No. Her heart leaped into her mouth. Healey!
Two mercs blasted past Russo, making no attempt to fight, just heading for the door. Alicia noted the big man engaging in pursuit and trusted him to help Caitlyn take them down. In that moment Healey yelped and Alicia sprinted for the bathroom.
Beauregard slipped around the door frame, as sinuous as smoke and shadow. Alicia came to a sudden stop.
“You tricked us, Frogface.”
“Did I? Plans change quickly. And here you are.”
“You’re saying they accelerated the operation?”
Beauregard glided around her as a limping Healey approached his back. “They do that when they have everything they need.”
“Bad sign.”
Beauregard inclined his head, creeping toward the door.
Alicia had had enough. “Whose bloody side are you on anyway?”
“Today?” Beauregard shrugged. “Tomorrow?” He smiled craftily.
“Tomorrow, you’re gonna be thrown into the Bastille, in chains. Life’s about to get real, Beauregard.”
“Do you think?”
The Frenchman sprang forward at a low angle, twisting as he came, somehow managing to entangle both her legs in his and jerk them out from under her. Alicia went down, the gun clattering away, and Beauregard danced past. She noticed a knife in his hand, but also noticed that he didn’t try to use it.
Healey yelled for him to stop.
“Oh yeah,” Alicia rolled to her feet, “that’ll work.”
She gave chase, stopping at the door to take in the scene. It wasn’t all she had hoped. Russo and Caitlyn had nailed one of the mercs, the other was nowhere to be seen but at least her two colleagues were safe.
Relatively speaking.
Russo was sitting on his ass, a look of deep surprise creasing the crags around his eyes, a bruise already forming across his right cheekbone. Caitlyn was far worse off, held in the clutches of Beauregard. He stood behind her, pulling her into him, the knife across her throat.
“Don’t you dare,” Alicia hissed. “Don’t you fucking dare hurt her.”
Beauregard pulled her closer. Caitlyn winced. Alicia pulled up short.
“Stand back,” the Frenchman said. “And I will let her go. Little minx almost took me down.”
Alicia blinked in shock and swelled with pride at the same time. Then she remembered who she was and wondered why these foreign emotions had begun to haunt her of late. Something clearly wasn’t right.
“Let her go,” Alicia said. “And we’ll let you go.”
“Your word?”
“My word. Put down your weapons, boys.”
Beauregard waited for Healey and Russo to comply and then smiled. “A good day’s work, non? You retrieved your sample. You killed some bad men. You even got to tussle with the great Beauregard Alain. Well, until we meet again!”
He shoved Caitlyn into Alicia, making his way like a cat down the corridor. Healey and Russo gave a half-hearted chase but they were never going to catch the man.
“You okay?” Alicia asked Caitlyn.
“I’m good. He didn’t hurt me. But it’s always me,” she said. “Always me that gets bloody caught.”
Alicia frowned. “You’re referring to your beating, torture and escape during our Aztec adventure? Don’t worry. It’s all good experience.”
“Oh, thanks for that.”
Healey and Russo came up then, the former looking at the floor, the latter with a wide grin on his face. “So,” Russo said, tapping his ear. “Since the comms are still open and you two are finished nattering shall we call in Yorgi?”
Alicia grimaced. In the heat of the moment both she and Caitlyn had forgotten about the comms.
“Here I am,” a voice whispered over their comms and also sounded out behind them. Yorgi was there, backpack in hand.
“You have the samples?” Alicia asked.
“We do.” The Russian thief smiled. “We sure do.”
“Are they safe?” Caitlyn looked abruptly concerned.
“I guess. All are locked up in a strong medical box of some sort.”
Crouch’s voice rang in their ears. “Then stop talking and leave. Now. The Pythians are prepared to destroy cities in order to possess those samples.”
Alicia gathered the troops with a sweep of her eyes. “You heard the man. Move it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Aaron Trent waited for news and stared unknowingly at Agent Claire Collins. The Disavowed had been saddled with this ballbuster a few months ago and had quickly gone from dislike to acceptance to massive respect, and more. At work, she had criticized them all, hauling them well and truly over the coals. At play she had kissed them all, danced with them all, but she had settled on him for something more.
Trent blinked as she met his stare. The smile in her eyes spoke of play but the look on her face was pure work.
“Got a tip,” she said. “The Moose has been spotted at a trailer park off Highway 1, toward San Diego.”
“Already?” Trent stayed suspicious.
“That man’s face was all over the news just a few weeks ago. There’s not a good Angelino wouldn’t give him up after those terror atrocities. I’m surprised it took this long.”
Silk was already at the door. “What are we waiting for?”
A car was waiting, a driver too. The new and improved Razor’s Edge took their seats and sat back, bathed in early morning light. At this time, especially in the hills, Los Angeles was a gift from God, the angels’ own masterpiece in progress as the rising sun threw brushstrokes across the skies. A ball of fire filled the basin, crept across the hills and dappled the trees, creating wonder in all those who jogged or slid early from their beds to watch, or headed for the long commute. Trent, in the window seat, turned his head toward the rising ball and thought of better times.
“The new dawn always makes it better,” Collins said.
“Not always,” Trent said. “There are some tragedies a thousand rising dawns could never fix. But if you think your life is over,” he turned to her, “always take one last look.”
Her eyes sparkled. “You just never know,” she said.
“I’ve heard that said about songs too,” Silk said from the other side of the car. “Susie and I have one of our own.”
“As do Amanda and I.” Radford checked his hair in the mirror. “Shadows of the Night. Pat Benatar. Seems fitting.”
“You Shook Me All Night Long.” Silk grinned. “Very fitting.”
Trent basked in the glow from Collins’ eyes. “Do we have a song?”
Her gaze drifted. Collins was the social butterfly, the dancer, the singer of the group. Trent realized that something like this would be very important to her.
“When we have one, we’ll know,” she said. “We’ll know.”
The vehicle blared its sirens and cut through swathes of traffic. Collins relayed reports as they came in. Trent put his game face on and listened to incoming details as they neared the site.
“They practically emptied an entire precinct,” Collins breathed. “Trailer park’s surrounded. SWAT will arrive three minutes before us, give them time to set up. FBI response teams are en route, and even the goddamn Marines from Camp Pendleton! This is the big one, guys. Ain’t nothing been wanted more in Los Angeles than the head of this murdering bastard. Not for a long time.”
The car slewed to a halt, dispensing the Razor’s Edge who checked their weapons and looked for the man in charge. Collins led them to the staging area and into the presence of a big dark-skinned cop with a gray beard and enormous flak jacket that almost doubled his size.