by Trish Loye
He turned to Dante. “Status?”
“Hit me in the vest, but when I fell I must have hit the steps.” He indicated the back of his head with the bloody towel. He grimaced. “When I came to, they were gone. I’m sorry.”
Derrick nodded, not quite ignoring the apology, but unable to acknowledge anything verbally. If he didn’t stay completely professional, he would end up losing his shit in an epic way. “Can you function?”
Dante nodded. “Only a headache. I’ve had worse.”
“You’ll get checked out when this is over.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who was he?” he growled.
Dante passed a phone to him. It showed a picture of an Asian man about Cassandra’s height pulling her through the neighbor’s yard. “Rose took it. I’m sorry, Colonel.”
“Where’s Ghost?”
Sarah appeared as if from nowhere but he knew she’d been in the kitchen, guarding the back door. “I was…asleep. I saw nothing. I’m sorry.”
“You were off shift,” he said, dismissing her apology. He ran a hand through his hair. The assassin had picked the perfect time.
“You’re running the facial ID?” he asked them.
Dante nodded. “We’re also tracking Cassie’s phone.”
Derrick turned to his daughter. “You saw this man?”
She nodded. “I heard a popping sound. Mom was outside and Dante lay on the steps. Mom looked so scared. Then…” Rose started to cry.
He held out his arms and was extremely grateful when she entered them and hugged him around the waist. “Keep going, kid. I need to know it all.”
“Then she turned and ran into the alley. The guy in the picture dropped out of a tree. He had a gun…I took a picture.” She hugged herself. “I opened my curtains. This is my fault. I should have chased after them.”
“No.” Dante’s gravel-chewing voice interrupted before he could speak. “If you’d done anything, the assassin would have killed you without a thought.”
“If only I hadn’t opened my curtains—”
“Do not blame yourself.” Derrick grasped her shoulders and held her so he could lock his gaze with hers. “This is not your fault. This is the fault of the assassin and the North Korean government. This is not on you. Got it?”
She nodded shakily. “Got it.”
He gave her a last squeeze and then set her aside. “Can you make some tea for your grandmother?”
“You’re trying to get rid of me.”
He nodded. “I need to do my job now to get your mother back.” He lowered his voice. “But I do think your grandmother needs to sit down.”
“Okay. Get her back.” Rose led her grandmother to the kitchen.
Derrick stared after her for just a moment. How easily he’d settled into the role of her father and it felt right, not completely natural but it made him…happy. How could someone know a child was missing from their lives when they’d never really contemplated having one? The only person he’d ever thought about doing that with had been Cassie. No other woman had tempted him. Shit. Had he seriously been pining for her all these years?
Dante pulled his cell from his ear. “The trace on her phone came through.”
“Where?”
“Heading to her office building downtown.”
“Ghost,” he said.
Sarah straightened just a bit. “Sir.”
“Take Rose and her grandmother and get them somewhere safe.”
“Wilco, sir.”
“Let’s move.” He checked his weapons on the way to the SUV. Marc slid into the back seat while Dante drove. Dante had the code name Gears for a reason: the man could drive anything, anywhere.
He tried Cassie’s cell twice when Marc piped up from the back. “They’ve lost the signal for Cassie’s phone.”
“Last location?”
“Her office.”
“ETA?”
“Ten minutes,” Dante said.
“Make it five.”
“Wilco, Colonel.”
He didn’t say anything more. He’d make a plan once he knew the situation on the ground. Most likely, the man had Cassie in her office, getting her to do something for him before he killed her.
Stall, Cassie. I’m coming.
The elevator doors dinged open. Lee nudged her forward when she didn’t move because she’d frozen to the spot. Her heart thudded in her ears. She had to believe Derrick was coming.
She walked into the dark hall of elevators and the lights blinked on. So no one had been here. She’d been worried because it wasn’t often that this floor was empty. But most reporters worked from home when they could, especially on a Sunday evening.
