A flashlight beam skidded over the wall, revealing an alcove. Flynn dived. Bullets ripped up the room; warm liquid sprayed his face. Putain.
Suddenly, the gunman flailed, reared up and smacked into the floor at Flynn’s feet, his rifle flying up. What the—?
No fucking way—the guy had tripped on the looped cords sticking up through the floorboards. The first soldier lay still on the floor, his skull flipped open like a lid. More shouts outside. Five or six men, a couple of women. Some closing in, some farther away.
Flynn dropped on the gunman, smashing an elbow into the back of his neck. “Look out below,” he called, lifting the guy in a spear tackle and launching him headfirst into the hole. He landed with an unhealthy crack. Hell, Flynn should have taken his rifle. Not thinking quickly enough.
He pressed into the alcove, reining in his heaving breath, as another guy approached the door. A splintering crack ricocheted from the other side of the room. Shit. A second external door had been forced open. Two goons spilled in, silhouetted in a floodlight, rifles glinting dully. Enemy left and right. Nowhere to retreat. He needed a plan B.
“Flynn!”
Something skidded across the floor and smacked into Flynn’s boot. He crouched, felt for it, flinched. Hot metal—the M16 barrel. Tess had chucked it out of the hole. Legend.
Gunfire tore into concrete an inch above his head. He slotted the rifle into his arms and let loose a burst. One enemy went down. Two. Three. As the echoes faded, stillness settled. Someone gurgled. Shooting unidentified targets wasn’t Flynn’s style, but neither was dying for a principle. Dusty beams from two fallen flashlights crisscrossed the floor. Voices pinged around outside, closing fast. They had thirty seconds, tops.
In the light spilling in from outside, he made out the ladder, attached to bolts in the wall. He flung it into the hole, his gaze—and rifle barrel—flicking between the doorways.
“Tess,” he hissed. “Climb, quick.”
The rope jerked and swung. She yelped. “He’s got me. My ankle.”
Flynn peered down, barrel first. “Let her go,” he warned. He released a volley over the guy’s head. Tess sprang up a little as he wisely took the chance Flynn had offered. Flynn grabbed her forearm and hauled her out. “Stay behind me.”
He unhooked the rope ladder and tossed it into the hole, then leaned against the concrete beside the gaping second doorway and scoped out the exterior. No movement, no sound. He felt behind him for Tess but his hand hit air. She was leaning over a dead enemy.
“Tess!”
She tugged at something, then ran to him in a loping stride, shouldering an M16 like she knew how.
“What now?” she said breathlessly.
“First, we get out of the light.” Adrenaline surged through his veins and lit up his nerves. This was more like it. “And then I’m going to fucking kiss you.”
* * *
Tess stuck behind Flynn as they sprinted to a patch of darkness, ignoring the bolts of fire in her toes. Pain was just her nerves yelling to her brain that there was a problem. She knew there was a problem—her nail beds were pulpy masses of blood and goo—so her nerves could shut the hell up.
Her brain threw together a jumpy picture of her surroundings. It wasn’t the concrete-walled compound she’d imagined, more a sprawl of huts ringed by a ten-foot chain-link fence. Ahead, beyond an open gate, was a dirt road, otherwise there was a whole lot of dark nothing. A desert? Crap. Urgent voices carried from the far side of the bunker—half a dozen goons getting closer. Far off to the right was a sprinkling of lights—a village? A pair of headlights bumped toward them along the road. She couldn’t hear the engine over her own panting.
Light spilled from a hut next to the gate. A gatehouse. It looked deserted—the guards must have rushed to the bunker. A lucky break but they’d have to be quick. She sped up—and was yanked back.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
Flynn’s hand encircled her biceps. “It’s exactly where they think we’ll go.”
“That’s because it makes the most sense.” She tried to tear free but he held tight. “We could flag down the car.”
“Again, that’s what they’d expect us to do.”
She clenched her teeth. “Again, that’s because it makes sense.”
“Got a better idea. Trust me.” His eyes glittered. Green, definitely.
Stop it.
Trust him? Right now instinct urged her to, but instinct had got her into bad places where men were concerned. Still, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with his survival instincts. If he got them to safety, she’d return the favor and ditch him. She didn’t need another death on her tab.
“Fine,” she said.
She followed him behind a small wooden shack near the fence. A hole-in-the-ground toilet, by the smell of it. She pressed her back into its rear wall, and he did the same. Sheltered from view, for now.
The car neared, its headlights lighting them up. Flynn leveled his rifle.
“You’re not going to shoot it?”
“Nope,” he whispered, tracing its progress with the barrel. When it was a foot or two past the gate he opened fire. She smacked her palms over her ears, craning her neck. What the hell? Dust rose along the path of the bullets, lit red by the taillights. He’d missed. Was that good or bad? The car revved, tires squealing. Footsteps and shouts sounded from the compound, closer now. A woman barked orders. Hamid.
The car bumped and skidded, engine straining. Poor guy driving it had to be terrified.
“What the hell was th—?”
“Wait,” he whispered, hardly louder than if he’d mouthed it. Something soft touched her ear—his lips. His hand pressed on her thigh. Just a warning to keep it together, that he had this under control—like hell—but she allowed herself to close her eyes for a second, to breathe. Whatever his plan, she had no choice but to go along with it. This kind of situation had to be his day at the office.
Sheesh, he’d promised to kiss her back there. A throwaway comment, obviously, but it’d heated her up all the same, just as his lips and hand were doing now. Man, she was messed up. How soon could PTSD set in? Was that also the reason for her paranoia about him? Well, paranoia was part of her job, but she was finding whole new levels.
Great, so now she was paranoid about being paranoid.
A vehicle door opened and slammed. And another. One, two, three more. An engine growled to life. Wheels skidded. Another engine started and whined into a crescendo as it accelerated, tires crunching along the rocky road. The fleeing car reached panic pitch.
So that was Flynn’s plan—make Hamid and her goons think Tess and Flynn had flagged down the car. God—imagine if they had? If it had been her choice... As the cars left and their noise faded, Hamid’s voice rang out. A one-sided conversation—on a phone? She could be speaking English, but Tess couldn’t make out the words over the pulse pummeling her eardrums. Behind them, a guy shouted. Another answered.
The compound was otherwise quiet. Flynn had taken out four or five goons. Maybe five more had left in the cars. How many were left? They all had to be focused on that car, having assumed Flynn’s gunfire had come from one of their guys in pursuit. And the driver had, naturally, hoofed it, making the car the target Flynn wanted it to be. Two birds, one stone. Smart—and ruthless.
Flynn appeared to be tracking something, out of her vision. Hamid’s voice receded—she was walking to the gate? His hand left Tess’s thigh and he silently lined up a