Blind Faith (17 page)

pattered behind her. Bile rose in her throat, and she shoved the acidic taste down.

Two long brick buildings extended for almost a block on either side of the alley.

She’d never be able to outrun those men.

Glancing frantically for a weapon, she grappled for a rusty tire iron near the steps. The metal scraped

her palm, but the heaviness felt good. She could brain somebody with it if necessary.

Limping down the chipped stairs, she started to run. Or rather, jog with a hitch.

She reached the next doorway and tried to open it. Locked.

Her fists ached as she pounded, but nobody came to her rescue.

Two doorways down, a teenager with bright purple hair hefted a garbage bag out of a door. Audrey

called out and ran toward the girl. The girl stepped back, her fingers wrapping around the doorway.

“Men with guns,” Audrey yelled, reaching the girl and pushing her back inside.

A shout echoed from the back door of the bar. The men were outside.

Audrey pulled the door shut and turned toward the terrified girl. “Lock it.” Turning, Audrey ran

through a series of scarves and into a store as a pounding echoed on the doorway. She had barely enough

time to get outside and find a hiding place before these men could run the entire alley and end up out front.

Her leg hitched, and she went flying, hitting the smooth wood floor with enough force to decompress

her lungs.

A shopper with three scarves in his hands gasped and tossed the silk patterns onto a table. He leaned

down to help her up. “Are you all right?” Quickly releasing her, he backed away from her sopping wet

clothes.

“Yes,” Audrey gasped, wiping rain off her face, regaining her breath. Her ribs protested with a sharp

pain. “Thanks.” She turned and hustled toward the outside door, running into the now pelting rain. A quick

survey of the street showed no taxis.

The men in black hadn’t made it around the block yet. They’d expect her to run and hide in another

business. So she shot into the street, dodging cars and ignoring angry honks. Reaching the other side, she

ran into a coffee shop, turning frantically to view the street. The men in black had seen her come in. They

stopped traffic as they chased her.

Crying out, she dodged through tables and behind the counter.

“Hey, lady—” a kid with a goatee yelled out.

She ignored him and shoved herself into the kitchen, knocking down a busboy. Coffee grounds

sprayed, covering her front. “Sorry,” she yelled, trying to run toward the back door. A table edge caught her

hip, and she stumbled. She hurt, but she refused to stop. Opening the door with one hand, she bulldozed

outside, scanning yet another alley. A shout echoed from the closest side. This row of buildings wasn’t

nearly as long as the one she’d just fled from.

The door locked behind her.

Pounding footsteps echoed through the rain.

Clutching the tire iron, she limped to the other side of the alley and ducked down behind a wide

garbage receptacle. No more running. Her leg ached, and even her ankle trembled. Time to fight.

She held no illusions she could take all three men. But if she managed to knock one out, his gun would

be free. From the age of ten, she’d learned how to shoot. Unfortunately, working in a Senate building and

having to go through security daily meant she couldn’t carry regularly. She’d give anything for her Lady

Smith & Wesson right now. Anything.

“Where the fuck did she go?” a deep voice hissed as boot steps came closer.

“Dunno. Who is she?” a voice with a thick Russian accent muttered.

Good. They didn’t know who she was. What did that mean? The wet brick cut into her back while she

huddled, her leg crying, her fingers tightening around the crowbar.

“Who cares?” the first voice shot back. “If Hannah had time to tell her anything, she has to go, too.”

Too? Had they killed Darian? Fear stuttered up her spine, shaking her shoulders. She braced herself to

attack.

Movement sounded, and one of the men rounded the garbage can. “There you are,” he murmured, a

smile flashing a gold front tooth.

She leapt up onto her good leg and swung, hitting him squarely in the gut. He doubled over with a

muffled
oof
, and she swung for his head. The iron impacted with a sickening thud. The guy flew sideways.

The next man whirled around and kicked the weapon out of her hands.

She backed up until reaching the building again.

