One Year Ago Wednesday, August 15, 10:00 p.m.
POUNDING FOOTSTEPS ECHOED off the walls in the empty back alley. The sleeper cell’s leader turned, saw her closing in and blindly fired. Lily Andrews dodged to her left, sidestepping the bullet as it whizzed by her. Amateur. She took a deep breath, pushed herself harder and closed the distance between her and Amed.
“Stay on him, Andrews. We can’t lose that briefcase.” Jackson’s smooth voice crackled in her earpiece.
“I got it. Driving him toward you now.”
Amed rounded the corner and raced across the busy New York City street. Lily shadowed his movement, car horns screaming at her as vehicles skidded to a halt. She jumped and slid over the hood of a Honda, her feet hitting the ground lightly before she fell back into stride. Amed tore down the alley hugging the Grand Hotel. There was no way out.
We’ve got you, asshole.
“He’s in the alley adjacent to the hotel,” she relayed to her partner. “Tell me that door is unlocked.”
“Affirmative. Coming into the front lobby now.”
Amed froze, cast a spooked glance over his shoulder and fired. The panicked shot went wide, hitting the brick wall to her left. He lunged for the hotel’s emergency exit and vanished. Lily followed, racing up the stairs. She peered around the landing wall. Amed thrust his open palm into the door on the next floor. The door didn’t budge. He cursed, turned and raced up the next flight of stairs, taking the steps two at a time.
She sprinted after him, closing the gap.
“There’s nowhere for you to go, Amed,” she yelled up the stairs. Her heart raced, pumping in time with each footstep. Adrenaline and excitement coursed through her veins. “Let me help you.”
Another bullet flew past her. This one closer. Shit.
“I take it that’s a no.”
At the next landing, he slammed into the exit door. It flew open—as Lily had known it would.
She stopped at the exit, hugged the wall and slowly pushed the door open. If her intel was correct, this guy was a rabbit, not a shark, so he’d rush to find a place to hide, not wait to blow her head off. Let’s hope they’re right. With a deep breath, she threw herself through the door, rolled and ended in a crouch, gun raised. Head intact, she smiled. Thank you, Intel.
A crash echoed down the empty hall. She pushed herself close to the wall. No one was supposed to be on this floor. And there was no way Jackson could have beaten them to the rendezvous location.
“Where are you?” she whispered.
“Coming up the front steps.” Jackson’s deep voice popped in her earpiece.
Lily’s eyes flicked to the end of the hall and back. “Proceed with caution. Our location may be compromised.”
“How? Wait for me.”
“Negative. We can’t lose that file.”
“Wait for me, Andrews. That’s an order.”
Another crash reverberated down the hallway.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” She got up and ran.
The hotel room door was propped open and Lily paused just outside, listened. Only silence met her ears. She crept in, softly breathing, back pressed against the wall as she made her way into the room. The mirror was smashed. Tiny, razor-sharp shards littered the carpet. A lamp was broken.
Her instincts screamed at her to get out.
Now.
She inched back toward the open door, but it banged shut. Her brain registered the soft pop of a gun silencer behind her. She dove for the chair, grabbed it and brought it down on its side as two more slugs zinged past her head.
Where was Jackson? Where was her backup?
The door opened and slammed again. The only sound in the room was her own thundering heart. She took a moment to gather herself and organize her thoughts. This mission was going to hell. And fast.
Flattened against the wall, gun up, she took a deep breath and peeked around the chair. Amed was sprawled out at the foot of the bed, his lifeless eyes staring back at her. The case he’d been carrying? Gone.
Then, in the broken mirror, she caught a glimpse of a fractured reflection—one she knew intimately. What the hell? Her throat constricted.
“Jackson?”
“Of course you would disobey my order,” Jackson said, his tone hard, clipped. “Are you going to show yourself, or do I have to talk to a chair?”
“That depends.” Her bewilderment boiled over to a hot rage. “Are you going to shoot at me again?”
He chuckled. Funny, how that deep sound used to make her smile. Now her skin crawled with apprehension.
“Lily, sweetheart. Why would I shoot my partner? My lover?” he continued in a voice as smooth as velvet.
A wave of nausea hit her. Not the I-want-to-puke sensation due to a simple stomach bug, but the debilitating sickness you couldn’t escape after riding the roller coaster one too many times. She trusted this man with her heart, with her life.