Page 73 of End Game

He flinched as a bullet blasted through the front window and embedded into the wall separating the front room from the kitchen. Two more holes appeared, each one getting inches closer to his position.

Ash ducked into the hallway, listening for movement in the kitchen. Hearing none, he made quick work of the two small bedrooms and shared bathroom before returning.

He took a knee near what were probably once lemon-colored cabinets, but had now taken on the hue of yellow squash left on the counter a week too long. The new wood flooring in the front room extended down the hall as well as the kitchen. Grimball appeared to be putting his murder money to good use.

When no bullets thunked near his head, he moved to clear the kitchen. A single glance confirmed the room was empty. But a familiar scent caught inside Ash’s nose. He inhaled again, to be certain.

Gas.

“Kayla,” he whispered.

She lifted her head. Glass shards from the shattered window tinkled from her hair to join the other thousand on the floor around her.

“Crawl to me, quickly. Now.”

She snaked her way toward him. Thankfully, she’d kept her suit coat on or her forearms would’ve been shredded. “What’s wrong?”

“One of the bullets hit the gas line.” He motioned for her to hurry. “We need to get out of here. His next shot could spark an explosion.”

“You want us to go through the kitchen?” she asked, guessing his intent.

“It’s the only other exit. Unless you’d prefer to take your chances through the front door.”

Taking one last lungful of clean air, he crouch-ran through the breakfast area, bypassing the small dining table and two chairs, his senses split between the path ahead of him and Kayla’s rapid steps behind him.

He flicked the lock on the slider, pushed it open wide, and waited for another barrage of gunfire. When none came, he turned back to Kayla, who squatted at his six.

“There’s a pile of old tires fifty feet out. I’m headed there to draw their fire. If all stays quiet, run like hell to my location. I’ll cover you.”

“You think there’s more than one shooter?”

“I always expect the worst.”

“I don’t like this plan.”

“It’s the only one we’ve got.” He kissed her swiftly. “Ready?”

“Do I get one of those at the other end?”

He liked that she used humor to defray the tension. The woman was solid. Fearless.

Despite the pressure of the clock ticking in his head, he threw her his cockiest grin. “As many as you can handle.”

She coughed, the gas choking the air. “Don’t die, G-man. I have plans for you.”

Ash surged forward.

34

Kayla’s chest cratered as she watched Ash dash toward the pile of tires. Arms extended, his pistol followed his upper body as it rotated side to side, searching for threats.

The gas swelled in the room behind her. She coughed again, even though she had her face pressed close to the slider’s opening. Every second that slogged by, she prayed it wouldn’t be her last.

The moment Ash reached his destination, he motioned for her to join him. Gathering the frayed ends of her courage together, she shot out of the house.

She hated running. Hated every bone-jarring, brain-bruising, sweat-inducing slap of the feet. It made her wonder what mind-altering drug runners took in order to put their bodies through such torture, every day.

Today’s torment took less than five seconds, but her breaths heaved and her muscles quivered as if she’d run a marathon. Once she reached Ash’s side, he cupped the back of her neck as if he could stop the rush of adrenaline sweeping through her body.

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