She scuttled down the steps of the outer aisle.
There was a back door that professors used. Kyle had mentioned t
hat it led to the faculty parking lot. But if it was locked, she was screwed. Her heart was pounding too hard. She couldn’t keep running.
She needed to stall, find a way to buy herself time until help came.
Slipping down the center row of stadium seating, she crouched down.
“Where are you?” Castle asked.
“Auditorium. Please, hurry.”
Grunting in her ear—it had to be from Alistair grappling with the man he’d hauled into the maintenance closet—made it hard for Kit to pick up subtle sounds. He must be in trouble if he hadn’t had a chance to toggle off his earpiece.
The auditorium door creaked open. The tiny, sickening tap of the soft close that followed resonated in her chest.
Then there was silence. Every muscle tightened as she listened.
Those must’ve been good boots, not a single squeak. She had no idea where he was.
Tension threaded through her. She pressed her lips together, lowered her body closer to the floor. No need to make herself a bigger target.
Kit unsnapped the flap of her bag, slowly, and withdrew the handgun.
Compared to the sci-fi-looking gun Castle carried, this one looked like a toy. Still, it shook terribly in her hand. Adrenaline pumped air in and out of her lungs, bringing her to the verge of hyperventilating.
She put a hand to her stomach, trying to settle the quivering. Down between the rows of seats, she shifted her gaze and the barrel of the raised weapon from one side to the other, praying Castle reached her in time.
Steady, she told herself. Hold the gun steady.
Seconds ticked by like agonizing minutes. Anxiety ratcheted up inside her. She warred against the instinct to get up and run. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
She didn’t want to die. How foolish to ever regret being alive. She simply didn’t want to outlive everyone she loved. To survive alone.
Emotions churned in her chest. She choked down the mix of desperation and despair. Forced herself to breathe, to prepare for whatever was to come.
Suddenly, it didn’t matter. Everything inside her froze.
The burly man crept to her row. His gaze burned right through her. His fist lifted, clenched around a gun, leveling it at her face. A controlled fierceness pulsed off him.
She aimed for his head and pulled the trigger.
Click. Click.
Her heart stumbled over the next beat. What was wrong with the gun? Why wasn’t it firing? Naked terror spiraled through her.
“Safety’s on.” He flashed a wry smile as his finger slid to the trigger.
26
“Wheeler, come in, this is Retrieval Seven,” a man said over the Zanteon comms in Castle’s left ear. “I’ve got her and the package.”
Castle hurried down the hall at a clipped pace. A few feet in front of him was a Zanteon contractor. Blond, thin, early twenties.
“Excellent. You get the ten grand bonus I promised. Did you open the package?” Wheeler asked.
“Negative, sir.”
“Good. Don’t,” Wheeler said. “I’ll open it. Whatever is inside must be pretty important if she risked exposure to get it.”
Zanteon knew she’d mailed a package but not about the hard drives? They sounded completely clueless as to what was in the box.
Thus far, Bravo had proven to be formidable and cunning. Before torching the Lair, he would’ve ensured the hard drives in the mainframe room were properly destroyed, would’ve seen three missing and sought to recover them.
If Zanteon and Bravo weren’t working together, that meant another player was in the mix.
“What’s your position?” Wheeler asked.
“Auditorium.” Kit’s scream carried over the airwaves, making Castle’s gut clench.
“Bring her to me,” Wheeler said. “We’ll question her and kill her off-site.”
“Roger.”
Castle was gaining on the blond man, long, brisk strides eating up the distance between them. He could almost reach out and grab him when the man ducked into the auditorium.
As the door was closing, Castle caught the handle and flowed inside. Fluid and quick. He drew his Maxim 9 with built-in suppressor.
Coming around the corner, he took in the scene.
Blondie was headed down the steps of the outer aisle. A vicious-looking bruiser had a fist in Kit’s hair and was dragging her up onto her feet, a gun pointed at her head. Another petrified scream escaped her throat. Her eyes were wild with panic, but nothing stopped her from fighting. She flailed, bit, and kicked at the man.
Castle’s stomach hollowed as bone-deep protectiveness flared.
His mind zipped through multiple calculations, rapid-fire. Every graphic scenario ended the same. With Kit captured and killed. All but one.
Blondie turned, his gun drawn. Castle opened fire—no word of warning, no hesitation. His Maxim 9 snapped twice. Double tap to the brain.
