Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (6 page)

“Miss? Will he follow you?” The driver scowled and looked at the rearview mirror several times as he quickly and efficiently piloted the bus through the crowded campus streets.

Elana had collapsed on the seat behind the driver, her fingers hurt where she gripped the railing between her and the driver. She lowered her voice so the other passengers wouldn’t hear any details. “Yes. He might have one of his friends waiting for me at the Dupont stop.”

“I can handle that. You need to get on the Metro?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t take you to Metro Center, but I can take a short detour and drop you off at the Farragut stop, since it’s only slightly off my route to return the bus to the barn.”

Elana thanked God for this driver—and his opportune schedule.

The bus driver continued, “When we get to Dupont, you hunch down. He’ll think I let you off earlier.”

“Thank you so much. You’re saving my life.”

“No problem. Me? I hate men who prey on women.” The driver looked at her, genuine concern on his face. “You gonna be safe where you’re going?”

“Yes. Once I get there. I’ll be safe.”

I hope.

Saturday, December 3rd, 1:00 P.M. (EST), Air and Space Museum

Vanko pulled the Hummer into the drop-off/pick-up zone for the Air and Space Museum. He’d made good time despite the horrendous D.C. traffic. There was something about the presence of Hummer that had drivers of slower vehicles moving out of its way, sort of the territorial imperative of the highway.

No woman came rushing forward to get into the vehicle, so Elana must not be here yet or she couldn’t see him. Leaving the engine running, he activated his cell phone through the Bluetooth connection in the car’s computer system and entered the number Ren had given him for Elana’s cell on the touchscreen in the dash.

“Yes?” She sounded out of breath as if she were running—or really scared.

“This is Vanko Petriv. I’m at the Maryland entrance to the museum. Where are you?”

“Oh thank God. I’m on the Red Line, heading toward the Gallery Place/Chinatown stop. There were men…on the platform…at Metro Center. I had to stay on the Red Line to throw them off.”

“Did any try to get on the train?” Vanko would’ve done so if he were on her trail.

“Uh, yes…I think one of them got on the train, but he isn’t in my car.”

“Do you think you can stay ahead of the man after you get off?”

“Maybe.” Her breath hitched audibly. She was afraid, but he could tell she was holding it together. “The trains are crowded. I might be able to lose anyone following. Um…I have to cross two major streets before I can get onto the Mall and cross to where you’re at.”

Vanko looked at the GPS map on the Hummer’s computer and found the Metro stop she’d mentioned. Yes, there was far too much open space. Her pursuers could pick her off as she crossed streets or from anywhere on the wide open mall.

“I’ll head toward you and pick you up at the corner of Penn and 7th.” Even before he’d finished speaking, he’d left the pick-up lane and bullied his way into Independence Avenue traffic and then hung the first right. “I’m coming up 7th Avenue from the Air and Space Museum. Keep the line open.”

“Thanks.” She inhaled sharply and the background noise indicated crowd movement. “I’m heading aboveground now. If there’s anyone behind me, I can’t see him. It should take me less than five minutes to get to the corner to cross Penn, depending on the lights.”

“I’ll be there. What are you wearing?” Vanko maneuvered the heavy vehicle through the bumper-to-bumper Saturday traffic and cursed steadily in Russian under his breath at the slowness and general ineptness of the drivers.

Elana laughed. It was a genuine laugh, not high and tight with hysteria, but low and sexy and filled with humor. “Very colorful language, Vanko Petriv.”

She understood his colloquial and very vulgar Russian? And had he heard a slight Russian accent when she pronounced his name? But her real last name, according to what Tweeter had told him while he was in the air, was Fabrizzio, an Italian name. He really should’ve read the full dossier Tweeter had downloaded to Vanko’s secure drop box on the SSI server. Instead, he’d spent most of the short flight between New York and D.C. thinking about his sister’s vision and cryptic remarks concerning Elana. Was this woman really the one for him?

Only time would tell.

“I’m wearing a beige raincoat and carrying a black laptop shoulder bag,” Elana replied. “I’m just over five and a half feet tall, have dark brown hair in a French braid. And I’m wearing heels since I was working when all this happened. And trust me, these shoes weren’t made for the kind of running and walking I’ve been doing.”

