Page 42 of Flint's Battle

The guy crowded the corner, looking at them over his shoulder. “I can make it.”

“If you thought you could make it, you would have jumped already, but..” Flint motioned to the next roof. “Be my guest. It’ll make it easier to grab you when you’re laying on that roof with a broken leg. Assuming you don’t kill yourself.”

The asshole glanced at the other side.

Bowie shook his head. “That’s even farther, asshole. Three stories down onto solid concrete.”

“I’m not going to jail.”

Flint held his ground. “It’s that or the morgue.”

The man glared at them. “I won’t talk.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

He waved his arms when a sudden gust nearly blew him over the edge. “You have no idea what you’ve stumbled into. The resources they have. They’ve been ringing that factory bell for months, now, and your little detective was none the wiser.”

“Not anymore.”

“She never should have chased us down. She’s dead. Maybe not tonight. But they’ll get her in the end. They always win in the end.”

“Then, I look forward to handing them their first loss.”

The guy laughed. “You think you can beat them because you’re some super soldier asshole? They eat guys like you for breakfast. This…” He waved at the roof. “This is nothing. A half-hearted attempt because it was convenient. Once they realize she’s still breathing… Nothing and no one will stop them. You’re just prolonging the inevitable.”

Flint slid his gaze to Bowie and Carter then back to the man. “I’ll put that theory to the test. Because I promise you, they’ve never faced anyone like us. Now either toss down the weapon, and get on your stomach, or do us all a favor and jump.”

The guy snarled, looking as if he was going to throw himself off or try to gun them all down before he grunted then tossed his gun on the roof. He made a show of holding up his hands as he took a step forward, putting a foot between him and the edge when a loud pop boomed through the air.

The guy arched, blood blossoming on his shoulder before he tipped backwards, hanging in the air for a moment — one arm flailing. Eyes rounded.

Then he gone, a dull smack vibrating through the air a few seconds later.

Flint hit the roof, rolling behind a vent as Carter and Bowie scrambled for cover. Flint did a few rough calculations in his head then narrowed in on the side of the hospital where the shooter must have been nesting. A mental pep talk not to getshot, then he was up and heading for the edge. A quick bypass to check if the other guy had survived the fall all the while doing his best to minimize any feasible shot. Bowie and Carter moved in behind him, all of them taking cover once they’d run out of real estate.

A short countdown, then they were scanning the area. Seeing if they could pinpoint the shooter’s location without giving the sniper a viable headshot. Coming up empty was more an act of frustration than a surprise. Not that it didn’t sting. But the chances of them spotting a silhouette in the dark had been slim at best.

Bowie tapped Flint’s arm then struck off, practically crawling in an effort to stay out of range. They took a chance and scrambled through that metal girding then made a run for the stairs.

Carter slammed the door shut behind them then moved in front, leading the way back down the stairs. They made a full sweep of the wing, making sure they hadn’t missed any tangos hiding in the shadows before heading back to the ward. Milligan met them just outside Emery’s room, back rigid. Eyes narrowed.

Flint curbed his initial reaction to push past the man and straight to Emery’s side. Prove to himself she hadn’t bled out on the way back. But the last thing she needed was more stress because his actions might land his ass in jail. Bowie, Carter and Quinn’s too.

Milligan speared his fingers through his hair, nostrils flaring as he forced air in and out. “I distinctly remember telling younotto shoot any more bad guys, O’Connell. Was I unclear? Did I mumble?”

Flint clenched his jaw, reminding himself the man had a point. That not getting arrested on the spot was about as good as he could hope for. “You didn’t mumble.”

“Then, can you explain why I have four…” Milligan pushed out a rough breath. “Make that five more dead bodies on my hands? One still stuck on the roof?”

Bowie leaned forward. “We didn’t actually kill the guy on the roo…” He let his voice fade as he slowly backed up when Milligan glared at him.

Flint sighed. “I’m not sure what to tell you?—”

“Because they didn’t shoot those men, I did.”

Flint snapped his head around, staring at Jack, the man’s voice still ringing through the ward. Flint hadn’t even realized the guy had slipped out of Emery’s room and joined them on the fringes.

Jack moved forward, crossing his arms over his chest. “Milligan.”

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