What would her father do? What would Drake do?
“Fight,” she said aloud. They would seek out the group behind all this and they would make them pay dearly. Drake had found the Blood King for God’s sake, the myth made real, and pursued him through the gates of hell. Drake had shown her the way — now it was up to her to heed the lesson.
The off-ramp for Mulholland shot by on the right — her first route into the hills. “Take the next off-ramp,” she told Kinimaka, annoyed.
The office had responded to her call with a subdued concern. They hadn’t asked any questions. Hadn’t given her any instructions. They hadn’t passed her up the line.
Were Ben and Karin safe?
Kinimaka hit the off-ramp hard, sending Hayden’s head bouncing against the window frame. Her gun fell to the floor and it took her a moment to pick it up and check the whereabouts of their pursuers. By the time she looked around, Kinimaka was weaving desperately between rows of crawling cars and gawking tourist vehicles through a wide entrance and suddenly they were inside an enclosed approach, heading uncontrollably toward a row of ticket boots and flimsy barriers.
“Dude,” Hayden said in a confused voice, “why the hell are you heading into Universal Studios?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I didn’t mean to!” Kinimaka cried. “It was the only way to get through traffic without stopping!”
“Well you’re gonna have to stop soon,” Hayden said sarcastically. “Personally, I prefer the Jurassic Park level. Kinda reminds me of work.”
Belmonte shifted uncomfortably in the back. Emma’s body was slouched in the well between his knees and the back seat. “Can we get out?”
“This might work,” Hayden said, thinking hard. “We could lose them in the City Walk.” She turned to Dahl “What do you think?”
The City Walk is an urbane entertainment complex, a lively mix of restaurants, bars and shops, normally crowded.
Dahl bounced around in his seat as they negotiated a series of ramps and almost scraped a high concrete wall. A multi-story car-lot opened out before them.
“I don’t like any of it,” the Swede said dubiously. “Get close. The authorities will be on our arses any minute.”
“Yeah, but which authorities, bud?” Kinimaka muttered.
At that moment, there was a shotgun blast. Hayden’s wing mirror disappeared in an explosion of lead and plastic. Then the rear window shattered, sending shards of glass bursting through the car. Kinimaka ducked and twisted the wheel, slamming them into a parked SUV. The Chevy shuddered as it came to an abrupt stop.
Dahl was the first to move, unbuckling his seat belt, opening the back door and shouting at them to get a bloody move on. The two chasing sedans squealed to a halt about twenty feet away. Hayden and Kinimaka rolled out of their doors, guns up.
Hayden ducked behind her door for cover, shouting at Gates. “Stay low!”
The sound of gunfire erupted across the parking lot.
Cayman’s men were rushing forward, ten of them, staying low and firing constantly. Behind them, newly arrived vehicles were slamming brakes on or turning around and racing off. The sound of multiple fender-benders split the air.
Bullets impacted Hayden’s door, pinging into the metal. She fired blindly around the frame. Kinimaka was having better luck, using the Chevy’s roof to lean on and picking his targets. Three of Cayman’s men had already collapsed, groaning. But the rest came on. There were too many to stop them all.
Dahl raced off around the back of the SUV they had hit. He went so fast that no one except Hayden saw him, and within seconds, he had re-emerged from the vehicle’s far side, running hard, heading straight for the advancing men, but from their side, a flanking maneuver. He fired four bullets, four head-shots. The sudden onslaught made Cayman’s remaining three men duck for cover. One of them rolled and fired at Dahl, but the shot hit the overhead concrete ceiling and glanced off into the hood of a parked car.
Dahl looked around, shaking his head. This was a family place, a kid’s sanctuary. He would never have let them enter the City Walk; he would have surrendered or died first. Some operatives and even some governments accepted collateral damage. But he would never allow it.
Beyond the parking lot, he saw a long escalator packed with families. Past that he saw the flickering lights of the City Walk itself. Too close. This fight not only had to be contained here, it had to end here.
At that moment, there came the roar of an engine and one of the black sedans inched forward. The drivers! He had forgotten about the bloody drivers. No matter. Before the vehicle picked up any amount of speed, he sprinted toward it and leapt onto the hood, landing on his side facing the driver with his gun pointed at the man’s face.
Sporting the big smile he usually reserved for killing megalomaniac fashion designers.
The driver’s expression fell. Dahl pulled the trigger. The windshield exploded and blood sprayed the inside of the car as the vehicle veered sideways. Dahl let himself slide off, rolling when he hit the concrete.
Just in time to hear the second sedan roar.
Behind him, he heard Hayden and Kinimaka firing at Cayman’s remaining three stooges. One of them screamed. All good. He fired at the sedan’s tires, bursting one, but then the gun ran out of bullets. Still, Dahl was not perturbed. As the vehicle slewed out of control toward him, the Swede leapt feet-first onto the hood and then, with the grace of a dancer rather than the bulk of a six foot six inch Special Forces soldier, sprang lightly onto the roof itself.
A second before the vehicle crashed, Dahl jumped clear, rolling until the momentum dispersed. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the driver smash against the windshield, not full-force but with enough of an impact to render him insensible.
Dahl came up, slightly disoriented, and saw Hayden struggling in hand-to-hand with one of their assailants. Hayden was still below par, having been stabbed again by Boudreau recently. Dahl bounded forward and waded in, giving Cayman’s soldier no chance. A knee to the back, a huge, stiff arm across the throat, and a judo flip ensured the man’s head impacted hard with the concrete floor and put an end to any evil aspirations he had ever had.
Hayden panted, holding her side. “Thanks.”
“No problem. But, just to be clear, I’d advise against being stabbed more than once a week.”
Hayden was already used to the leg-pullers. Drake and Dahl were from the same army mold, different educations or not.
Kinimaka looked over the top of the car. “Aloha. We seem to be out of bad guys.”
“Get in.” Dahl eased Hayden into the passenger seat before running around to the driver’s side. “You okay, mate?”
“I’m good.” Kinimaka took the wheel once more. “Where to?”
Dahl checked on Gates. “You okay, sir?” Then Belmonte. “Our thief friend seems alright. Your friend still dead, mate?”
The lack of response told Dahl what he needed to know, that Belmonte, the renowned British thief, did indeed have a heart. He turned to Kinimaka as he climbed into the back. “Start her up, my friend. In the words of most Hollywood couples—let’s split.”
The car engine rolled over with a purr. Kinimaka pointed the hood back the way they had come and drove down the exit road. Sirens were blaring over the high concrete barriers, dangerously close.
“We ought to have frisked them.” Hayden looked back at the bodies strewn across the concrete.