Expired Getaway (Last Chance County #7) - Lisa Phillips

One

Denver, Colorado.

The back door to the accountant’s office had been broken and busted into. The keypad smashed up, obliterated by the butt of someone’s gun. Or so she assumed.

Bridget had a phone, but 911 was the last thing on her mind.

All she could think of as she drew out her gun and deposited her pack by the back wall was wondering who had been on shift tonight. She’d been out of town for two days delivering a care package to one of their clients. It was a regular enough occurrence, but traveling to Caracas to do so wasn’t. Being discovered there by cartel guys while fishing the client out of a dicey situation and running for their lives? Also not so much.

Bridget had very nearly been shot right before stashing the client somewhere safe. Afterward, she flew to Mexico City and met with a doctor, passed out for two days from exhaustion, and managed to miss her meeting time.

Now that she was finally here, she discovered the office had been broken into.

Bridget didn’t believe in coincidences. But of all the enemies the accountant’s office had, she didn’t have the first idea who might be inside.

Or what they wanted.

Bridget cast a longing glance at her backpack. She didn’t like leaving it unattended, but it could hinder her if she had to fight.

She eased the door open with her foot and stepped into the back hallway.

A muffled grunt echoed from the main office.

The place wasn’t big. A strip mall storefront with a small unused apartment above—a safe house when one was needed. Bridget made up one quarter of the four employees. The boss was currently out of town on vacation with her husband. That left Clarke and Sasha. If someone had broken in while Sasha was working late, they’d be dead already.

That left Clarke.

Her sometimes-on-again/sometimes-off-again boyfriend had made it clear before she left that he wanted things to go to the “next level.” Bridget didn’t even know what that meant. Or why she was dragging her feet over him.

She needed to tide him over with some sort of excuse until she figured out for herself what her deal was with him.

Bridget crept down the hall to the door at the end, ajar. Beyond, the main office was lit. They’d painted the front windows so no one could see inside.

Another cry sounded, not so muffled now.

Bridget whispered, “Clarke.”

She should get in there and save him from whatever was happening. Still, part of her wanted to wait so she had a better idea of what she was getting into. Another part of her—one she wasn’t sure she liked—wanted to see what he’d do. How he might handle this. As though his mettle hadn’t been tested already in this job, and she needed to put him through the wringer all over again. She didn’t need to see the depth of his skills. That was selfish.

“You will tell us what we want to know.” The accented voice held the strain of authority. Someone not used to being ignored, who was accustomed to making someone pay dearly for such lack of judgment.

A shudder began but Bridget locked it down like she always did. She needed steady hands and a calm mind. Something she’d worked on for years, battling her fear to the place she could be strong. Valued.

Not the beat-up, broken-down teen who’d left Last Chance in the middle of the night without ever looking back. The lingering trauma flared on occasion—like when she saw blood. Given the last few days, her history was pretty close to the surface.

But she couldn’t let it penetrate. That would only leave her useless.

Bridget kicked the door open. She clocked the two guys in suits right away. Clarke stood behind his desk across from them. Unsure. Debating. He started to speak.

The door behind her hit the wall with a thud. Both suited guys shifted to her. Before they could face the new threat, Clarke pulled a gun from his desk and shot twice.

Both men fell to the ground.

Bridget blinked, but the prominent feeling that settled upon her was relief. It might seem harsh, but in their business, hesitation meant death. And given the last two days, she wasn’t willing to take any chances. After the mission she’d just been on, Bridget knew something wasn’t right.

She glanced around. “Are there more of them?”

Clarke stumbled back and sat heavily on the desktop before sliding sideways and falling to the cheap carpet. Blood trickled down the side of his face from a nasty gash on

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