Kata took a chance, scurrying over to the next desk on her knees. The emergency exit was about four feet away, but once she left the relative safety of the desk, she had no cover between her and the exit. She’d have to run in the open, pause to push the heavy door open, wait for it to part enough to let her through—plenty of time for a killer to do his job.
But she had no other escape.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, Kata began counting in her head. One . . . two . . . th—
Behind her, she heard a gun cock—not more than a handful of inches away. She froze, her entire body turning to ice.
“Stay on your knees,” he demanded. “Bow your head.”
No! She had read enough about crime scenes over the years, seen plenty of gut-turning photos. Her guess was that he planned to kill her execution style. Kata tamped down her panic.
“What is Villarreal giving you to kill me? I’ll pay you cash to walk away.”
He didn’t respond, except to press the cold barrel of his gun at the base of her skull. Her heart pounded as terror and fight crept in. If he was one of Villarreal’s gangster thugs, he wouldn’t betray his colors. They were each other’s family, often not having much of a real one. They sought power, were willing to kill for respect. Murdering a woman to help his “brother” was nothing, and no amount of money she could afford to offer him would make a damn bit of difference.
“Say good-bye,” he growled, his Hispanic accent very pronounced.
Like hell.
Kata dove forward and flattened her belly to the floor at the same time she kicked out with all her might and struck her assailant’s shin. A loud rattle of metal and a curse told Kata that she’d knocked him into the desk. Then she heard the clang of a weapon, whirled to find his gun skating across the tile.
Leaping to her feet, she lunged between him and his weapon, pointing her own gun in his face. She’d never seen him in her life. Hispanic male, average height and build, around thirty, shaved head, cold brown eyes. He possessed no visible tattoos but his black, long-sleeved shirt would cover most. His jeans were baggy, puddling over the tops of his high-end sneakers.
Suddenly, he smiled as if the joke was on her. “You won’t pull the trigger.”
Bullshit! Before Kata could mutter a word, he lunged at her, hand outstretched for her gun. She tried to get a shot off, but there was no time. She scrambled back to prevent him from tackling her, but he managed to grab her wrist. If he got his hands on her weapon, she was as good as dead. Yeah, she’d love to corner this bastard and call the police so he’d serve time. But she wanted to live more.
Hauling her free arm back, she let it loose and punched his face with every bit of her strength. After an audible crack, pain shot up her hand, but he stumbled. Kata ran for the emergency exit as if she were on fire, looking behind to see if her assailant followed.
She hadn’t cleared the door before she felt a man’s chest, hard as a brick wall, block her. Steely arms closed around her. She screamed at the unfamiliar man holding her. Tall. Sandy hair, green eyes. Gorgeous. Clearly, the guy was intimately familiar with the gym, and wore a look that said he meant business.
God, had Villarreal sent a damn hit squad to kill her?
Panicked, she struggled to reach the daylight beyond him, but she could not pass or move him. She yelled as loudly as she could, hoping someone nearby would hear, even though this business district was largely deserted on Sundays.
“Shh.” The big guy pulled her away from the open door, into the alley, his voice oddly gentle for such a big man. “Hunter sent me.”
Those words ricocheted inside her, and relief blanketed Kata, warming her cold panic. She was safe. No one in her life knew of her connection to Hunter except Ben, who’d come to her apartment and cursed a blue streak when she’d refused his advances and said she’d wanted to be alone. No one Villarreal had sent to kill her could possibly know that by uttering those three words, she’d instantly trust him. With a shaky sigh, she stared up into the stranger’s calm green eyes.
“Thank God.”
The blond guy cast her a reassuring stare and set her behind him, then turned back through the open door, looking into her department’s office space.
At the sounds of a scuffle, Kata peered around her rescuer to see another beefy blond guy with a military haircut and a grim smile holding her attacker to the ground with a large, veined hand around his neck.
Who were these guys? How had they found her so quickly?
“Give me a reason to kill you,” her second rescuer said. “Even a small one will do.”
“Fuck you, cabrón!” The thug was all bravado. He was outgunned and outmanned—and from the panic in his eyes, her assailant knew it.
“I’m married, and you’re not my type,” said the buzz-cutted hulk. “Get on your feet, scumbag.”
Her would-be killer resisted, and the big stranger manhandling him looked positively gleeful when he jerked the shooter up by the arm—in a way designed to dislocate his shoulder.
Suddenly, the thug screamed like a little girl.
“One more good tug will do it,” the stranger warned. “You going to cooperate?”