Vanko couldn’t help but chuckle. Much like Keely, Elana was full of courage and humor under fire. He already liked her. “You’ll be riding soon, yes? We’ll give your feet a rest, I promise.”

“Sounds goo—”

The sound of shots and then a multitude of background screams came over the cell connection loud and clear. Large caliber rounds from the sound of them.

A gasp, a sharp cry, and then a low moan came from Elana.

Fingers of ice gripped Vanko’s heart. His sister’s words…
Elana is yours…if you wish it to be so
rolled around in his head.

“Elana!”

No answer, but the sound of rapid breaths and sobs told him she was alive and saving her energy to run for her life. Vanko cursed. He gunned the powerful Hummer and passed slower moving vehicles, his vehicle half-on, half-off the sidewalk.

“Elana! Answer me,
zaychik
. Where are you?”

Horns blared at him and people on the sidewalk screamed as they dove out of his way.

“On…on Penn, heading your way.”

Hearing her voice dissipated some of his tension.

Then she swore in as fluent of gutter Russian as his. “They’re…oh my God! They killed a man who tried to help me. There’s two of them. Automatic weapons. They’re gaining on me.” Elana’s breathing was harsher, weaker.

Then more shots sounded. The cacophony of screams in the background provided a perfect score for a horror film. He swore he could hear Elana’s heart pounding, but knew it was the sound of her feet pounding the pavement.

Finally Vanko reached the corner. He took a quick, sharp left onto Penn and drove against traffic. Even more horns blared and drivers flipped him the bird, but they gave way to the much larger Hummer. He spotted a dark-haired, leggy woman carrying her shoes in one hand, with her phone in the other, running toward the street. Her shoulder bag, worn across her chest, bounced off her side. Two men in dark clothing with hats pulled low over their faces chased her and shot at anyone who got in their way. Downed bodies littered the area behind Elana and her pursuers.

“
Dermo
.” He feared he might not get to her in time. His anger fueled his determination to make sure he did. “I see you. Get ready to hop in the Hummer.” He cut across four lanes of oncoming traffic; the passenger side would be easy access since he was driving against the flow.

“I see
you
.” Her words were strained, raspy. “You crazy man.” Her chuckle was half-laugh, half-fear-filled sob.

He pulled alongside her and stopped. She opened the door, heaved her body up and inside. With a grunt of exertion, she pulled the door shut.

Bullets thudded against the door and windows.

“Hold on!” Vanko took off in a squeal of tires and burning rubber. The bullet-proofing held, thank
bozhe
. Not that God had a thing to do with it.

A quick glance showed Elana had managed to fasten her seatbelt and then hunched over her lap below the level of the windows. Not only courageous and gallant…but also quick-thinking. He approved.

More bullets bounced off the vehicle as they sped away. As a bullet sent a spider web of cracks on the passenger-side window, Elana let out a sharp cry followed by a sob quickly cut off. Vanko wanted to kill the men who’d chased her like an animal. But stopping and eliminating the bastards would expose her to more danger—and that he wouldn’t allow.

…
Elana is yours…
His sister was never wrong.

“It’s okay,
zaychik moy
. The bullets won’t get through. The Hummer is armor-plated and the bullet-proof glass is the same quality they use on the Presidential limousine.”

“Uh, okay…if you say so.” Her voice was filled with a healthy skepticism, and she remained below the dash and the window level. Her instincts probably told her more metal was better than bullet-proof glass—and she wouldn’t have been wrong to think that.

Vanko added intelligence to her list of positive traits.

Still driving against traffic, he was having a harder time forcing vehicles to move out of his way. All lanes of traffic had basically come to a stop because of the chaos behind him. Checking his mirrors, he spotted the two men chasing after the Hummer on foot—and with his current snail’s pace, soon to become a complete stop, they could eventually catch up. Even with armor-plating and bullet-proof glass, the Hummer had vulnerabilities, and he didn’t want to bet Elana’s life that the two men didn’t know what they were.

“Fuck this shit.” Vanko gunned the engine, laid his hand on the horn, and drove onto the sidewalk to get around the jam. Most of the pedestrians had already run for cover at the sound of shots, so he practically had the walk to himself. Those that were left got out of his way.

