by G. K. Parks
As Julian predicted, Aglin dropped his gun, and Lara fired. But she was out of bullets. Kevin ignored his bloody hand, retrieved his gun, and aimed directly at her. Duffy pointed his gun at Julian and pulled back the hammer.
“Want to tell me what that was?” Duffy asked.
“I was aiming for the girl. Thought I’d slow her down a bit, but Kevin stepped in front of my bullet. The bleeding idiot.” Mercer kept his eyes on the alley. Another gunshot sounded, and Lara fell to the ground. Mercer took a step forward, and Duffy blocked his way.
“We’ll let Colin straighten it out, but I think it’s best if you walk away, mate.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Kevin needs help. I just shot him. Look.” Mercer jerked his chin toward the alleyway as Kevin dragged Lara into the street.
Despite the blood dripping from his hand, Aglin maintained a tight grip on Lara’s wrists. She fought back, and he struck her with his gun. She crumpled to the ground and didn’t get back up. Kevin hefted her over his shoulder and carried her the rest of the way. Duffy opened the sliding door, and Kevin tossed her inside.
“Are you all right?” Julian asked, the desire to shoot them both and save the woman nearly overriding every other thought in his head.
“Get on your fucking knees.” Aglin slammed the door closed and marched toward Mercer. He pressed the barrel of his gun against Mercer’s forehead. “On your knees.”
Mercer raised his palms and lowered slowly to the ground, a dozen disarming techniques running through his mind. “You stepped in front of my shot.”
Kevin huffed a few times, cradling his hand against his stomach. He pushed the muzzle harder against Julian’s skull, forcing Mercer’s head back a few centimeters. “Is that what happened?”
“You don’t believe me, pull the bloody trigger, but have fun explaining that to Colin. Duffy saw the whole thing.”
“Did you now?” Kevin asked, turning on his friend.
Duffy stood there, flummoxed. “I don’t know, man.”
The sound of approaching sirens filled the air. “Why don’t you stay here and get this sorted?” Kevin said, keeping his gun trained on Julian as he returned to the van. He slid open the back and climbed in beside Lara.
The van door whooshed closed, and Duffy got behind the wheel. The van barreled down the street, and Mercer climbed to his feet. He ran after them. Screw the mission. He couldn’t leave the woman to die. He’d kill them all before he let Colin Flynn get his hands on her.
Julian was in the middle of the street, gun aimed, when he was blinded by headlights from an oncoming SUV. The vehicle beeped angrily but didn’t slow. Julian jumped backward, but the truck clipped him hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground. He rolled a few times before coming to a standstill. Somehow, he managed to keep a tight grip on his weapon.
Blinking away the darkness, he watched the SUV come to a sudden halt. The driver had stopped to check on him, and Mercer didn’t waste a second. He struggled to regain his footing and sprinted toward the vehicle.
“It’s an emergency.” Mercer shoved the driver out of the way and knocked the truck into reverse. He gunned the engine, holding it steady as he raced backward after the van. He kept one hand on the wheel as he leaned out the window and fired at the van’s tires. He needed to slow them down, but at this distance and angle, it was a nearly impossible shot.
The van suddenly lurched to the right, but it didn’t slow. Duffy jumped the curb, probably in his haste to get away from the gunfire, and popped the back tire. But he kept accelerating, even as the rim scraped against the asphalt and spit sparks into the air.
At the intersection, Mercer whipped the truck around. He needed to catch them before they got back to Flynn’s compound. Julian had to save her. It was the singular thought in his head. He fired a few more times out the window, but the vehicle didn’t slow.
Mercer ejected the empty clip from his gun and reached into his pocket for a spare. Using the steering wheel, he slammed a new magazine into place and aimed out the window, firing again at the vehicle. He was closer this time, and he took out the other rear tire. The van swerved. Duffy turned the wheel sharply in an attempt to compensate and rolled the van. After several revolutions, it came to a dead stop on its side.
