Page 40 of Flint's Battle

Flint’s buddy hit one and they were moving. Opening the door then spilling out into the hallway. Bowie and Carter going high. Flint and Quinn going low. Shadows moved up ahead, disappearing down another hallway.

Bowie moved in close. “Power’s out. We need to assume they’ve got countermeasures.”

Flint nodded, frowning when Jack slipped through the door behind them. He’d thought Jack had nodded when Flint had motioned for the guy to wait at the stairwell. Not that Flint was surprised. Jack didn’t strike him as the kind of man to let others take the risk.

He gave the man a shake of his head before looking at his teammates. “Emery and Moana’s safety is all that matters. If that means letting these assholes go, then that’s what happens. Because I promise you, we’ll track them down later.”

“Bastards won’t be able to run far enough if they’d put a scratch on those two.” Bowie looked at Jack. “I knew you wouldn’t stay behind. Just keep back unless we need you because I assume you’re a paramedic too, right?”

Jack didn’t answer just nodded as he moved in behind Carter. And damn, the guy looked like a natural. Following them down the corridor without making a sound. Getting in their way.

Bowie rushed ahead, clearing the hallway the assholes had darted down then waving the team on. They quick-stepped along the corridor, cursing when a voice cut through the silence. Flint wasn’t sure if it had been a version of Emery’s name or something else, the hollow echo messing with the sound quality.

Not that it mattered because they were racing up the hallway a moment later — zeroing in on the silhouettes standing at the next junction. Looking down the joining hallways as if deciding which direction to take.

The tangos must have sensed Flint’s crew was behind them because one guy turned, calling out to the others before they broke into two groups — each taking one of the branches.

Bowie took off, following the guys who’d gone right. Carter backing him up. Quinn and Jack followed Flint to the left, pausing at a set of sliding doors before darting through then over to the next corner.

Quinn took a quick peek, ducking back when someone opened fire, hitting the corner and spraying dust and drywall across the floor. Flint moved in close, jumping out when the shooting stopped — the men pausing to reload.

Flint didn’t give them the chance.

Two shots, two hits. Both men crumpling to the ground a second later.

He kept his weapon trained on them, just in case, as Quinn moved out and up, checking their vitals as he scanned the hallway. A shake of his head and they were off, again. Hoping all the noise hadn’t complicated Emery’s situation. Put her and Moana’s lives in more jeopardy.

Because Flint knew there were more men. And not just the two Bowie and Carter were chasing. This screamed a six- or eight-man job. Fully organized. Just like at the factory with contingency plans if things went for shit.

And they had definitely gone sideways.

Seeing two more guys up ahead only confirmed Flint’s suspicions. Not that being right held any sort of satisfaction. Especially when one of the men darted into a darkened room while the other broke off in what looked like an attempt to flank the other guy’s position. Box in whoever they thought was inside.

Flint didn’t need to see the drops of blood on the floor to know the tangos had narrowed in on Emery and Moana. He felt it. Sensed it down to his soul. That she was close.

Quinn motioned for Jack to wait in the shadows before moving to the door. He slivered it open, holding it ajar just enough for Flint to slip through before following behind. The room opened into a series of stalls, each one containing medical equipment encased in shadows.

Flint crept along the wall, keeping Quinn in his sights as his buddy mirrored him. They’d gotten halfway through the space when that asshole’s shadow darted past a glass wall, heading for the rear section of the next stall. Gun snugged against his chest. His attention focused on something just out of sight.

Emery. Or Moana.

Flint raced ahead just as the guy stopped and raised his weapon, training it near the back only to have Emery jump out behind him. She moved in close, kicking the back of his left knee before landing half a dozen punches to his torso — completely oblivious to the injury to her shoulder. Or how it might exacerbate her condition. Open up that crater on her back Kian had commented on in the chopper.

The bastard rounded on her, but Emery wasn’t backing down. Simply grabbed his rifle and slammed it into his face, knocking him back. He recovered in record time, taking a swing at her when Moana materialized out of the shadows — two paddles in her hand. Some kind of device hanging from a bag over her shoulder. She lunged at the guy, slamming them against his ears before pressing a button.

There was a loud buzzing sound then an arc of light across his glasses. Smoke curled up from his head as he jerked like a damn rag doll then dropped to the floor. No twitching. No groaning. Just his body splayed out on the linoleum. A static charge filling the air.

The other guy busting through another door at the back had Flint moving. Yelling for Emery and Moana to get down as he fired through the glass partition separating them. Grunting when the shot grazed the side of the asshole’s head instead of dropping him.

He tumbled backwards but managed to catch his balance against the door — retreat.

But Flint was already running toward Emery, trusting Quinn to guard his six. Cap anyone else who tried to ambush them.

Emery glanced up at him, eyes wide. Chest heaving. She smiled, collapsing against him a second later. Her body a dead weight in his arms. Just like this morning when he’d carried her out of the water.

Moana knelt beside him, face pale, practically hyperventilating. Those paddles still in her hands. “Oh god, is she okay? She wouldn’t let me take any of the risks. Kept saying it was her fault.”

Flint gave her a quick once-over, cursing the watery slide of her back. “You did great. Wait until I tell Bowie how badass you were. Jack!”

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