Except for the two shooters who’d gotten in front of him while he’d maneuvered the Hummer toward the sidewalk.

Vanko smiled, a grim twist of his lips. Time for the prey to become the predator. He aimed the vehicle at the men. Visibly stunned, then pissed, the two gunmen got off a couple of rounds before diving out of his way. The front bumper caught one shooter’s body, glancing off his side.

Hope it broke the fucker’s hip.

Vanko also got a good look at them. Even with their hats pulled low, he’d remember them—their size, shape, how they moved. If he came across them again, he’d know them.

“Jesus…you’re…certifiable!” Elana spoke between rasping breaths.

Vanko chuckled. He shot a glance at Elana who now sat upright. She was pale, breathing heavily, and her eyes were closed. She also muttered prayers in two languages and clutched her computer bag against her middle as if it were a life preserver. He shook his head and grinned when he translated one of her prayers as “and please protect the crazy man so he doesn’t kills us both with his driving.”

“I assure you I am in complete control of this vehicle.” At her sniff, he chuckled. His gaze was fixed on his route which was still the sidewalk as he looked for an opening to merge back into traffic. “You, okay?”

“Let me get back to you on that—once my heart gets out of my throat, and I don’t feel like throwing up.”

Vanko choked back the laugh threatening to erupt. He was fairly sure she wouldn’t appreciate his humor over the situation. He angled his head toward her and caught her staring at him with a mixture of horror and awe. His sister might have visions, but he was sensitive to emotions, a very useful tool in reading his teammates and the enemy.

Her eyes were silver gray, rimmed in black like a Siberian wolf’s, and framed by thick, dark, lush lashes. The look of horror and awe quickly faded, and now she looked at him as if he were a puzzle to solve. “Why are you driving on the sidewalk?”

Vanko shrugged, his gaze constantly switching from the windshield to his mirrors. “It’s not as crowded as the street.”

Elana choked on what sounded like a giggle; her eyes twinkled. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for taking her mind off her troubles, even if only for second.

The traffic had become lighter the further they’d traveled from the scene. Tired of driving on the sidewalk and against the one-way traffic. He found an opening and pulled a one-eighty, merged into the proper flow of traffic, and then headed back on Penn toward the scene of the shooting.

Multiple sirens sounded loudly behind them. He’d get off Penn well before he hit the logjam around 7th Street and be well away before the D.C. cops were on the scene. He’d employ evasive maneuvers to lose any pursuers in the quagmire of local city streets and traffic before hitting the road to their evacuation point in Virginia.

In his peripheral vision, he checked out Elana more fully.

“You’re hurt!” A second, more head-on glance confirmed Elana was indeed in some kind of pain.

Elana stared at him, a frown on her lush, pale lips and fear in her silver-gray eyes. She leaned away from him, hugging the passenger door.

He’d scared her.
V rote evo ebat’! Fuck him in the mouth.
He’d gnaw off his own arm before hurting her, but she didn’t know him well enough to realize that…yet.

“I’m…I’m, uh…fine…just winded.” Elana took several breaths and then turned a visually calm face toward him. But it was a lie. Underneath, she was in pain and wary. His
zaychik
was afraid of men, and he didn’t even want to think about why that was. Then she asked in a snippy tone, “Does your mother know you have a potty mouth?”

Diverted by her scolding tone, Vanko shook his head. One minute she was afraid of him and the next she took him on verbally without a single flicker of fear. Elana was a complex equation, and one he’d enjoy solving.

He grunted. “Who do you think I learned it from? And where did you learn your gutter Russian?”

Vanko wondered how much she’d tell him. He always had the dossier Tweeter prepared if she didn’t tell all, but he wanted her to trust him enough to share her background. Elana was destined to be his, and that would only happen with complete trust on both sides.

“My uncles taught me. My mother had a fit.” Elana smiled and then grimaced.

She was definitely in pain…physical pain. And she wasn’t telling him for some reason.

Vanko clenched the steering wheel to avoid reaching for her. He sensed she wouldn’t want to be touched by a strange man right now. But if she needed medical attention, all bets were off. “You’re not fine. What’s wrong?”

“It can wait until we’re somewhere safe.” She laid her head against the head rest and closed her eyes. Her features were taut with the pain she refused to admit to.