The interior was still cool to the touch. Good news. At least the flames weren’t that close yet. A buzz hit his phone. He fished his cell out, glanced down. It was from Tram.
Ten minutes.
They couldn’t wait that long.
He texted back—bugging out—and shoved the phone into his pocket.
Lifting the Glock, he crouched…flipped the security hasp and dead bolt and jerked the door open. He burst out before there was clearance and scraped both shoulders as he erupted into the hall.
Which was empty.
But filled with smoke.
No heat though. No blaze. No actual fire present, just that God awful smoke. If the smoke had been less thick, he wouldn’t have chanced it. The alarm…the smoke… too much of a fucking coincidence. But damn it, the hallway was filling up fast. They couldn’t chance getting stuck in that room and succumbing to that gray haze.
They needed to get out.
“Sarah,” he barked, scanning the hall again. “Go. Now.” He started moving as soon as he felt her take hold of his shirt.
Pressing the damp hand towel over his nose and mouth, he towed her toward the stairs. The trip down was slower than he liked, but the stairs were thick with a smoky mist that stung his eyes, burned his throat, and made each step down treacherous. If someone were going to ambush them, it would be now—assuming they had a breathing apparatus and NVDs.
His truck was parked in front of the side door, an easy-peasy sprint, hop in, and hit the accelerator. Put as much distance between them and this place as possible.
Except, if Mitch was behind the smoke— Fuck. The bastard knew Tag’s truck. He could be waiting for them out there. Still, it wasn’t like he had a choice. The smoke was already fucking with his head and breathing. Hell, he could hear Sarah coughing and wheezing behind him. They’d asphyxiate if he started roaming the halls in search of a different exit.
Relief crested when they reached the first floor and the side exit was within reach. The door opened beneath his shove—thank Christ. He’d half expected it to be sealed shut.
Lifting the Shield, he half-crouched and lurched out, Sarah stumbling along behind him. He caught a flash of color to his right. He swung in that direction, and a kid in a red sweatshirt came into view.
They were sitting ducks out here in the open like this. Time to get to the damn truck.
A quick scan of the parking lot. Clusters of shell-shocked, smoke-grimed people. But no Mitch. Nobody with a gun. Nobody who looked like they didn’t belong.
But then, if Mitch had started the fire, he would have come prepared. He’d have breathing apps, NVDs, and a door popper. Hell, he could already be up on the fourth floor—driving the door open.
Thank God Dev had the memory card. At least the asshole wouldn’t be getting his hands on that.
Transferring the Glock to his left hand, he dug into his front pocket with his right hand, pulled out his keys, and beeped the truck’s locks. He thought about telling her to crouch and going down himself. Keeping low to the ground would make them less of a target if Mitch was up in those trees across the parking lot. But the bastard was a tier one sniper. Crouching wouldn’t stop his kill shot. Best to access the truck as fast as fucking possible and get the hell out of here.
It took seconds to reach the passenger door, but they were the longest seconds of his life. He boosted her inside, slammed the door, and spun, racing around the truck.
He’d just rounded the hood when the unmistakable cough of a suppressed weapon sounded behind him. Something plowed into his back, knocking him off his feet. He fell forward, face first, as burning, ripping agony exploded across his back.
Son of a fucking bitch…
He’d been hit.
By some miracle, he still had his grip on the Glock. Grunting with effort, his breath tight and shallow, he tried to roll over, ready to sight and fire. But something slammed into his back, forcing him flat to the pavement. This time his weapon went flying, spinning beneath his truck.
Agony swamped him, buried him in an avalanche of volcanic darkness. It seized his lungs and voice. Sucked him in like a wave.
Sarah…
Her name was a weak, urgent pulse in his head.
He was vaguely aware of being rolled over…of hands diving into his pockets…and then the lights went out and he fell into oblivion.