Page 93 of Extracted

Cole knelt next to him behind the cover of the dumpster and Dallas relaxed. “What are you doing here?”

Questions swirled through him, but he couldn’t grasp a coherent thought.

“How d’ya think I was going to get your passports to you, dummy?” The corner of his mouth twitched in the almost-grin that Dallas was familiar with. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “Just a graze. Didn’t expect you to come here, that’s for sure. But I’m fucking slaphappy to see you.” He slowly stood to glance over the edge of the dumpster. Where were the shooters? He lowered back down. “I don’t know who the hell is out here, but right before I was about to blow Silas away, someone fired through the window.”

“I can tell you exactly who’s out here.”

“Huh?” Dallas fought the urge to massage his temple. Pain throbbed behind his eyelids.

“Your girlfriend’s boss.”

Dallas’s arm went limp, and the gun rested on his thigh. He hadn’t told Cole about Gemma’s work with the CIA. “I don’t understand.”

Cole snorted. “Right. Well, your girlfriend called me when my plane landed and told me where you were—”

“Hold on.” Dallas held up his hand. “Gemma doesn’t know where I am. She’s—”

“Here, dude. She’s here.” He glanced toward the bar. “Well, she was.”

All the air left Dallas’s lungs as he pushed his weight onto his knees, getting in Cole’s space. Anger vibrated his core. “Tell me what you know.”

* * *

The plastic snapped away from her wrists. Gemma exhaled and dropped into the chair. Sweat dotted her forehead, and she wiped it away with her arm. Red marks glowed on the skin of her arm. She rubbed the areas where the restraints had been and where the saw had scraped. Blood flowed freely again, making her fingers tingle.

She grabbed the saw, spread her knees as far as the binding allowed, and cut through the plastic at her ankles. It flicked off. She grunted and dropped the saw back on the table.

Her legs trembled as she stood. It’d been a few minutes since she heard gunshots, which could be really good or really bad. Either way, she had to get out of here before Perry came back.

Hopefully he’s dead.

Or if not dead, at least maybe he’d forgotten about her.

She picked up her purse and stuffed the spilled contents back inside. Her fingers grazed the gun, and she hefted it into her palm. If she fired at Perry, it’d draw attention. She sucked on the edge of her bottom lip and tucked the weapon back inside her purse. At least she had it if she needed it. The knife was there as well, but she’d have to get pretty close to do any damage.

She slung her purse over her shoulder then dragged her attention to the toolbox on the floor near the worktable. She crossed the room again, bent down, and opened the lid. The metal clanked as the top smacked the cement floor. She winced. Perry could be close. She had to be more careful.

Running her hands over the tools, she stopped on a hammer, weighing it in her palm. This would do. She could just swing at his head and run. Much better odds of taking him down than with the knife, and quieter than a gun.

The tinkling sound of keys on metal echoed through the empty space. She jerked her gaze to the door at the alley access.

Perry.

Gemma gasped and leaped to her feet. Her heart thudded in her chest. Running on her toes so her heels didn’t clomp on the concrete, she reached the other door then pushed it open and entered a dim hallway. She closed the door slowly behind her. Pressing her back against the wall next to the door, she held the hammer against her chest.

Her knees knocked together. She’d have to hit him as soon as he came through the door. The damn heels would make it difficult to run away after, but shedding her shoes might not be a good idea either. There could be other renovations being done in the building.

A door slammed in the room she’d just vacated. He was inside now.

Gemma sealed her spine to the drywall at her back.

“Fuck!” The sound of something being kicked or thrown across the floor reverberated in the hall.

Gemma compressed her lips together, and a little scream stung the back of her throat. Terror told her to run, to drop the damn hammer and let her feet take flight, but she couldn’t.

They’d find her.

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