After what just happened, there was no mistaking whose side Julian was on. If Duffy or Kevin called Flynn, Mercer’s cover was blown. He’d have to deal with the situation accordingly. Lives depended on it.
Knocking the SUV into park, Mercer threw open the door and crept toward the disabled vehicle. Duffy hoisted himself out the window and aimed at Julian. This time, the terrorist didn’t hesitate to fire, but Mercer dove out of the way. The faint sound of Lara’s screams penetrated the sealed interior of the van, igniting the barely contained rage that lived inside Mercer. The flying bullets and the sound of a woman screaming were more than he could take. His vision clouded. He saw red.
Without a thought, Mercer put one in Duffy’s heart and a second in his head, never breaking stride as he moved to the back of the van. The van was on its side, preventing the sliding door from being used. That left only the back doors. Mercer opened the door, lifting one side up.
Immediately, Kevin fired, launching a barrage of bullets at Julian. Mercer barely registered the searing sting as the lead grazed his ribcage. Kevin would pay for that.
Kevin held Lara in front of him like a shield. “I knew you were lying.”
“Brilliant.” Mercer ducked against the wheel well as more bullets flew in his direction. He couldn’t risk firing back for fear of hitting Lara. “At least you’ll die knowing you were right.”
“You’re the one dying tonight, Julian.”
Mercer watched the slight reflection in the door’s rear window. Lara struggled against her captor, and Kevin turned the gun on her. The moment he did, Mercer stepped out of cover and fired. His bullet impacted between Aglin’s eyes. It took the terrorist a moment to drop, as if his body didn’t understand his brain relocated to outside of his skull. Mercer shoved his way into the vehicle, firing a second shot into the dead man’s chest.
“Are you okay?” Mercer extended a hand to help Lara out of the sideways vehicle.
She jerked away, kicking into Julian’s knee. With the K&R specialist down, she grabbed Kevin’s gun and aimed at Mercer. “Who are you?” she asked again. “And this time, you’re going to give me a bloody answer.”
“Julian Mercer.” He swallowed, watching her scramble away from Aglin’s body. “I’m a kidnapping and ransom specialist. Former Special Air Service. MI5 hired my team to locate and extract Owen.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I just killed two men on your behalf.”
“Lives don’t mean much to Colin Flynn, and if you’re one of his men, I’m sure they mean nothing to you either.” Her gaze drifted to Kevin Aglin, and she cursed and spit on his body. She was angry. Clearly, she was a fighter with a temper.
“Take his phone,” Mercer instructed. “Has he made any recent calls?”
She did as Julian instructed. “No.”
Mercer nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. He’d have to check Duffy’s phone, but he needed Lara not to shoot him first. “Then verify my story. Call MI5. The main line. Ask to speak to Bastian Clarke. They’ll patch you through. It’s the fastest way to prove my identity. We don’t have time to waste.” He clapped his hands together twice in rapid succession. “Now, darling. The police are on the way.”
She narrowed her eyes, pondering this new tidbit of information.
“Do you know the number?” Mercer eyed the gash at her temple.
Her eyes fluttered, and she blinked hard. “Yes,” she dialed, “don’t be cheeky.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Mercer counted the seconds during their exchange. The police would find them soon. They couldn’t stay here. They had to move. He didn’t have time to wait. Since she was distracted, he edged out of the sideways van on
his hands and knees. Once outside, he walked to the front and searched Duffy’s pockets. The screen was shattered, but Duffy hadn’t placed any calls or sent any messages. For the moment, Julian was in the clear, but that would change the second the police arrived.
Something off to the side caught his attention, and he turned to see headlights approaching. He aimed at the vehicle but resisted the urge to fire. Civilian casualties were never acceptable, albeit inherently inevitable. As the car swerved around the accident, Mercer caught the briefest glimpse of the two occupants. The sight of his gun kept them from stopping, but it didn’t matter. The sirens were growing louder.
Mercer moved back to the rear of the van, coming face-to-face with Lara. She held the gun, her hand shaking slightly. He didn’t make a move toward her. Frankly, he wasn’t positive she wouldn’t shoot him just for affiliating with Colin Flynn’s crew. She appeared unsteady, her movements jerky.