Just beyond the elevator bank lay the large black enameled receptionist’s desk. And beyond that a sea of cubicles. Hers had a prime location near one of the windows, even though she wasn’t often there because she was one of the ones who preferred to work from home. She slowly weaved her way through the desks. What was she going to do when she made it to her desk? Her laptop was at home. She wouldn’t even be able to pretend to look for the pictures.
The windows and the dark night beyond reflected the image of her with the assassin walking behind her, gun pointed at her back.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
Would he shoot her and then go back to kill the others? He’d try, she decided, but Derrick’s team would protect Rose. They wouldn’t fall for anything stupid like Cassie had.
She made her way to the cubicle area she shared with her friend Kate. The bobblehead of some baseball player Kate loved sat on the cubicle wall and seemed to watch them approach. She wanted to use Kate’s bat to break the damn…
Hope surged and her thoughts slowed with the adrenaline rush. She veered toward Kate’s desk. She’d have to time this right. Please let Kate’s bat be against the cubicle wall like it always was. Even so, she wouldn’t have much time.
Five more steps. She glanced at her reflection. Lee was close enough to hit.
Three steps. Would she be fast enough? She’d have to dodge and swing at the same time.
One step. She spotted the bat.
She reached for the chair as if to pull it out, but swerved, snatched the bat in both hands, and swung through like a hitter from the Blue Jays.
The gun went off just before she connected with Lee’s arm. Pain seared her arm and she cried out. But she kept moving. She swung again, without thinking, aiming for the gun. She smashed the bat down on his forearm.
Lee grunted and the gun dropped to the floor. He stepped in to grab the bat. He was stronger than her so when he tugged it, she pushed. He took a step back.
She had a precious moment. A moment of time, of space, of clarity.
The gun was between them. If she bent to grab it, Lee would hit her. He pulled the bat back to strike. She had to decide now.
She kicked the gun under a desk, spun, and fled. The bat glanced off her shoulder, the same arm that already burned. She screamed as the pain punched down her arm and up her neck, but she kept running. He was right behind her. She dodged through the desks, thankful for the cluttering of the cubicles that made it impossible for him to tackle her. She pulled chairs out behind her when she could, gaining precious milliseconds of time.
She was almost at the elevator bank. Shit! The stairs were on the far side. There wasn’t enough distance between her and Lee. He’d eventually catch her on the stairs.
The female bathroom was just before the elevators. Locked, but for her keycard. She skidded to it, fumbling with her keycard; she swiped it and pushed the door open and then slammed it shut just as Lee rammed it.
Her heart hammered against her throat and her breath had to squeeze past it. She looked at the door that stood between her and death. A thud reverberated through the bathroom. Another. Another.
He was going to break down the door.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Lee hammered the door and it seemed to jump each time in its frame. She glanced around wild
ly. Three stalls and three sinks. Nothing to help her. Blood dripped down her arm. She’d been shot. Now that she noticed the wound, it throbbed with a searing heat. It looked like the graze Derrick had had on his leg. Fuck, it hurt.
The hammering continued. Heavy, methodical thuds that didn’t pause, didn’t slow, didn’t stop. Each one constricted her chest and made her want to scream at him to stop. God, please stop. She pressed her hands against her temples. Pain zinged up her arm and cleared her head.
Don’t give up. Derrick’s voice.
She did a slow look around. Three stalls. Three sinks. A paper towel dispenser attached to the wall. She tugged at the mirror. Stuck to the wall. Could she break it and use a piece as a knife? She’d have to hope she could get a useable piece and…what? Wrap it in her shirt?
This wasn’t working. Panic bumped her heart rate into a stumbling run. The pounding on the door continued and it vibrated in its hinges with each thud. It wouldn’t be long now. She looked up.
A vent above the stalls jumped with each thud.
A small vent.
She was tiny. It might work.
She leapt into the middle stall, climbed onto the toilet, used the paper dispenser as a step and hauled herself onto the metal wall of the stall. The inch-wide wall dug into the flesh of her thighs as she hunched over on it and studied the vent.
