Tears shimmered in Chloe’s brown eyes as she swore and ran for the door.
“Let’s go,” Megan said to Ty, racing past the unconscious prisoners lying on the floor, with him right behind her. She kept her weapon up, even though Chloe had assured her the floor was clear. She wasn’t taking any chances.
They paused at the top of the stairs for a moment and looked at each other. Someone was fighting down there.
Megan turned and rushed down the steps, trusting Ty to guard her back and keep an eye on the upstairs doorway, just in case Tarasov had any more reinforcements on the way.
Meeting no resistance, she reached the bottom and ducked her head around the corner to peek at what lay down the hall, weapon outstretched. Her heart lurched.
Marcus stared back at her, face strained and streaked with sweat as he struggled to hold a large, heavily muscled man upright. “Ty, Marcus is here!” she shouted, holstering her weapon and running for him.
She grabbed the shoulders of the man he was holding, using her weight to prop him up.
“The palm scanner,” Marcus panted, his face etched with an agony that was magnified in his eyes. “Kiyomi. Tarasov.”
Then she understood. Kiyomi was on the other side of a false door, locked in with Tarasov. They had to get through it at any cost.
The man they were holding suddenly bucked hard, lashing out with an elbow. Megan jerked her head out of the way just in time to avoid a blow to the face, but Marcus stumbled sideways, cursing as he fell to one knee.
His hip.
Enraged, Megan clamped her teeth together and rammed her elbow into the back of the prisoner’s neck. His bleeding face hit the hidden door with a satisfying thud and he yelled, his body slumping.
She grabbed him under the arms, strained to shove him upright, and then Ty was there, grabbing the bastard and hauling him off the floor in one quick move.
Megan took a half step back, waiting for her chance to help. The guy struggled but was no match for Ty, fresh and primed for a fight. Ty subdued him within seconds, yanking his hands behind him, wrenching the shoulders at just the right angle to make the man freeze and gulp.
“Don’t you fucking move,” Ty warned, his voice low and deadly.
“I need one of his hands,” Megan blurted, shoving close to grab one. She muscled it upward while the man resisted, cursing and snarling at her in Russian, his face turning from red to purple as he strained.
Marcus was struggling to get to his feet. Ty grabbed the prisoner’s wrist, and together they slammed his right hand against the screen.
But, of course, the asshole had squeezed his fingers into a tight fist, preventing them from getting a palm reading.
Megan dug her fingers into the inside of his wrist, pressing as hard as she could to hit the median nerve while prying his fingers away from his palm. Christ, the bastard was strong.
“Just knock him out,” she snapped at Ty. Or cut his damn hand off. They didn’t have time for this shit.
Without missing a beat, Ty pulled the guy back a foot or two from the door, then slammed him into it with a loud thud. Then again. Until the guy went limp, his head lolling, arms falling to his sides.
Megan lunged forward, seized a meaty wrist and yanked the hand up to press its palm flat against the screen, her gaze locked on the red light beneath it, willing it to turn green. They all waited, precious seconds ticking past while Kiyomi fought for her life on the other side of the door.
Chapter Seventeen
Hidden deep in the shadows of a room in the vacant building across the street, Ivy watched the scene unfolding around her through her high-powered binos. The fire at the garage was big enough that they’d had to call in a second fire crew to battle it, probably in the hopes of keeping it from spreading to the adjoining buildings.
The diversion had been clever, but also brought additional risk with all the first responders now in the area. As for Tarasov…
She shifted the binos to peer across the street at his house. Chloe had left not long ago. Ivy had glimpsed her running out the side door, blond ponytail bouncing. Wherever she was off to, she was in a hurry, leaving Megan and her man inside with Kiyomi and another guy.
The rest of them hadn’t come out yet. And neither had any of Tarasov’s men.
Staying here any longer was risky, but she wanted to see what happened. Wanted to know whether Kiyomi had survived, but it was getting more dangerous by the minute with all the police starting to arrive at the garage. She would do a drive by instead to see if she could find out anything more, the shadowy shelter of her vehicle hiding her in plain sight.
Tucking her binos away, she zipped up her jacket, tugged the ball cap low over her wig and made her way down the empty hall to the second staircase. She paused at the top, making sure no one else was around before descending quickly, running down the four flights of stairs to the ground floor.
At the exit door she stopped again, drawing her weapon and pausing a moment. When she didn’t hear or sense anything amiss, she opened the door and stepped out into the alley.
Empty.
Walking at a brisk pace, she hurried away from the chaos at Tarasov’s, back toward the car she’d left parked at the curb three blocks over. But just as she neared the end of the alley, she felt it.
Eyes on her. Someone watching her from behind.
She whirled, weapon up as she scanned for the threat she knew was there. An instant later a shadow appeared from around the corner at the end of the alley. She fired two quick shots, center mass.
The figure grunted and dropped, the clatter of a weapon hitting the ground following an instant later. She didn’t wait to see if the shooter was dead.
Tucking her pistol out of sight, she turned and ran, slowing only when she reached the main road and stepped onto the sidewalk with the other pedestrians. Head down, she remained hyper vigilant as she made her way back to her car. Having to leave now sucked, but the police presence and that shooter left her no choice.
There was no way to do what she’d come here to do now. Her real mission would have to wait just a little while longer.
****
Kiyomi remained frozen, all her attention focused on the wicked edge of the blade poised inches from her neck. Twisting or pulling away would slit her throat. But she wasn’t letting this bastard kill her.
In a lightning quick move, she thrust both hands up to lock around Tarasov’s wrist and shoved the knife away, then rammed her head back as hard as she could. He grunted when the back of her skull slammed into his jaw, the instant of surprise giving her enough slack in his arm to shove the knife a few more inches away from her neck.
She twisted to the side, using all her strength to buck him off, and twisted his arm away from her. He came up on his knees, one hand still locked in her hair, and slowly forced the knife closer.
Their arms shook under the strain as they each fought for supremacy. But he was stronger, and if she didn’t do something fast, that knife was going to plunge into her.
A guttural snarl of rage came from between her clenched teeth as she twisted hard, a sharp, quick movement that caught him off guard. She managed to throw his upper body off her for just a moment. Seizing her chance, she struck, ramming the heel of her hand into his chin.
His head snapped back and he toppled sideways. She scrambled from underneath him and shot to her feet, adrenaline coursing through her in a wild riptide.