Page 1 of Don't Let Go

Prologue

LOCKE

Everything about the plan went great—until it didn’t. One moment Remington guided Patch through the quad of the outdoor mall, cold air nipping at them. The next he suddenly veered course and started running.

I barely had time to acknowledge the abrupt shift when a brick wall barreled into me and slammed me to the walkway. Three things registered at once: the pop of gunfire, the plumes of shattered clay exploding where the bullets struck, and screams.

Lots and lots of screams.

I twisted and managed to stay behind the oversized concrete planter as McQuade moved upward, braced on one knee. He raised his gun, and waited a beat until there was another shot. The crack of it was almost too quiet but it might have been muffled by the screaming.

McQuade barely reacted as little plumes of debris went up from the planter and the ground right in front of him. The bullets were close, but he raised his gun slightly higher, eyes narrowed and then squeezed the trigger.

No silencer could muffle the explosion of sound as he fired three shots. The last one silenced the gunfire coming from above. I caught movement in my periphery, and flicked mywrist, releasing the catch on the knife holster on my forearm. The slim handle landed in my palm.

I threw the blade even as I sat. At this range, accuracy was relatively easy. Anticipating the guy’s speed was not. Still, the cold steel struck true, lodging right in the guy’s throat. He went down with a spray of bullets upward, gurgling as he clawed at the blade.

“Nice,” McQuade commented before he fired twice more. Two more targets went down.

“Can you see them?”

“No,” McQuade answered. “You hit?”

“No.”

“Good, then get ready to move.”

“Getting my knife first.” I didn’t wait for his agreement or not. I had a gun, despite being familiar with firearms, I was far more comfortable with my knives. They gave me more non-lethal methods, but since these assholes were targeting Patch, I was fine with the painful ones.

“Comms are out.” The constant buzz of static betrayed a weakness in the plan. One I really didn’t want to think about.

People were still running, the screams had left the main quad where we were and retreated. Sporadic gunfire erupted and I moved swiftly to yank out the knife. The blade might be staunching the wound, but the guy was definitely dead.

Wiping the blood off on the guy’s jacket, I ripped open the pockets and emptied them. He mostly had more weapons, but I found a plain white security card and a phone. I also lifted the guy’s ear piece. The pop and crackle of speech over it carried.

Guess their commsweren’tout.

Assholes.

“Oh,” McQuade exhaled. “I like that plan.”

I tossed it to him. He tucked it over his free ear, then did a sweep. Squealing tires ripped through the parking lots around us. The piercing shrill of sirens approached.

“We need to go,” McQuade said. “British fucker isn’t answering.”

He wasn’t…

Son of a bitch.

“I’m right behind you.”

He took me at my word and headed in the direction we’d last seen Remington and Patch. Movement flickered and I’d no sooner caught sight of it than McQuade fired. He stalked across the open shopping center, a man on a mission.

The gray skies and cold weather did nothing to deter him. When we were almost to the clock tower, he froze for a minute, head cocked.

When he motioned to the earpiece, I nodded. Not that he glanced in my direction. The shift in his posture was my only warning. Something was up.

From minute one, this plan nagged at me. Not because it was a bad plan—it wasn’t a great one, but I’d definitely done more with less. No, what I didn’t like was putting Patch out there. She would be exposed.

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