The blond man she’d hugged stared at Gabriel, gaze narrowed.
The jig was up. Sometimes Gabriel could play a situation off, figure out how to spin an angle, but from the looks of things, he didn’t think there was a way to come back from this. The question was, did he bolt now or later? How could he find out the most useful information?
Hillary threw her arms around his shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek. Her breath, or maybe it was her body odor, wafted under his nose. He was going to scrub off a layer of skin later.
“Perimeter,” someone yelled.
An almost electric charge rushed through those present in the yard. All heads swung toward the guard at the fence, pointing in the direction where he’d left Nikki.
Fuck.
Was she okay? Could she fend for herself until he got there?
The blond man didn’t glance away from him despite the surge in sudden, unorganized activity. People ran in all directions, yelling and giving orders that made no sense. For a military-style operation, there was no obvious chain of command.
He had to get out of there right now. There was no later. Nikki’s life might depend on it. When it came down to it, she was all that mattered.
“I need a ride,” he said to Hillary.
“What?” She frowned at him. Judging by the stench coming off her breath, she was high on meth right now. Which was about what he expected from her.
Gabriel grabbed her elbow with his left hand, pulling her partially in front of him. He was banking on the blond guy not wanting to hurt Hillary. The Big Man had abandoned his dolly to rush to something else. Possibly hunting Nikki down right now.
Gabriel bent his neck and spoke into Hillary’s ear. The blond man never once looked away, but he did gesture for someone with a clipboard to come near. Was this Wilson? It had to be. And Hillary was his plaything. Great.
“I’ve got a gun,” he said. “I will shoot you if you don’t get in your car right now and drive me out of here.”
Hillary made some sort of strangled sound in the back of her throat. She arched her back, as if he were jabbing her with the gun right now. Meth paranoia could be useful, but it also made people like Hillary unpredictable. He propelled her forward, toward the car.
“Hillary, where are you going?” the blond man asked.
“Out,” she yelled back, but her voice quivered. She’d always been a bit extreme in her moods, but hyped up on meth, who knew what he was dealing with? When Gabriel still knew her, she was mostly smoking pot and doing a few feel-good drugs. Nothing as hard as meth.
Gabriel stared at the man staring at him. They both knew Gabriel wasn’t supposed to be there. This man was a shark. The rest of the people on the makeshift base weren’t the threat. This man was, and Gabriel was staring him down with nothing more than two Desert Eagles and a prayer.
Dios mio, espero que Nikki esté bien.
“Keys?” he asked Hillary.
“I-in the car,” she stammered. Her eyes were glassy, and this close, he could see the wear and tear drugs had taken on her formerly beautiful features. If it weren’t for the drug use, she might have tempted him once. She’d aged prematurely, and while makeup and cleavage could distract from what she’d lost, there was no going back.
“Who are you?” The blond man pitched his voice over the noise, speaking directly to Gabriel.
Ten feet from the car.
“Just a friend, popping in to say hola.”
Seven feet.
“Bradley . . .” Hillary’s voice hitched at the end.
Gabriel’s suspicions were right. This was Bradley Wilson, their narcissistic mastermind. He wasn’t a lot to look at. Five eleven, maybe, without the combat boots. The military-style gear he wore was all store bought, probably never once dirtied. Wilson didn’t have an imposing physique. His eyes were small and close set, his lips generous, yet pinched. Whatever hold he had on these people, Gabriel didn’t get it. Not at all.
A gun went off in the distance.
For the span of a second, Gabriel’s world stopped.
Nikki.
What if that was her? What if she’d been shot? Or what if she was backed into a corner? He wasn’t there for her. He’d left her unprotected out in the open.
Gabriel shoved Hillary away from him and dove for the car. She cried out, and he saw her stumble in his peripheral vision. He jerked the driver’s side door open, groped for the keys, and turned the ignition. Someone reached for him through the open window. He stomped on the accelerator and let the engine do the rest. His shirt partially ripped, but it was just clothing. Nikki was out there and she needed him. The car fishtailed in the gravel before gaining traction and shooting forward. He turned the wheel hard, barely avoiding another vehicle parked askew before straightening it out, and aimed for the fence.
Men scattered from his path. A few drew weapons. He hit the locked gate, and the car lurched. He cringed, waiting for the air bags to deploy, but the gates gave way first. He cranked the wheel, sending the drift racing car off the road and into the brush. It bounced over the uneven ground, sliding sideways until he clipped a tree with the front fender.
Gabriel threw himself out of the driver’s door, which hadn’t completely shut yet. He drew his two Desert Eagles and took stock of where everyone was. A handful of the militia seemed to have organized themselves and advanced out of the now-broken gate behind him in something resembling ranks.
It was past time to leave.
Nikki.
Had she shot the gun? Or was she the one getting shot?
He had to get to her. Now.
Gabriel turned, sprinting in the direction of the gunfire. He zigzagged as he ran. The blood pounded past his ears so hard it drowned out the sound of gunfire. The skin between his shoulder blades itched. The blast of a gun report broke through his single-minded determination far closer than he’d have liked it to. Shards of wood pelted him from the stray bullet, several splinters sticking into his skin.