She held the phone out. “He wants to speak to you.”
Mercer took half a step forward and reached for the offered phone. “Bas?”
“Jules,” the analyst blew out an exhale, “what’s going on?”
“I need full containment to this location. Monitor the police frequencies and calls. I need you on top of this. I’m heading to the safe house. I’ll make contact again soon.” He disconnected. “Lara, we have to go now. Either shoot me or put the gun down.”
She teetered again, her eyes practically vibrating back and forth. She put a hand out to steady herself, and Mercer feared she might black out. From the looks of things, she probably had a serious concussion. Her strong will was the only thing keeping her off the ground, that and adrenaline.
Several people watched from their windows, so Mercer holstered his weapon. The last thing he wanted was some nearsighted tosser telling the police he was responsible. It was time to go. He’d just have to make sure he made everything appear convincing.
He crawled back inside the rear of the van and grabbed the duffel bags. He opened one and yanked out some cash, leaving it around the body. Then he crisscrossed the bags over his chest, wiped the prints off the phone, pressed it into Kevin’s hand, retrieved Lara’s firearm from Kevin’s waistband, and exited the van.
Mercer reached out to help Lara, and she jerked away. He could see lights flashing in the distance. The police would be here in fifteen seconds.
“I mean you no harm,” Mercer said, grabbing Aglin’s gun from her hand in one quick move. “But I don’t have time for niceties.” He reloaded the weapon, wiped it, and tossed it in beside Aglin. Then he dragged her by the elbow across the street to the sidewalk, where they ducked down an alley.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Her speech was slow and slurred. Mercer feared how serious her injury might be. Maybe it’d be best to leave her for the police to find. But he didn’t know if he could trust them with her safety. Flynn controlled the police force or at least some officers. Leaving her behind might save her life or be her death sentence. It was a gamble he wasn’t willing to take.
He tugged on a side door into what appeared to be a restaurant, but it didn’t budge. Aiming, he turned his head and shielded his face before firing at the lock. He tugged again, opening the door and leading her inside. He kept a hand on her elbow as they went down the corridor, past a kitchen, and into the ladies’ room.
“What is it with you and the loo?” she asked.
“We have to get out of here.” Thankfully, the restroom was empty. He locked the door and propped her up against the sink. He removed the torch from his pocket and shone it in her eyes. He held up his hand. “How many fingers?”
“Fuck off.”
“Answer me.”
“Three.”
It was two, but he didn’t correct her. The adrenaline would keep her moving, at least for the next few minutes.
“Are you good to walk out the front door?”
“Better than you.” She pointed at the growing bloodstain at his side.
He went to the dispenser on the wall and broke the lock off with the butt of his gun. Reaching inside, he removed a sanitary pad, unwrapped it, and pressed it against the length of the wound. He didn’t have time to deal with that now. “Happy?”
She glared. “Do you expect me to believe you’re just a helpful bloke with a gun?”
“I’m a security specialist.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a mercenary. Are you with them?”
“No. We’ve already been over this.”
“Did my brother send for you?”
He didn’t answer. Nothing he said would satisfy her, and he didn’t have time for this. The police were already outside. The nearest safe house was half a klick away. If they could find an alternative route that didn’t lead directly to the waiting bobbies, Mercer could get them to safety.
“Wait here.” He left the bags of cash with Lara and stepped into the hallway. He kept his head down, grabbing a dark jacket off a hook as he entered the kitchen. As predicted, kitchens in popular restaurants were always busy. No one noticed him walk through the area and duck into the supply room. He grabbed a roll of plastic wrap and secured the makeshift bandage in place. After a quick search, he found a rear exit near the freezer and a few spare chef jackets.
He returned to the bathroom, once again finding the business end of her gun in his face. “This is getting old,” he mumbled, regretting having returned it to her when he exited the bathroom.