He smiled. “You’re a feisty one. Sorry about this.” Almost in slow motion, he lifted a gun to point

between her eyes. Even through the pouring rain, the silver barrel glinted.

Audrey gathered her strength to duck and attack.

A body dropped from above, landing on the gunman. They hit the concrete, sending shards flying. The

gun spun around and around, landing under the huge garbage receptacle.

Nate!

He’d dropped from a fire escape three floors up. Without missing a beat, he rolled over and snapped the

gunman’s neck with one smooth motion before backflipping to his feet and kicking a black gun out of the

third guy’s hand.

Audrey gasped and dropped to her knees. She hadn’t even seen that guy. Reaching down, she patted the

ground under the receptacle, trying to reach the gun. Rocks and glass sliced into her hand, but she kept

searching, biting back a wince at the pain. Her fingers touched something smooth, and she tugged it out.

Crack pipe. Bending lower, her cheek almost to the ground, she kept searching as she watched the fight.

Male grunts filled the alley as the men threw punches and kicks. The guy in black was well trained, but

he didn’t have a chance with Nate. Nate punched him in the gut and followed up with a high front kick that

jerked the man’s head back with an audible snap. The guy died before he hit the ground.

Nate turned and stalked over to the man half crawling away. The man Audrey had hit. Nate wrestled

him up, and the guy pivoted on one knee, slashing out with a wicked-looking knife. The blade sliced across

Nate’s upper chest, spraying blood.

“Damn it.” Nate twisted and slammed his closed fists together on the other guy’s wrist. The knife

dropped.

Nate punched him in the jaw. Once, twice, a third time.

Swinging around, Nate finished the fight with a choke hold. “Why are you after her?”

“She was with Hannah,” the guy gasped, his legs kicking out.

“Who wanted Hannah dead, and why?” Nate hissed, his mouth at the other guy’s ear.

“Don’t know. I was hired by Frankie.” The guy pointed toward one of the dead men. Then he glanced

down at the blade still resting on his chest.

Audrey cried out a warning.

The man grasped the blade and stabbed up toward Nate’s face. Nate leaned to the left, the knife

whizzing by his head. He encircled the guy’s wrist, lowered his arm, and plunged the blade into his neck.

The guy’s eyes opened wide in shock and pain. Then they closed.

Shoving him aside, Nate stood and strode to Audrey, grasping her arm to help her up. “Keep the hat and

glasses on.” He quickly dragged her to the other end of the alley, glancing up and around. “I don’t see any

cameras from businesses recording us. We’re safe.”

Audrey’s knees wobbled. The pounding rain failed to cover the stench of instant death. She’d forgotten.

During the explosion that had injured her leg, she’d nearly suffocated from that scent. Not flesh, not fear,

but something else. Death had its own smell… its own existence. The world fuzzed, and she started to go

down.

Nate pressed her against a building, his head dropping toward hers. No emotion showed on his face, but

those eyes teemed with hell fire. Fury. “Not now, Audrey.” He shook her. “Dig deep, darlin. Suck it up and

move.”

She nodded, blinking against the wetness. Tears or rain? She wasn’t sure. But she moved into a fast

walk, her mind spinning. Nate had killed—so easily and without a second thought. Yes, he’d been

protecting her. But taking a life had to mean something, didn’t it? Her stomach lurched, and she forced

herself not to throw up. Not now, anyway.

Never in her life had she seen somebody kill. Sure, she’d known that Nate was trained to kill, but

knowing and seeing were different. The smell of blood and death sent her senses into panic. Somehow, she

kept going.

How well had she known the man she’d loved? The idea of his being dangerous had seemed romantic

to her. The reality of seeing him kill opened her eyes in a way nothing else could have. Dangerous meant

deadly. Cold, purposeful, and intense.

Her ears burned at her foolishness in romanticizing his training. “I’m sorry, Nate,” she whispered while

trying to keep up.

He stiffened but didn’t turn back.