A figure lay on the ground, the sand stained black.
Gabriel skidded to a stop, staring.
It was a man.
It wasn’t Nikki who’d been shot.
“Get down,” Nikki yelled.
He ducked. The flash of muzzle fire caught his eye, giving Nikki’s position away. She lay low in the brush, perfectly hidden—and not at all where he’d left her.
Gabriel glanced behind him. There were easily a dozen men on his six. If he had a moment to spare, he might have paused to take in the oddity they presented. This just couldn’t be right. There was no uniformity. Most militias might be patched together, but they eventually had a cohesive appearance—these were a dozen different men with varying levels of gear, munitions, everything. They didn’t belong together. It was completely wrong.
One paused, gun up to shoot.
“Vamos, vamos, vamos.” He scrambled toward her.
Nikki got to her feet. The camera banged against her side. Blood covered her right shoulder and was smeared on her face.
An invisible knife twisted deep in his chest.
She was hurt. He hadn’t protected her.
His knee-jerk reaction was to stop everything. To tend to her wounds. But more importantly, they had to get out of there so they could keep breathing; then he could take care of her. If she lasted that long. It was a good thing she’d already killed the bastard. Gabriel wouldn’t trust himself around someone like that.
He twisted and fired off three warning shots without aiming. Nikki sprinted ahead of him and disappeared past a line of dense brush. He charged after her, following the trail of quivering branches and beaten-down grass. Shots fired behind him and to his left, but didn’t come anywhere near them.
Was that blood he spotted on a bush? Was she still bleeding?
The next time he saw a damp spot on a leaf he swiped his hand over it, and it came back red.
Nikki was hurt.
These goddamn sons of bitches were dead. All of them.
; He turned and went to a knee, sweeping his gaze under the short trees and bush. A voice called out to his left. He fired. He kept firing, sweeping to his left as he went. There were a few raised commands, maybe a muted yell, but he couldn’t be certain he’d hit anyone, just beat them back a little. With his anger dulled he sprinted to the north, then cut back west toward the car. The purple hood glinted between the trees.
Nikki stood in front of the car, her phone mashed to her face, blood streaked over her cheeks. The sight of her fueled his rage into overdrive. Wilson and all his gun-toting idiots were dead.
“In!” he shouted.
Something crashed through the brush behind him. He could hear voices now, distinct tones. He cursed himself. Taking those shots was the wrong call. He hadn’t delayed their pursuers, just pushed them west a little.
She dove into the car and leaned across to push the driver’s side door open.
He threw himself into the seat and thrust his weapons into her lap.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, digging for his keys.
“Drive!” she snapped.
He got the key in the ignition and threw it into reverse as two men carrying assault rifles breached the tree line. One went to his knee.
Nikki leaned out of the open window with his Desert Eagle in hand and pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, clipping the branch over the man poised to take a shot. He flinched and dove for the ground.
Gabriel grinned. Dust plumed up around them. His tires contacted the pavement and he whipped the car around. A distinctive pink and purple Mustang swerved into his rearview mirror.
“Fuck!” He stomped on the accelerator. If Hillary was behind the wheel, they were in trouble. Even strung out on meth, she was a first-rate drift driver and would know these roads better than him.
Street racing cobbled together a lot of different forms. It was the MMA of the car world. Drifting was all about handling a car. It was a precise, judged sport, and Hillary—God damn her—was great at it. If he were in his Skyline, all he’d need was a bit of open road and he’d outdistance her in moments. But back here, on twisting, winding roads in a heavy muscle car, it was going to take more than fancy driving and a killer engine to save their asses.
“Shoot anything that follows us.” He had to push his concern to the backseat. When they were out of here, still alive, he could take care of Nikki’s wounds. Until then, he had to focus on hightailing it.
Nikki twisted in the passenger seat until she was on a knee, one leg braced against the floorboard.
“Hold on,” he yelled as they entered a turn.
The tires skidded and squealed as he took it too fast. He could feel it in the vibrations coming up from the floorboard and the jerk of the wheel. Nikki slammed against the door, grunted, and held on as he evened out.
Pop. Pop.
A metallic ping echoed through the car.
The bitch shot his car.
“Shoot! Shoot back!”
“I’m trying,” she snapped.
Nikki fired twice with his Desert Eagle before thrusting it back at him and drawing her own SIG Sauer. She squeezed off several more shots. It was hard to track the nearing vehicle, and keep his eyes on the road, and watch Nikki.
He wanted to protect her. To be the one fending off Hillary and these assholes.
He hated the blood all over her, but she wasn’t complaining, so he couldn’t pause.
A loud boom nearly made Gabriel jerk the GTO off the road.
“Got them,” Nikki shouted. “Oh shit.”
“What?”
“There’s a green and black car. Drive faster!”
He glanced in his mirrors in time to see Hillary’s car bounce off the road, limping along with a flat tire. A bright green car with black racing stripes swerved around it, hot on his tail.
“Damn it.”
“Who is it?”
“Hillary’s brother. Shoot.”
The road evened out into a long, flat stretch. Nikki leaned farther out of the car and fired repeatedly. He saw the following vehicle’s windshield spiderweb and shatter inward. It swerved right and left, fishtailing before going into the ditch. Gabriel took the next turn in the road and they lost the visual on the second car.