Her grip faltered, and Mercer watched as the shock started to take hold. Carefully, he placed his palm over the barrel of the gun and pressed down until it was no longer aimed at his chest. She let go, and he caught it before it dropped to the ground.
“Lara, we have to move. Put this on.” He could see she was having problems concentrating. He helped her into the jacket and buttoned it. He put on the other white jacket and grabbed the bags. “Stay close. Don’t speak to anyone.”
They slipped into the kitchen, and Mercer led the way to the rear exit. When he opened it, one of the sous chefs turned around. “What are you doing?”
“Late delivery,” he mumbled, attempting an Irish accent. “Be right back.”
Lara followed behind, and they stepped into the cool night air at the rear of the building. A chain-link fence separated the delivery area and extra parking spaces from a parallel street, and Mercer shed the jacket and helped Lara out of hers. Bright white camouflaged them inside the kitchen, but it would draw attention at this time of night. Mercer opened a dumpster and tossed the jackets inside.
He cautioned a glance back the way they came and spotted two more police cars barreling toward the scene of the accident. Mercer pulled his shirt over his holster at the small of his back and tucked Lara’s gun in the waistband at his hip. He checked to make sure they were both concealed.
“Up and over, darling,” Mercer said, kneeling down and folding his hands over his knee.
Lara gave him an uncertain look. “We need to talk.”
“We will, but in order to do that, we have to get out of this mess alive.”
Twenty
“You live here?” she asked in a semi-coherent daze.
“No.” Mercer locked the door behind them and physically checked the flat for signs of intruders. Even though he’d only given Bastian instructions to stock the safe houses earlier this afternoon, the analyst had done his job.
The first thing Julian did was open the linen closet, remove the middle shelf holding stacks of towels, and slide the false back out of the way. He grabbed the frequency scanner and turned it on. He did a quick sweep of his body and belongings before checking Lara Shepherd. She was clean and hadn’t lied about not having a phone.
He moved on to the bags, checking the duffels and the contents. She dropped onto the couch, holding her head in her hands as she watched him. “Bloody hell. Is that real?”
Mercer used his gloved hands to flip through one of the stacks of cash. “Appears to be.”
“What are you going to do with
it?”
Julian put the money back into the bag and zipped it. “I haven’t decided.” He watched her. She needed actual medical attention. “How do you feel?”
“Like I should have shot you when I had the chance. You still haven’t told me much.”
“Neither have you.” He blew out a breath. His mind was in overdrive. Like the negotiations he worked, he was coming up on a deadline. Colin would realize something had gone wrong when no one returned to his compound. Mercer had to get back there, but he couldn’t leave Lara. And he wasn’t sure Flynn would believe the lies.
“What do you want to know?” She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment in an attempt to focus.
“I went to your apartment. Two men were waiting outside. They tried to kill me. Do you know who they are or what they want?”
Her shoulders moved skyward.
Mercer couldn’t determine if her lack of cooperation was intentional or a result of what occurred over the last hour. “You have a loose floorboard in your bedroom.”
Her eyes darted from the floor to Julian’s face. The sudden shift made the room spin, and she fell back against the couch cushion. “What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
She nodded, as if remembering something. “Where is Owen? Do you even know?”
“I’m working on it.”
“So am I.”
“Your brother disappeared. You decided to do the same. Care to explain?”
“Owen sent me a message. He told me to leave everything and just go. We were supposed to meet at the train station in North London, but he never showed. I knew something was wrong.”
“So you decided to come to Ireland and wage war against a terrorist cell?”
“I came looking for my brother. The last I heard, Owen had infiltrated Flynn’s faction. I’ve been keeping tabs on them, monitoring their movements, but I haven’t seen Owen.” She jerked upright, pressing her fingertips against the bridge of her nose. “I just want some bloody answers.” She blinked several times, but she couldn’t force her eyes to focus. “Bollocks.”
Mercer went into the bathroom and returned with a medical kit. He knelt in front of her, checking to make sure neither of her pupils was blown. “You have a wicked bump.”