Page 21 of Redeeming Meg

She didn’t lie. “There was a cave-in. I was the only one who got through the tunnels.”

A heavy pause came back to her.

The voices of two men sounded behind her, and she ducked into the analyst department. The large, central room was a maze of overturned furniture and scattered papers.

Controlling her breathing as she heard them turn down in the opposite direction, she froze when a security guard’s radio squawked. A woman shouted in the distance for help, and he took off running.

Again, Meg felt the itch to help, but she knew she couldn’t. The mission had to come first. Once she had the USB in her greedy little hands, though, she would do what she could.

“The safe is on the second floor,” Del told her, “inside the Chief of Mission’s office in the southwest corner.”

Giles Marchetti was a Senior Foreign Service Officer at the US Department of State with twenty-some years of experience in diplomacy and national security. He’d been after the Romanian embassy job for ten years and had the language skills, diplomatic experience, and all-around magnetism to land it when it was finally open.

She cracked open the door and let herself out into the hall once more. “Heading that direction now.”

Here and there, she had to duck into other offices, a women’s bathroom, and the lunchroom to avoid various staff members. She spotted another guard, this one stumbling around with a bloody sleeve and his gaze darting around wildly. “You there,” he yelled at her. “What are you doing? Everyone is supposed to be gathering in the health center.”

The embassy had a health center? Was that a sophisticated term for a gym? “On my way,” she lied.

Her fingers automatically brushed the grip of the ultrasonic weapon, its presence reassuring and sobering. She didn’t want to use it against anyone who might be an ally, but he didn’t know she was on his side. He’d probably already encountered intruders, and she was another threat in his eyes.

She flashed him the janitor’s badge. “I was trying to help some of the others first. How’s your arm?”

There was a cut on his forehead, leaking blood into his left eye. He brushed at it and waved off her question. “I’m fine. Turn around and head to the gym.”

Yep, just as she’d thought.

A woman limped around the corner, sobbing and clutching a framed photo to her chest. The guard went to help her, and Meg did the same, getting both of them to the stairwell door.

As it closed, she pivoted and ran toward her intended target, double-checking the directions posted on every corner and following the arrows. Marchetti’s office was in sight when she heard a voice shout, “Stop! Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

It wasn’t a guard, but a man dressed in a suit. His voice was tight and demanding, his adrenaline surging. He raised a weapon, eyes narrow with suspicion.

She showed him her hands, attempting to appear non-combative. All she needed was to get shot before she even made it to Marchetti’s. “I’m here to help.”

He hesitated, grip tightening on the stock. “Prove it.”

“You don’t have time for this,” Flynn barked at her. “Del will?—”

Static filled her ear, and she tapped the comm.

The man, thinking she was going for a weapon, fired.

As she dove for the floor, bullets rained down…

EIGHT

Declan’s heart stopped when he heard the gun go off.

Not just once, but four goddamn times.

He’d been trailing Meg and had come upon the scene just as the suit fired on her.

Debris flew from where the bullets embedded themselves in the wall.

Declan raised his own weapon, bringing the butt down on the back of the man’s head.

The suit slumped to the floor, unconscious, and he had to calm the rage he felt so he didn’t put a bullet in the man’s chest.

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