Before the lifeless body dropped to the ground, Castle trained the muzzle on the soon-to-be-dead guy holding Kit, lining up the sights with his heart. The bruiser tried to target Castle, swinging the barrel away from Kit’s head.
Castle pulled the trigger. Three rounds center of mass.
The shots knocked the man backward, and his hand slackened, releasing Kit. But he didn’t drop as he should’ve.
Bulletproof vest.
Castle redirected his aim to the head.
The low clap of the discharge whispered through the auditorium. A spray of red, and the man landed in a heap at Kit’s feet.
Castle never blinked.
Kit stood stock-still as if terrified to move, to speak, clutching the box to her chest.
The blood, the violence, the havoc was Castle’s life. It was what he’d signed up for, trained for, became one of the best for. Kit never wanted any part of it, yet the darkness kept finding her, trying to suck her into a black hole.
He wasn’t going to let that happen.
Castle hurried to her side. “Kit.” He brought her into his arms. The touch sent a jolt through him. Pressing his lips to her forehead, he ached to stop her trembling. “Sorry I’m late.”
The dark excitement electrified him as usual, made his blood burn and his skin tingle, the heady high from adrenaline giving him an almost sexual rush. But this time, for the first time, relief superseded it.
Kit sniffled against his chest. She slipped her hands inside his jacket and clutched his shirt just above his belt. Little by little, she sank into his embrace and her limbs stopped shaking.
She looked up at him. “You’re on time. But you could’ve taken the safety off the gun.”
The strength in her voice filled him with admiration. She was an amazing woman, faced every horrible thing that had been tossed at her and rebounded with sass.
“My mistake. Won’t happen again.”
The auditorium door opened.
Castle stiffened, raising his weapon.
Alistair burst inside the room. “We’ve got more inbound.” He ran down the steps, surveying the body count. “What’s this bullshit? I can’t use deadly force, but you can?”
When Castle had seen Kit in danger, reason and self-control evaporated. He’d simply snapped. Killing those men had been the only viable recourse, and he’d do it again without regrets.
“Is there another way out of here?” Castle asked Kit, ignoring Alistair’s legitimate complaint.
“Yes.” She pointed to a door in the far-right corner at the front of the room.
Castle clasped her hand in his and they made their way down the center aisle. Alistair stayed close behind them, grumbling the entire time.
They reached the door only to find it locked. Castle thrust his shoulder against it once, twice, putting all his muscle into it. Nothing.
A creak echoed from the door off the hall. There w
asn’t a need for him to look to know that more Zanteon reinforcements were entering the room.
“We need to move,” Alistair said, voicing Castle’s thoughts.
Without missing a beat, Castle aimed his weapon at the deadbolt on their one possible exit, shot the lock, and kicked the door open.
A fusillade of bullets rang out behind them, tearing into the podium and nearby seats, kicking up pieces of wood and cushion.
Castle slung his arm around Kit, hauling her in front of him, and used his body as a shield.
Suppressed gunfire pinged in the auditorium as he steered her outside. Once Kit was clear, Castle sidestepped back to the doorway. He squeezed off well-aimed shots at the contractors to give Alistair a chance to get out.
Alistair turned, not wasting a second of his opportunity, bolted across the threshold, and slammed the door shut. “Fuck.” His voice was tight, strained.
Something was wrong. “What is it?” Castle asked.
Alistair grimaced. “I’m hit.”
* * *
Bravo passed campus security guards that were combing through the Stata Center.
“Police are on the scene outside,” Echo said over comms from his position on the street.
“Roger,” Bravo said. “Charlie, what’s your status?” Silence. Still.
Where the hell was he?
As soon as Charlie had reported having a visual of Katherine Westcott with the package, Bravo had abandoned his position at Mendoza’s department and hightailed over there.
Now, no word from him.
Bravo glanced outside through the glass wall overlooking a courtyard and parking lot. A flash of movement stopped him.
There she was, Westcott. With the package. Escorted by Caretaker and another speed bump, this one sporting a mohawk and limping slightly, possibly injured.
Police cruisers pulled into the lot with lights flashing.
Adrenaline surged. Bravo’s heart hammered for the chase. He checked for an exit that led out to the courtyard and found none. Hell. Bravo cursed his luck under his breath.
Echo wouldn’t make it to their location in time, and Charlie was MI fucking A.
Turning around, Bravo caught sight of a short, stocky man with a head shaped like a hammer, blunt and angular. He’d recognize him anywhere. Randall Wheeler.