They reached the end of the alley, and Nate shoved her into the back of an older Chevy Cavalier. “Get

down and stay down,” he ordered, shutting the door and running to slide into the driver’s seat. A second

later, he’d ignited the engine and ripped into traffic.

Audrey stayed down, hidden behind the passenger seat. “Are you all right? You were cut.”

“I’m fine. Stay down.” The car swerved.

“Where did you get the car?” Her lips quivered as she began to shiver.

“Stole it. I followed you from work, to the bar, to the alley.” He hit the steering wheel. “Damn it,

Audrey. What were you thinking?”

She sniffed and wiped tears from her eyes. “I trusted Darian. He had something to tell me.”

“Did he? Please tell me he told you whatever got him killed.” Sarcasm filled Nate’s voice.

“Screw you.” Audrey began to sit up.

“Get down.” Nate leaned over and pressed her head down. For the first time, raw emotion darkened his

voice. “There are cameras watching sidewalks everywhere. Just hold on.”

She sniffed again and wiped her nose. “What’s the plan?”

“Hold tight for a while—we have a bit of a drive. I’m going to drop you off at a store entrance to the

mall. You go inside, find a bathroom, and ditch the hat, glasses, and coat. Buy yourself a new coat with a

scarf to cover your head. Take a different exit, find a taxi, and get home.” He paused. “Use cash only.”

She gulped. How had her life become a suspense movie?

Nate handed over a bunch of twenty-dollar bills. “Here’s money—don’t use anything bigger than a

twenty.”

She took the cash and shoved it into her wallet. “When can I sit up?”

“Be patient.” He glanced back. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Her bad leg felt like somebody had beat it with a bat. “What are you doing after you drop me

off?”

He turned back toward the road and switched lanes. “I’ll ditch the car and meet you back at your place.

Leave your bedroom window unlocked because I’ll need to time my entry when the commander’s men

aren’t looking.”

“One guy started running toward me when Darian shoved me into a taxi.”

“One of the guys in black?” Nate asked.

“No.” She coughed, once again wanting to throw up. “Do you think those were the commander’s men?”

Maybe Darian’s hackers had discovered something bad about the commander. If so, who was the guy

running in the street?

Nate remained quiet for a moment. “I have no clue.”

Great. Could things get any worse?

* * *

climbing up the fire escape to her downstairs neighbor’s apartment. What was her name?

Mrs. Abernathy. Yeah, that was it. He swung inside and quickly found what he needed, all but running

into the shower to get rid of blood and dirt. He’d donned his boots and a pair of faded jeans from his bag in

case he needed to move quickly.

Finally, he sat at Mrs. Abernathy’s cheery kitchen table, stitching up the wound across his chest with

thread from the woman’s sewing basket. A quick glance at the ultra-large calendar stuck to the fridge

showed that the elderly lady had bridge at “Ellie’s house” that night. Hopefully she wouldn’t be home for a

while yet.

Chester rubbed his big orange butt against Nate’s legs. “I don’t like cats, buddy.” Nate tied off the end

of thread and reached down to scratch the cat’s ears. “I’ve been listening to your heartbeat all week—good

to know you’re not having an attack.” As usual, Nate had to filter out a million sounds to concentrate on the

ones that mattered, so he shoved Chester’s heartbeat into the abyss and focused on the men outside and the

woman upstairs.

The commander had three men watching the building. Two out front and one to the side—they rotated

on seemingly random sequences. Nothing was random. Nate had about sixteen minutes and seven seconds

until he could scale the fire escape to Audrey’s bedroom.

Her heart beat steadily, punctuated every so often with a glitch. Probably from pain. Her leg had to be

killing her.

Nate might never be the same. When he’d seen those three men find her in the alley, it was all he could

to remember training and go high to drop. He’d wanted to rush to her aid, forgetting the consequences.

When she’d nailed the bastard with the tire iron, pride had filled Nate until he wanted to clap. What a