Metal. Two feet wide. One of the four screws missing. She tried pulling at it, but she wasn’t strong enough to yank it off. Dammit! Her keycard swung on her neck with her movements.
She snatched it and set it against the first screw, pushing as she twisted. Thank God it wasn’t rusted shut. One screw out.
The pounding continued. Was he kicking or using the bat?
She worked on the second screw. The pounding stopped and so did her heart. She froze. Not feeling relief but more like prey than before. Where was he? What was happening?
Move, Cass! Before he comes back.
She gasped, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. The second screw came out seconds later. One more. She put the keycard to the third screw.
Bang!
She jumped and almost fell from the stall wall. The card fell from her fingers to the floor. He was shooting at the lock. She clawed the vent cover and strained, pulled, ripped. It flew off and almost took her with it.
She threw it to the ground and squirmed her way into the shaft that ran across the bathroom ceiling. She went to the right, away from the bathroom and toward an intersection. She squirmed and wiggled. Her arm screamed with each move.
Bang!
The door slammed open. He’d made it into the bathroom. She pulled herself around the corner as fast as she could, panting and smearing blood on the metal from her arm.
Scrabbling and a curse echoed down the shaft. He wasn’t coming into the vent. He was too big. She heaved a sigh and shuddered. Something had gone her way.
The gunshot pierced the chute behind her. She yelped and scurried farther away.
“No one is coming to save you.” Lee’s serene voice echoed weirdly in the metal tunnel. “You won’t get away, Cassandra Kwon. I will kill you and then destroy this office, even if I have to die to do so.”
She didn’t bother replying; she just kept pulling herself ahead. Her arm and shoulder throbbed, the separate pains combining into one large pincer clamp of agony. She slowed, her breathing ragged. It was dim and the air heavy with dust. Another intersection ahead. She should be above the cubicles now.
She made a turn that might lead her to a corner office.
A gunshot sounded ahead of her. She froze. Another to her left. It shredded the vent easily and echoed hollowly.
He was shooting into the ceiling. She stayed still, afraid to make any noise, afraid to attract Lee’s attention. The next shot veered off. It didn’t hit a vent. He shot again and it pierced a shaft. He began following it. Tracking it in a straight line.
But tracking it away from her. He’d eventually realize his mistake and backtrack until he got lucky and hit her. She was easy prey here. She wiggled backward to the last intersection and turned away. She needed another chute. The shots continued and she couldn’t tell whether they were getting closer or farther away. Adrenaline left her shaky and nauseous. Or maybe it was the blood loss. Fatigue dragged at her arms. Each pull, she moved less and less.
Light shone ahead.
Another vent opening.
26
Derrick jumped out of the SUV when it pulled up to the office tower. “What floor?”
“Tenth,” Marc said. “You’ll probably need a keycard for the elevators.”
They raced inside. A security guard stood up from behind a large desk. Marc veered toward him.
“Cover this floor and track us,” Derrick told him. “Get the guard to open the elevators.”
“Stay in contact,” Marc yelled back. They’d done a radio check in the car but Derrick touched the earpiece and throat mic out of habit to make sure they were secure.
Derrick didn’t worry about Marc as he and Dante ran to the elevator bank. He punched the first one. The doors opened. He pushed nine and ten. On the ride up, he checked his weapon. A full magazine, plus two spare. Dante did the same.
At nine, Dante stepped off. He’d come up the stairs. Normally Derrick would do the same, but he was too impatient. He had to get to Cassie.
You could be walking into a trap.
But he didn’t care. Every second counted. Derrick took a deep breath and waited to the side of the doors when the elevator reached the tenth floor. The doors dinged and slid open. He waited a beat and then rolled through them and hit the far wall of the elevator bank with his back. A bathroom door hung open off its hinges.
Silence weighed on his shoulders. He moved to the bathroom and glanced inside. A vent screen lay on the floor by drips of dark liquid. Blood.
Cassie.
