Crossing Lines by Adrienne Giordano

17

Screw the security cameras.Faith ripped her sidearm from the holster and pointed it at his head, catching him off guard and sending him retreating into the room. She stepped in, stalking him as walked backward, hands raised in surrender.

Oh, she wouldn’t be falling for that. The man was a highly experienced assassin. The bonus here was that she’d surprised him and he more than likely didn’t have a weapon on him. He’d have one close though and the farther he got into the room, the more vulnerable she’d be.

“Hold it.” She slid her finger over the trigger and aimed between his eyes.

He halted again and another smile revealed straight white teeth he’d probably spent a small fortune on. “I knew you'd be a challenge.” The words came in a soft lilt that screamed of amusement. “Thank you. But you won't leave this room alive.”

They'd see about that. She returned the smile, reminded herself that she’d survived men like him before. Had, in fact, gutted them with her bare hands.

The plan.Dammit. The plan was to keep him alive and question him. Where the hell was Shane?

That one moment of hesitation cost her because Brutus moved. Three quick steps toward her. Shit.

“Stop!”

Too late. In another step, he’d be on her. Forget the plan. She needed to survive.

Now.

In one smooth motion, she pulled back the trigger.

Click.

Nothing. No shot.

What the . . .

A skull-splitting roar erupted in her ears and she sucked a breathe, fought for concentration. The new mag. She’d forgotten to jack the first round into the chamber. Rookie mistake.

Shit, shit, shit.

Upper body hunched like a linebacker, he closed in for that last step, ready to tackle her.

Move.

But the hallway . . . Too tight. Nowhere to go. Trapped. And that was one thing she never tolerated.

Her senses fired, flooding her with the scent of Brutus’s cologne.

Brutus. Right there. Do something.

She hurled the gun. Just slammed it right in his face. It hit him square on the nose and bounced off. He reached up, covering his face while half doubling over. Excellent. Just enough room for her to do some damage.

Go.

She stepped in, ramming her forearms into the back of his shoulder and neck.

“Ooff,”

She pushed on his back and drove her knee up — boom, boom, boom — three quick thrusts that hit him on his already battered face. Not enough to disable him, but more than enough to shove him sideways into the wall.

More room. If she was to have any chance of surviving without a weapon, she needed space. She bolted by him, into the living room where a loveseat and two chairs filled the open area in front of a glass door. Balcony.

Two floors up. If necessary, she’d jump over the rail. Even Brutus wasn’t crazy enough to fire a gun onto a busy street with a load of witnesses.

She hoped.

She spun back. Brutus shoved away from the wall, the amused smile now gone.

“You bitch.”

Her mind snapped to a nasty, dank basement and the stench of urine.

Someone knocked on the door. “Room service,” came a familiar voice from the other side.

Shane. Finally.

A spurt of relief refocused her.

In that half-second, Brutus was on her again. Charging. She sidestepped but . . . dammit. He looped an arm around her waist, hauled her into the air and tossed her to the floor.

The ride sent her hat flying. She hit the floor hard, her backpack and the rug helping to absorb the blow, but her head bounced like a coconut and an explosion of white blocked her vision.

A loud, crash sounded. Please let that be Shane kicking in the door. Otherwise, she was toast. Brutus was too big and too strong and he now had her on the ground.

“Hold it,” Shane said from somewhere above her.

Pain ripped through her scalp. She reached up and hit skin. Fingers. Brutus. Dragging her to her feet by her hair. Before she could muster any defense, he slipped his forearm around her neck and locked his hands together. The bulk of her backpack left her at an odd angle and pain shot through her lower spine.

Son of a bitch.

He pulled her close to his body, his hot, nasty breath spraying her cheek. Six feet away, Shane stood in the entry, gun raised.

Brutus tightened his hold, keeping her between him and Shane. Human shield. Of course. And by now, with all the commotion, security would be on the way.

She couldn’t think about that. Right now? She needed a weapon. She looked left — nothing within reach — then right. A desk with a folded laptop on it sat just out of arm’s reach.

Laptop.If they got out of this and managed to kill Brutus, they’d take the laptop. No matter what, she’d grab it.

