Page 21 of Capture of Capricorn

At the sight of them, one of the whitecoats yelled, “The prisoners are escaping. Someone call the guards.”

“You go ahead, big boy,” Capricorn replied, his gaze zeroing in on the exit door, which had a chain running through its push bar, which explained why none of the whitecoats used it.

“I’m gonna shoot the lock,” he remarked, striding for it.

“You might want to deal with the company,” Zora replied, pointing to the guards suddenly spilling into the cafeteria.

As bullets fired—badly enough to give a Storm Trooper a run for the title of worse shot— Capricorn snagged Zora and threw her behind the buffet counter before joining her in a leap. They crouched behind, protected from the hail of missiles, but also trapped.

“Now what?” she huffed.

“Don’t die?” he quipped.

She snorted and squeaked as bullets showered their hiding spot. Chunks of food rained down, and Capricorn grumbled. “So mean, taunting a hungry man.” He peeked just enough to aim.Bang.Bang.

“Two down,” he remarked, ducking back beside her. “But there’s more arriving.”

And they were determined. Zora heard someone shout, “Boss says don’t let them get away.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.” He checked the magazine on his gun. “I’ve got five bullets left.”

“And how many guards?”

“Eight, plus we still need one for the chain on that door.”

“Then you’d better make each shot count,” she pertly replied.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered with a wink and a grin. Capricorn rose and fired only once before ducking again. “I missed,” he grumbled. “They’re hiding behind a table they flipped over.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Zora stated, having had time to peek around at the kitchen. She scuttled over to a cabinet and had to practically climb inside to grab at a handle.

“I don’t think you’ll fit,” he observed, “although I am enjoying the view.”

The view being her ass. Probably the wrong time to flush with pleasure.

“I’m not hiding,” Zora grunted as she scooched backwards out of the cupboard, dragging two jugs of cooking oil.

“Making French fries?”

“I wish. Cover me,” she demanded, abruptly popping to her feet and using that momentum to swing the containers of oil, launching them in the direction of the guards. The impact against the floor cracked the plastic containers, spilling oil.

Amidst the hail of ensuing bullets, Zora dropped down and blew out a breath. “That was close. Good thing their aim sucks. Now to light shit up.” The gas stoves had been left lit, and Zora snared a bun and held it to the flame long enough for it to catch fire. She flung the burning toast, but it fell short and missed. But Capricorn understood her plan. He stood, took aim, and fired.

The oil slick ignited with awhoosh.

CHAPTER 7

The fire spread quickly,feeding on the oil, but while the hot flames provided a barrier to prevent the guards from approaching, they didn’t do much to obscure—until Zora began flinging bread buns at it. Little yummy balls of gluten that burned and emitted smoke, providing some measure of concealment, which increased once the concrete floor began to bubble, the paint on it succumbing to the heat. The emitting choking haze brought a tickle to the throat.

Capricorn glanced at her. “Time for us to make our escape. Keep close.”

As if she’d do anything but. The man had proven to be more than capable. Not only had he devised a way for them to escape the cell, retrieve the sphere, and make it to the main level, but he’d also shown not an ounce of hesitation when it came to using deadly force.

Exactly who was he? Because he had the skills of a mercenary or even a possible CIA agent. She didn’t really care which, since he was her ticket out of here.

They headed for the exit, the doctors in their white coats pounding and rattling it, as if that would get rid of the chain holding it shut. Talk about a fire hazard.

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