Briggs—someone she'd worked with and trusted.
But she hoped like hell Briggs wasn't the only one Stephan had sent in, because right now, she had a feeling they were going to need more than the two of them on the ground.
She hesitated at the nose of the last parked car before the burning limo. Twenty feet of free space now separated her from the wreck. She blew out a breath, glanced up at the rooftop, then sprinted forward.
Blue light nipped at her heels, sending jagged asphalt pieces exploding upwards. She swore and dove behind the burning car, ripping her jeans down to her skin. She swore again and rose on one knee, squinting against the smoke and the heat as she scanned the rooftops. She could see little through the thick, soupy haze.
Coughing as the smoke began to catch in her throat, she edged forward and felt for a pulse on the chauffeur. Nothing.
Though with a hole the size of her fist blown through his chest, that wasn't surprising.
She closed his eyes and shifted position. Flames were beginning to lick the underbelly of the limo, and this close, the heat was intense, almost suffocating. Every breath burned and the sweat sliding down her forehead seemed to sizzle. She had to get of here—had to get Wetherton and his people out— before they were either fried, suffocated or the gas tank exploded.
Sound whispered through the crackling of flames. Quick footsteps, approaching from the front of the limo. She swung and sighted her laser.
Only to recognize the blonde who approached. She lowered her weapon and said, "What the hell is going on, Briggs?"
Briggs stepped over the chauffeur's body and squatted near her. "I don't know. The vamp was supposed to hit as Wetherton was coming out of the theater. This wasn't in the works, believe me."
"You the only agent assigned?"
"Yeah. We're only talking about a vamp, and he's little more than a kid, at that. Shit, easy." Briggs hesitated, a grim smile touching her lips. "Or it should have been."
Should being the operative word. "Our first priority's getting Wetherton out."
"You check. I'll cover."
Sam nodded. Smoke and flames reached for almost every part of the car now. The paint had begun to peel, tearing away like sunburned skin. She pulled the sleeve of her jacket over her hand and opened the back door. Smoke boiled out, pungent and black. Inside the car, someone coughed. At least one of them was alive.
Another blue beam bit through the night. The rear window of the car shattered, spraying bright shards of glass everywhere.
Briggs rose and fired several shots at the rooftop of a café just up from the theater.
Heat itched across Sam's skin, heat that whispered secrets and had nothing to do with the flames. It wasn't a vampire up there firing at them, but a shifter. Obviously, the vamp had done a runner, and other games were being played out here tonight. But if there was one thing she'd learned over her years as a cop it was that things rarely went the way they were planned. Mainly because all the various players were usually following a different script.
"SIU," she said, in between coughs, "Anyone seriously hurt inside the car?"
"Wetherton's unconscious. His wife has facial lacerations.
The rest of us have minor cuts."
The voice was cold, efficient. Familiar. She knew without looking that it belonged to the man with the dead eyes.
"We're going to lay covering fire so everyone can get out.
One of you will have to drag Wetherton clear." She hesitated, coughing again as the thick smoke and heat caught in her throat.
"Make for the foyer of the theater."
At least there, Wetherton and his companions should be relatively safe from the laser fire. Unless, of course, the shooter moved.
Or there was more than one shooter.
"Say when," dead eyes said.
She checked the charge on the laser, then glanced at Briggs and nodded. As one, they rose and began firing.
"Go!" she said.