it. Obviously, his possessions are still in your motel room. We’re going to get them.”
He must have followed them here. But there was no way he could know they’d found the memory card and that Brett’s C.O. had it. That had all taken place in the privacy of the room. Right now, she needed to get him away from the man lying so still behind them, unable to defend himself.
“Everything’s still in the motel room,” she admitted.
Well not everything. Not what he was looking for.
She touched the keycard to the electronic pad, waited for the faint buzz, and yanked the door open as wide as it would go. A hard shove pushed her through and into the hall.
“Up the stairs,” Mitch growled.
Sarah turned to the left and started to climb while running various attack scenarios through her mind. She could fall backwards down the stairs and hope she fell on him, knocked him down too. But with her luck he’d be several steps down and all she’d do was give herself a concussion.
There were a couple of items in the room she could use as a weapon, though. The pen on the motel notepad next to the phone. Hell, even the phone—it was heavy enough. Or maybe the ice bucket.
There had to be something up there she could use to defend herself.
Was Brett still alive? Had he bled to death?
With a shallow, aching breath, she banished the question. She needed to concentrate on saving herself. She’d have to trust that Lucas or Devlin would show up, or someone would call the paramedics. She had to trust that someone would find Brett before it was too late.
The best she could do was lead his would-be murderer as far away as possible. And pray he wouldn’t turn that gun on her when he saw the ripped hem of Sean’s leather jacket and discovered he’d already lost what he was looking for.
Devlin Russo heard the scream of the fire alarm before he stepped out of his truck. Since the motel’s side door closest to Tag’s ride was keycard protected, he’d parked in the front lot, to the right of the main entrance, with the intention of accessing the fourth floor through the lobby’s elevator or stairs.
Which wasn’t going to happen now.
Judging by the knots of people lurking beneath the portico and the stragglers stumbling through the open glass doors, the motel was being evacuated. The fire department hadn’t arrived yet, but he could hear the shrill, oscillating shriek of sirens above the constant ring of the fire alarm.
Emergency crews were on their way.
His senses sharpened. Motherfucker. This sudden fire could not be a fluke.
Skirting the hood of the truck, he jerked open the passenger door and leaned inside to press his thumb to the scanner that unlocked the glove box. The fingerprint scanner had been custom installed and worth every penny he’d paid for it. When time was short, fumbling for keys to arm up was a good way to get yourself planted six feet under. Or to get those you were responsible for planted. Or both.
He holstered up, ejected the magazine to the Sig-P226, checked to make sure it was full, and snapped it back in place. With his weapon holstered but ready, he headed for Tag’s truck at a lope.
No doubt his men and the woman they insisted on protecting would come out the side door, closest to Tag’s truck. At least Tag had Tram for back up. Sarah would prove useless in an armed conflict, a handicap rather than a benefit. The woman probably didn’t even know how to shoot. Or if she could shoot, she’d be too squeamish to go for the kill shot.
And that was assuming she wasn’t working with Mitch, which was a hell of an assumption. Who knew what her agenda was? She sure as hell hadn’t concerned herself with the safety of his men, or the U.S. military—or the American people for that matter.
He rounded the corner of the motel to find a cluster of rubberneckers hovering around Tag’s truck.
What the all fucking hell?
That many people crowded around Tag’s truck just staring down could not be good news.
His gut clenched. His muscles tightened beneath a burst of adrenaline. His mind crystal clear and focused, he broke into a dead run.
“…called for an ambulance…” He heard someone say as he cut through the crowd. He shoved aside the voyeurs on his way to the front.
Tag. On the ground. His t-shirt shoved up around his neck. Lifeless.