Page 103 of One Last Stand

And then his kneesdidgive out. London sat on the floor in her ball gown, although it had lost its magic, her knees up to herself, bruised and bloodied. And next to her, on the floor, a woman. A badly injured woman with dark hair, her face swollen, her eyes closed.

“Ziggy,” Fraser said, his voice sounding a little wrecked as he knelt in front of her. “What happened?”

“A couple Igors,” London said quietly. “But we hurt them back.”

Shep couldn’t listen to her anymore. He knelt on the other side of her, did a quick assessment of Ziggy. “Her arm looks broken, and—” She wore a black tunic and he raised it. “Bruising. So, internal bleeding, maybe broken ribs.” He checked her eyes. “Pupils aren’t fixed, so hopefully no brain damage.”

“She just kept fighting, trying to take out Martin.” London’s voice bore an edge, and she looked . . . angry. Shep so wanted to pull her into his arms, but she looked . . . different.

And definitely not fragile.

Fraser got on the radio, updating York as Shep checked London. A bruise on her neck, one on her cheek, but otherwise—“Can you walk?”

“Yes.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Huh.“Okay, let’s go.” Kneeling, he pulled Ziggy to himself, then scooped her up.

Axel had appeared at the door, breathing hard. “Oh my—who is this?”

“My . . . friend,” said London as she pushed past him. But she tripped on the hem of her dress and nearly went down. Shep turned to catch her, a reflex, but Axel grabbed her arm first.

“You okay?”

“Dehydrated. But I’m fine.”

Hardly.But he didn’t want to argue. Not yet.

She looked at Shep. “They’ll be back. We need to hurry.” She gathered up her dress in one hand and headed down the hall, nearly running.

Get down the stairs, out to the balcony?—

“Moose, we’re going to need a Stryker basket,” Axel said on his headset. “Boo, can you send it down?”

Shep scrambled down the stairs into the main room. York had beat them down, and Axel climbed out the window. Shep handed Ziggy to him.

Boo had sent down the basket, and Axel set Ziggy into it, clipping her in. The line zipped up with Axel and Ziggy attached.

Shep turned to London, and now, for the first time, grabbed her arms and really checked her, up and down. She held a bar in her hand, maybe the pry bar Fraser had used.

As if she’d needed a weapon.

“I’m okay, Shep.”

Weirdly, she was.

But then she shook her head, drew in a breath. “But?—”

Gunshots from down the hall—and really, the fact they’d gotten this far without any resistance seemed a miracle. Now, as Shep pulled London behind the sofa—or did she pull him?—Fraser turned and zeroed in on a man running down the hall.

Two shots, and the man crumpled midstride.

“Gotcha, Igor,” said London, and Shep looked at her, the dark, angry, foreign expression.

More shots, and these came from outside, on the balcony. York fired back, and Shep grabbed London up and pulled her away from the window.

Outside, the chopper veered away, out of range.

Good boy, Moose.

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