Page 2 of Don't Let Go

Remington went with her. Of the three of us, I think I might have preferred McQuade, only because he was a mad dog and would likely gut someone as look at them. That was definitely the kind of energy I wanted protecting her.

Where McQuade blew hot, Remington was cold and precise. He might not look like he’d burn the world down, but I really didn’t like the chances for anyone going up against him directly. He had been the one to notice the assassins before we did. Right, so maybe not my first choice, but definitely a good one.

“They’re pulling out, but I want to get eyes on them or one of them to question…” McQuade scowled.

“Do we risk it?” Cause I saw the benefits. “Or do we extract and find Patch?”

My choice was pretty easy, but I was far more about stealth than open warfare. Fighting our way through the streets? That was McQuade’s bread and butter.

“Split the difference,” McQuade said as he flattened his back to the clocktower. “Go east.” He pointed to a breezeway between the shops. “They came in on a containment pattern. They are gonna have to withdraw the same way.”

And there were cars that way.

I had the keys for the car we’d used to get here. No guarantee that wasn’t compromised—why we hadn’t left anything in it.

Never thought my car boosting skills would get this much work. I jogged ahead, not rushing out but playing decoy. It took almost reaching the end of the breezeway where it opened to the parking lot to work.

The man in all black combat gear just stepped out of the shadows and swung. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones looking to take prisoners. I blocked, then swung, rotating his arm as I flipped the blade’s angle and brought it down and stabbed him through the back of his shoulder.

The jacket was designed to be bullet resistant and to pad from the impact. Digging the knife right through the seams planted it right into the fleshy part of the muscle.

Then McQuade was there and he jerked the gun from the guy’s hand before coldcocking him with his pistol.

It was almost anticlimactic how fast he went down. “Get a car,” McQuade ordered. “Big one.”

Since that was already my plan, I scanned the lot before I sprinted toward one of the larger Land Rovers. It was the upgraded luxury type.

Good.

It took me a minute to pull out the scanner and plant it against the door. Two buttons and it was skimming signals, testing them. There were only so many—the locks clicked and it was open.

No electronic key, but since I had the frequency, I waited until all the lights went green then pressed the start button. All the gadgets were fun, but I kind of missed digging a knife in and popping the ignition or just twisting some wires in the engine.

The past had a lot more fun.

I backed out then drove straight toward McQuade. Right up onto the sidewalk, I cut the wheels and spun so the rear faced him and I could push the button to release the tailgate.

He loaded our passenger in with a distinctive thump, then slammed the door shut before he climbed into the back seat. Good, I didn’t fancy our guest deciding to attack us if he woke up. I didn’t wait for him to close his door before I was already speeding for the exit. So many vehicles were trying to leave, I didn’t want to get caught in a choke.

I also didn’t miss the black-garbed men moving between the cars in the lot.

They were looking.

For us? For Patch?

I touched the comms at my ear again. Still static, then shot a look at McQuade.

He shook his head once. “They don’t have her. Fucking Brit got her out.”

That was good. I turned onto the green, jumping the curb and driving over the dried mud and dead grass to hit the street on the far side. Apparently, I started a trend, because more cars did the same.

How the hell had they known we were there? Had she been set up? Dammit.

Ten minutes and several blocks later, the comms were still static, but we had no tail.

“Call him.” It was my turn to give the orders. McQuade already had his phone out. It took three attempts before Remington answered.

“Where are you?” McQuade demanded.

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