She went back to Shane, meeting his eye, making sure he understood what he had to do. “Shoot him,” she said. “Don't worry about me. Do it.”

More than likely, she'd die in this room anyway. If Brutus went down with her, it would be worth it. No question.

He tugged her closer, the pressure against her throat stealing her oxygen and making her eyes spurt tears. He took a step backward, pulling her with him. “Follow me,” he told Shane, “And I'll throw her over headfirst.”

Oh, hell no. If she had to die, she preferred the bullet to a broken neck that might not even kill her.

“Shoot. Him,” she said, her voice strangled.

Holding her close, he opened the balcony door.

“Shane! Please! Shoot him.”

But wait. She was on her feet and . . . bam. She kicked him. A backward blast with her heel right to the shin. He made a noise. A low grunt that indicated she’d inflicted at least a little pain. He tightened his hold, cutting off her air again.

“I will enjoy killing you,” he whispered.

Not.

Today.

She thought back to that basement. The stench. The blood. The anger. All of it seeming to rush down her legs, every ounce of power rocketing to her feet. She lifted her foot and delivered another, kick. Same spot. Kick, kick, kick. He let out another grunt, but this time, he tipped forward, loosening his hold enough that she tipped her chin down, slipping it partway under his arm. Room. She had a little room. She stepped right, made a fist and whipped her left hand back.

Whether she hit him in the groin — her intended target — she wasn’t sure, but it was close enough because instinct tipped him forward and she drove her elbow up and into his chin. She broke free, tripping on her own feet and landing hard on her ass in the balcony doorway.

A shot rang out and she huddled into a ball, covering her head for a second until . . . silence.

“Faith!”

Shane sprinted to the balcony door where Faith scrambled to her feet. “I'm okay.” Her head whipped side to side. “Where is he?”

The son of a bitch was on the move before Faith had even hit the floor. “Over the balcony.”

“Dammit!”

They rushed to the rail and peered over. Below, a small crowd on the sidewalk stared up at them. What was wrong with people? They hear gunfire and stand around?

He scanned the sidewalk. No Brutus. At the corner, a man darted through the intersection. The guy had a set of wheels on him. In the time it had taken Shane to check on Faith, Brutus had hauled ass the half-block to the corner. Even if they got to the ground, they'd never catch him.

A siren blared. Not necessarily a response to shots fired at Le Meilleur. In Chicago, it could be anything. But they wouldn't wait to find out.

“Security!” Someone yelled from the hallway, behind the door that had closed after he’d kicked it in.

At any time, they’d realize the lock was busted and walk right in.

Fucking fubar mission might get them both locked up.

What the hell had she been thinking, coming in here alone? He faced her, ready to give her a healthy preview of his lecture.

Sirens.

He latched on to her elbow. “We've gotta get out of here. Can you run?”

“I want the laptop.”

She whipped her arm free and ducked back into the suite, grabbing the laptop and a cord plugged into the desk outlet. She stuffed both items into her backpack as she headed back to Shane.

“Good eye. I didn’t even see that.”

“You were distracted.” She pointed at the balcony rail. “I guess we’re going over.”

“Are you hurt? Can you do it?”

Already, she swung her leg over the rail. “I’m good. Let’s roll.”

As pissed as he was at her for not waiting, this woman was a warrior. Laser focus. No wonder she’d survived in Venezuela.

He followed her over the railing, glancing down to where the crowd below gave them a wide berth. They’d make this quick. He gripped the iron spindles, crouched low, hung his feet over and let go. His body plummeted the few remaining feet to the ground. Anticipating the impact, he kept his body loose to hopefully avoid blowing out a knee and hit the ground, sticking the landing.

Before he could even move, Faith dropped beside him. She landed hard, rocking back and he grabbed hold before she went over.

The onlookers continued to disperse. Probably their good sense returning, given the fact that two people who might be carrying guns had thrown themselves over a balcony.

The sirens grew louder. Way too close. “Gotta go.”

They hustled to the corner where the bright orange Walk sign flashed. Possibly their only break in this clusterfuck.

Shane pointed left. “Let’s get to Michigan Avenue. We’ll get lost in the crowd.”