“Was anyone else behind them?” he asked.
“No, not that I saw.” Nikki sat back down in the passenger seat and strapped the seat belt on.
“Are you sure?” If they had Hillary and Andrew, what about their other brother Jesse? He worried Gabriel. The other two were just punks who could drive. Jesse was in a whole other league.
“Yes.”
Nikki grabbed her cell phone again and immediately started chattering to someone on the other end of the line, never once addressing the blood staining her clothing. He gripped the wheel tighter as the landscape passed in a blur. She asked him a few questions about the layout of the property, and he answered on autopilot. He couldn’t manage anything more than that. The one thought on repeat in his mind was: She’s hurt.
He could have lost her today because he’d chosen to take a risk.
It was every reason he’d never allowed her this close to his work before.
She could have died.
At the edges of the Homestead city limits, he pulled the GTO into a gas station and parked in the relative shelter behind the car wash. Yeah, they were on the run, but they’d taken out the two fastest pursuing cars. They hadn’t seen anyone on their tail in miles.
“What are you doing?” Nikki turned toward him, eyes wide, lips parted.
He cupped her face, brushing his fingers over the drying blood, turning her face this way and that. There were no gashes, no wounds. It wasn’t hers. The blood was not hers. As best he could tell, all she had was a busted lip and some bruising.
“Oh, thank God.” His hands nearly shook with relief.
“Gabriel—”
“Shh.”
There was still blood spray and chunks of something sticking to her.
He grasped her arm and peeled the strap of her tank top and bra back, holding his breath as more skin was revealed. Dirt and more blood clung to her, but there was no injury. No bullet wound. Nothing. She turned her upper body to face him and didn’t pull out of his grasp.
“Gabe. I’m fine. It’s not mine.” Her voice was steady. The calm to his storm. He’d needed that so many times. She’d been his anchor. The one point in his life he could count on.
He placed both hands on her shoulders, taking her in. Whoever that guy on the ground was, he must have been on top of her when she shot. It was the only explanation for the amount of blood on her. She’d have had to push the body off, roll in the dirt. Messy, but she was alive.
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
He sucked in a breath, letting go of the fear that had gnawed on him since hearing that first gunshot.
She placed her hands on his biceps. Her gray eyes pulled him in. She was his focal point. She’d been his everything. And she was okay.
Nikki was mi cielo. She’d never stopped, though she’d also never known what she meant to him.
He slid his hands up to cup her face. So many mistakes. So much missed time.
She held perfectly still. Maybe she was still stunned from the attack, or maybe she felt it, too.
Gabriel placed his mouth on hers, mindful of her split lip. An electric-like current shot through him, reviving those deep recesses of himself only she’d touched. Her body jolted against his hands, but only for a second. She remained completely still. He didn’t care. What mattered was that she was alive and unhurt.
Her lips parted, maybe to tell him off, but he didn’t give her the chance. He suckled the sweet morsel of flesh between his lips and she groaned.
Better than I remembered.
Chapter Nine
Nikki ran her fingers through her damp hair in an effort to hide her shaking hands.
She’d only killed a man once before. Then, it had also been in self-defense. The popular theory was th
at it got easier, that the shock of it dulled after a time. Maybe for others, but not her. Nikki felt the loss of life more acutely than before. Whoever he was, he’d died on her watch. She’d joined the FBI to help people. To stop the threats. Of course she understood that sometimes that meant occasionally the bad guys had to die, but she didn’t have to like it. Maybe that guy wasn’t all bad, just brainwashed, doing his job.
“You look like shit.” Roni closed the door to the garage bunk room. Nikki had retreated here after her shower in the utility room. She couldn’t be around the others.
“Gee, thanks.” And yet, Nikki relaxed a little with the other woman around.
“Here. Have a drink.” Roni tossed a flask at Nikki.
She caught it inches from her face. The silver surface was battered and worn. Not at all the kind of flashy accessory she expected of Roni.
“What is it?” Nikki asked.
“Whiskey, I’m guessing. John said you might need it.” Roni sank onto the bottom bunk and propped her elbows on her knees. The sleeves of her coveralls were belted around her waist, holding everything up.
Nikki unscrewed the cap and tossed back a gulp. The liquid burned all the way down her throat, settling in her belly with a thud. She didn’t particularly enjoy alcohol, but a single shot wasn’t going to hamper her ability to function. If anything, it might blunt the edge of her guilt a bit.
Whoever he was, he was someone’s son. Maybe a father. Yes, what Bradley Wilson’s people were doing was wrong, but death wasn’t hers to hand out. That was what justice was about.
Roni stared at her, that same laser focus she’d shown last night now aimed at Nikki. “Emery sent over an analysis of the pictures. I think Aiden is waiting on you. Gabriel is stomping around, looking for a fight. Something happen?”
Nikki glanced away.
The kiss.
She’d been trying to not think about it, but it was incredibly easy to lose herself in the memory of it. And that wasn’t right. Not after what she’d done. She should feel guilt, not lust for her ex.
Chase Page 9