He nodded. We headed out, me in front, Jack behind. It was about fifty feet to the door. A very long fifty feet at this rate. When I checked the screen again, Koss had moved farther the other way. Had he heard Quinn come in? Or was Quinn letting himself be heard to distract Koss? Impossible to say. I knew only that I’d feel a lot better if that GPS blip moved farther into the building. It didn’t.
We were about fifteen feet from the door when I heard the faintest squeak. My brain was still processing the sound when Jack shoved me, saying, “Down!”
I heard the shot. I twisted, weapon up, in time to see a gun pointing from an open second-story window. I fired as it shot again. As we tumbled into the shelter of the entrance, Jack muttered, “Fuck!” and I thought he was referring to the situation in general, until he said it again, the word coming between gritted teeth, sharp with pain. I wheeled to see his hand pressed to his chest.
His hand to his chest. Blood staining his fingers. My heart stopped.
“In,” he said, through his teeth.
“You—”
“Inside.”
He reached past me with his free hand. The door opened. Quinn got us inside. He saw Jack and whispered, “Oh, hell.”
I was on Jack as soon as he got through the doorway, getting him seated, peeling his jacket back and his shirt up, my fingers trembling. Above me, I could vaguely hear Quinn asking what happened, and Jack telling him to stand guard. Jack kept saying it was fine, just fine.
He’d been shot in the chest. He was not fine. He knew that. I knew that.
I finally got his shirt up enough to see the wound. It was off to the side, as far as it could go and still pass through. Still, he’d been shot in the chest.
“Small caliber,” Quinn murmured at my ear and I realized he was crouching there, right beside me. “Clean track. Through and through?”
“Seems so,” Jack said. “Might have nicked a rib.”
“How’s your breathing?” Quinn asked.
“Little short. Just impact. Missed the lungs.” He inhaled and winced. “Yeah. Hurts like hell. But I can breathe.”
Quinn asked another question and Jack answered, but I barely heard. They were both so calm, as if assessing the damage to a mark. I wanted to shout at them. Shake them. Jack had been shot. In the chest.
“We need—” I could barely get the words out, breath short, as if I’d taken a bullet to my lungs. “Doctor. Need to get him—”
“No,” Jack said. “That’s what Koss wants. I’m fine. Go on.”
“You’re not—”
“I’m fine. For now. You know that.” He leaned in, hand gripping mine, voice lowering. “Nadia . . .”
I wanted to tell myself that I wasn’t overreacting. That Jack’s calm was just shock. But Quinn was equally calm, on his feet now, waiting to go after Koss.
I was panicking, which was what Koss was hoping for. Earlier, he’d scoffed at my relationship with Jack, how it made us weak. I was doing exactly what he expected. Freaking out at my wounded lover’s side while he escaped.
“Go on,” he said. “Longer you wait . . .”
I glanced around. We were in a hall. I only realized that now, which proved, maybe, that if anyone was in shock, it was me.
“Go,” Jack said. “Got my gun. Hell, got two. And a knife. I’ll be fine.”
When I still hesitated, he said, “Koss is trapped. Barred windows. One rear exit. But he’s gotta find it. You make sure he doesn’t? You got him. He comes this way?” Jack lifted his gun. “I got him.”
I nodded and turned to Quinn. “Can you stay with him? Please?”
“Go with her,” Jack said. “I’m fine.”
I would like to think that my request held more weight with Quinn, but he didn’t even hesitate. He nodded and motioned for me to take backup position as he started down the hall. I took one last look at Jack. Then I followed.
CHAPTER 52
There was, as Jack said, no place for Koss to go except that back door, which he had to find first. I knew exactly where it was, and I could tell from the GPS that Koss was nowhere close.
Before I presumed anything, I asked Quinn if there was any way for Koss to “lose” the GPS transmitter. Presumably, he hadn’t known he had one, but he may have figured it out by now. Quinn said no, which I guessed meant they implanted them, unbeknownst to the agents. Kind of scary, though Quinn didn’t seem bothered by it.
That GPS signal meant that what could have been a long game of hide-and-seek was not. The only thing we had to do was be careful. I couldn’t think of Jack. I couldn’t rush. I had to plot out a trajectory that would keep Koss away from Jack, should he bolt, and keep us between Koss and the rear exit.
We also had to stay quiet. That was the harder part. Walking softly was easier indoors, on wood and old carpet, but it was still tough going. For one thing, it was dark. For another, the building construction meant trip hazards everywhere. We both had penlights but, to avoid Koss seeing the glow, we had to block the beams, so they gave off a diffuse light instead.
Koss hadn’t moved since we started our trek. He was holed up. Waiting for us to drag our wounded comrade off to get medical attention.
The building was three stories, which could be a problem—the GPS only showed Koss’s horizontal location. But Quinn pointed out a strength meter on the signal. When we found the stairwell and ascended to the second story, the signal decreased. Koss was on the main floor.
When we finally neared the area where Koss was hiding, we hit a snag. The building was absolutely silent. Which meant that even the scuff of a shoe was going to be heard. Taking off our shoes wouldn’t help creaks and whispering fabric.
On the plus side, we were in an area where the walls still stood. So Koss was in an enclosed room. And the door to the room where he seemed to be was closed.
We stopped and conferred. The number of ways of doing this were limited to one, really, given that there was only a single entrance. We had to employ standard procedure for entering a door with an armed fugitive on the other side.
Guns out, we moved as quietly as we could to the door, each taking a side. If Koss heard us, he gave no sign of it. When we were in position, Quinn banged on the door, as hard as he could.
“Sebastian Koss?”
That’s all he said. That’s all he needed to say, because the noise had the desired effect. It startled Koss, and he scrambled to the left back corner of the room. Staying to the side, Quinn reached over and twisted the door handle. As expected, it was locked or otherwise barricaded.
Quinn kicked it open, one swift kick before twisting out of the way—a split-second ahead of the bullet that responded. Another followed. Completely unnecessary—Quinn and I were both plastered to the wall, out of the doorway.
“Koss?” I said. “You’re trapped in there. You know you are.”
Two more bullets in quick succession. The wall behind me reverberated.
“Seriously?” I said. “You’re trying to shoot through the wall with a twenty-two? Word of advice, Koss? Next time? Pack a real gun.”
“Ask your lover if he thinks it’s real enough. He’s not with you, is he?”
“No, but I’m not sobbing over his dead body either, am I? A twenty-two is for pros. People who know what they’re doing. You’re an amateur. And a piss-poor marksman.”
Another shot, this one through the door, angled my way.
“Not even close,” I said.
I expected him to fire again. He didn’t, meaning he was keeping track of his ammo. Damn it.
“You know how you could shoot me?” I said. “Come on out of there.”
Koss laughed. Down the hall, a floorboard creaked and I swung my gun that way just as Jack’s hand waved around a corner. He moved into the hall. He’d bound his chest by ripping up his shirt into strips. His face was pale and he was moving slowly, but he was moving.