He kept going toward the brightly lit open cubicles. He keyed his mic once to let Dante know he could open the door to the stairs. The door creaked slightly and a shot grazed past Derrick’s arm. He ducked back into the door of the bathroom and fired his Sig back to the cubicles.
“Contact. Shots fired,” Derrick said into his radio.
“Opening the door,” Dante said. “Three. Two. One.” Dante opened the stairway door and used it as cover.
At the same time, Derrick leaned out, scanned the cubicles, and saw his target. A tall Asian man held a Glock pointed toward the stairway door that Dante hadn’t moved from yet.
Derrick fired just as the man dove behind a desk. Derrick continued to fire to keep him contained even as he used his peripheral gaze to scan the area for Cassie. Where the hell was she? He signaled to Dante to move forward while he covered.
The assassin threw something toward them. A dark object the size of a tennis ball.
“Grenade!” Derrick shouted and ducked into the bathroom. Dante dove back into the stairwell, letting the door slam shut behind him. The concussive thunder of the explosion slammed Derrick into the wall, his head striking hard.
Pain. Pressure. Panic. All fought for dominance inside him. His knees gave and he slid down the wall into a crouch. He pushed the pressure aside, the pain down, and shoved the panic away. Time to evaluate and prioritize.
Fire licked the walls and carpet in front of the elevators. One set of doors had buckled inward. He breathed deep and coughed from the smoke and dust in the air. A tinny ringing filled his ears. One sense down. He looked down at himself. Cuts and bruises. He’d survive.
He used the wall to help himself up. A figure crouched across the way, his weapon pointing toward the cubicle area. Dante. He signaled him. Dante nodded and made a cutting motion at his ears. His hearing was gone as well. They’d worked with less before.
But never with such personal stakes. He couldn’t see shit with all the smoke in the air. But he didn’t hear the bark of a weapon. He and Dante started forward, easily keeping their fields of fire covering the whole room.
Wher
e are you, Cass?
Cassie huddled in her vent near the grilled opening. Lee hadn’t shot his weapon in the last couple of minutes. She had no idea where he was. She studied the grill. It was screwed in from below. She’d have to kick it to get out, so she slowly and silently maneuvered herself over the grill and into an awkward position where she could use her legs to kick. She hesitated, breathing through her open mouth to stay as quiet as possible, and strained to hear any movement below.
Where was Lee?
The elevator dinged in the silence and she heard footsteps walking away from the vent. Her breath seeped out of her. He’d been close and she hadn’t even known it.
Gunfire erupted.
It had to be Derrick’s team. She didn’t hesitate and started kicking the grill to get out. It was on the fourth kick that it popped off and fell to the floor. Her feet went through the opening with her momentum and she almost slid out as well. She gripped the metal sides of the vent to anchor herself.
The gunfire continued. It sounded as though it were close to the elevators. She was nearer to the offices. Should she chance getting out? What if she was hit with a stray bullet?
She almost snorted. The assassin had showed how easily the vent could be pierced. She’d be safer on the ground. She stuck her legs through the hole, intending to lower herself with her arms and drop to the ground. Anyone could shoot her, she couldn’t help but think as she exposed herself to her waist, her legs swinging free.
“Grenade!”
Was that Derrick’s voice? Her thoughts clarified into one panic-stricken word.
Grenade.
The explosion rocked through the building. She lost her grip and fell, narrowly missing a desk with her head. She slammed into the floor; her breath whooshed out of her and her lungs constricted. She gasped in air again and again, trying to fill her lungs. They started working and then she started coughing against the acrid smoke filtering throughout the room.
Fire.
She had to move, to get to the stairs. She began crawling in the general direction of the stairwell. The ceiling sprinklers spit and fizzled before spraying water everywhere. She was drenched in seconds, but it cleared the air of smoke and the pungent scent of burnt plastic, and covered any sound she made. She sped up her crawl until she spotted Lee crouched by a desk ahead of her. She hid behind a desk and peeked out.