Page 56 of Hot Soldier's Rescue

For a seventy-year-old, Grandma was pretty spry. Or maybe it had something to do with the roomful of flying lead, but the woman stayed right at Ted’s side as he sprinted for the front door. He barreled through it with Grandma on his heels. He shoved Mia at Grandma with a single terse instruction. “Run!”

He had to go back for Elise.

“Cover the front door with RoboSEAL,” he ordered as he spun back into hell. “Don’t let anyone exit this way.”

The robot was laying waste to the hotel lobby as he charged back inside. Lentano was down in a massive pool of blood that announced the man’s death. His remaining lieutenants were panicked, firing wildly at anything and anyone. If they weren’t careful, they’d be shooting each other soon.

“Get out of there!” someone shouted in his earpiece.

He ignored the command. Elise was not in sight. The last time he’d glimpsed her, she’d been standing in the doorway of the kitchen. On the assumption that she’d retreated there, he raced through the little restaurant and headed for the swinging doors.

He spun into the kitchen and dodged hard as something shiny and sharp spun past his head, barely missing him. A butcher knife clattered to the floor.

“It’s me!” he called out as another knife came winging his way.

Elise stood up behind a preparation counter. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you,” he snapped. “If you’ll quit throwing knives at me.” He looked around fast and spotted a tower for stacking dirty dishes. He rolled it beside the doorway and knocked it over on its side. It wouldn’t stop the doors from opening, but it might trip someone running through.

“How did you get in here?” he demanded.

“There’s a back door,” she panted.

“Show me.”

He followed her lithe form as she twisted through the dark kitchen. Her eyes were much better adapted to the dark than his were at the moment. He banged his head against a hanging pan and it clanged noisily. He swore aloud.

Sure enough, H.O.T. Watch announced, “You’re about to have company.”

“I’m way low on ammo,” he reported. He needed to improvise. And fast. He threw open the big commercial ovens and was intensely relieved to see they were gas fueled. Perfect.

Spying a ball of cooking twine, he snatched that up and rolled a tower holding trays of clean glasses forward next to the aisle. A couple quick loops of twine around the prep table leg and the top of the tower, and someone was in for a nasty surprise. Broken glass would go everywhere when someone tripped over that twine.

Scooping up a half dozen knives, he joined her where she crouched by the service exit.

“Let’s go,” she whispered urgently, reaching for the door handle.

“Wait,” he bit out.

She threw him a questioning look.

“Lentano’s guys will cover the alley.”

She frowned then muttered, “Do you smell gas?”

“I darn well hope so. I’ve got all the stoves turned on full blast.”

“Why?”

“Plan B.” He got no time to elaborate, though, because the restaurant doors rattled. “Showtime,” he murmured into his collar.

“Five hostiles massed outside the kitchen,” someone announced in his ear. “Heavily armed but not setting up to quarter the kitchen.”

Not professionals, then.

He whispered to Elise, “Waistband of my pants. Take the pistol. Nine shots in the clip, one in the chamber.” He felt her hand move against his back. It was his emergency backup weapon, but he’d rather she have it than him.

The double doors crashed open and several men charged forward. Two of them went sprawling over the overturned cart and the others jumped awkwardly. He popped up and winged a carving knife at the confused men. Someone cried out as he launched the second blade. Another shout. Ricochets pinged all around Ted and Elise, and he threw an arm over her shoulders and shoved her down to the floor.

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