Keep moving! Don't make an easy target.
As she picked up her pace, the toe of her boot clipped something heavy. She fell to the floor, dragging Father Antonio with her. The weight of his body knocked the wind out of her. Her throat raw, she heaved to fill her lungs, taking a moment to recover.
Thwack! She shielded her head with an arm, then rolled to her knees. Inching her way forward, she crawled on all fours, feeling along the cement with Father Antonio right behind her. Eventually, she found cover against some kind of barricade. She extended her arm across the priest to protect and reassure him.
Zing! Splat! Dodging pellets, she kept her head down, shoving a shoulder into a wall of damp burlap, judging by the smell and the coarse weave. The moldy odor was tainted by the toxic vapor of the chemical.
From her investigation of the Blair murder site, she knew this point started the death maze. A cold reality hit. In his ordeal, Mickey Blair had no way out of his trap. McBride made sure of that. Why would her chances be any better? He dangled the carrot of hope, telling her a way out existed.
Raven knew now—the bastard lied.
Not knowing what was happening on the other side of the room, she took a chance. To find another way out, she'd have to risk exposure. Do the unexpected. And with the diversion across the room, this might be the only time to do it.
"You stay here," she whispered to the priest, her voice raspy. "But when I call, you follow my voice. I'm gonna try to crawl over the top. Give you a hand up."
She stood and drew fire. Pellets whizzed by her head and pummeled her back. She ignored the painful bruising of the attack and held her breath from the fumes. One foot wedged into a niche in the burlap sacks. She raised her hand above her head and dug into the barricade for a grip. The structure felt sturdy enough to support her weight, but situated at an odd slant, the wall made it difficult to hoist herself up.
Finally, she took a step up, clinging to the burlap. Her arm wedged into it. But as she reached to pull herself over, her hand recoiled in pain.
"Aarrrggh!"
A chill shot across her skin. In her shock, stars spi-raled through the darkness, assaulting her eyes. Something sharp had pierced her hand, shredding flesh as she slid away. Blood drained warm down her arm, the cuts deep.
Thud! Another round struck the back of her neck, dousing her. She fell to the cement floor, hard. Her hand stung as the alcohol mixed with blood, the wound swollen and throbbing.
"Damn it!" She groaned, tucking her hand against her waist, applying pressure to the cut with her other arm. "Oh. God. Won't do that again."
"What happened?" The priest knelt by her side.
"Nails, glass, something up top. It'll cut us to pieces if we try to scramble over."
"Are you hurt?"
"Not much, Father," she lied. "Come on. We gotta move." She gestured for the priest to follow.
Now, no other choice remained. She had to pool her resources with whoever else was involved in the fight. By sheer numbers, they might muscle their way through the labyrinth. But she knew the risk. In the heat of battle, would the other target of McBride's men allow her to get close enough to explain—or would they kill her on the spot as the enemy? In her mind, there was only one way to find out.
Another pellet whizzed by Christian's head as he ducked against a small barricade. Without having a clear shot, the men above had curtailed their steady barrage, for now. He and his strange companion had already taken out two men. They lay unconscious at their feet. He felt the obstacle of their body mass, even in the dark.
"The advantage I spoke of earlier?" The mysterious Asian woman whispered and tugged at his sleeve, pulling him toward a more massive obstruction. She placed his hand onto it. "We are on the back side of the barricade. We shall have full access to the scaffolding above .. . and to his men." With another gesture, she indicated the stairway to the left. "I will take the other side. Do not keep track of me; I will stay clear of you."
She drew a hand to his cheek. He hadn't expected it. Never saw it coming. Christian flinched at her familiarity. Apparently, his reticence amused her.
"May we both live to fight another day." After a soft chuckle, she added, "And I do hope we meet again. I believe you will find we have much more in common."
What the hell did that mean? The woman had a fondness for being cryptic. Christian said nothing in return. He suspected sentimentality would appear trite to this woman. She left his side to hunt on her own. He preferred it that way, too.
From the sound of it, she drew fire. The pellets pumme led the floor to his left. But soon after, he became a target again, hearing the chemical-loaded ammo zip by his head. He evaded much of it. But the alcohol vapors grew stronger, screwing with his sense of smell. Much more of this, and he wouldn't be able to trust his perceptions.
From their sniper positions above, the men could hold out for a long time, bombarding pellets from their aerial perches. As the woman advised, he would take his fight to them, eliminating them one at a time. Closing his eyes, he listened for a consistent blast from above and a soft creak in the metal grating, acquiring his next target. Imagining the staircase configuration, he would move to where he believed steps to be. But first, he prepared himself.
Deep breath. Shutting his eyes, he found his center and searched for his quiet inner voice. Now let it go . . . slow. The familiar mantra calmed him. His heart slowed.
Just like the war room, he reminded himself. It helped to believe that. Then a new image replaced the old and familiar.
Raven Mackenzie. Ever since he'd met her, she'd never strayed far from his heart. Now would be no different.
Scanning through her night-vision binoculars, Jasmine located her targets, eavesdropping on their candid whispers with a boom mic. Two men stood near the railing of the catwalk, their paintball guns aimed below, carrying handguns in thigh holsters. No doubt smug with their lofty advantage, they didn't hear her come up behind them. These men were isolated from the rest. Easy pickings. Jasmine reached into her vest pocket and withdrew the flash bang canister. She formulated her attack and visualized every detail in preparation. She would have only seconds to take them out before they reached for their guns.
She initiated the canister and tossed it at the first man's feet, then ducked for cover. She kept her eyes on the target until the very last second. It bounced twice, clacking to a stop inches from the man. By design, the sound drew the attention of both men.
One second. She covered her ears and hunched against a nearby wall, waiting for the blast. Two seconds.
BOOM! Blinding white light seared the dark. A glowing ball of fire radiated like a shock wave in all directions, followed by a billowing stench. Being in closer proximity to the detonation, the men were shoved to the walkway with its thunderous force. The blast resonated along the walkway, making the steel hum in vibration.
She knew from experience that the fierce image would leave its imprint on the eyes of the men. The white light would hang suspended in darkness, then splinter into spangles, blurring the vision of anyone looking directly at it. In a daze, the men would have minimal hearing, registering only muffled sounds. She had only seconds to gain advantage.
Jasmine leapt from cover and grabbed the collar of the first man as he sprawled on his back, yanking him off the scaffold. In a practiced maneuver, she thrust the knife across his throat, severing cartilage. Warm blood doused her clothing. The sound of it pattered her vest like rain. The man screamed, but the sound warped into a moist gurgle.