Page 64 of Fast Justice

Rowan waited in the backseat of the SUV now, watching the FBI agent standing outside her door. The windows were darkly tinted but she could easily see him and hear what he was saying to Oceane’s team via his earpiece, since they were still en route from the WITSEC orientation center.

“Be advised, there’s an unmarked van across the street,” the agent said. “Two males in the front. Unknown number in the back. There’s another down here, not sure if it’s occupied. Suggest you reroute and wait until we’re in the building before approaching.”

Rowan automatically swiveled around to look behind them. Sure enough, there was the van, parked over in the far corner. It was early, but not too early for service or construction workers to be here, and her team was simply doing its due diligence to play it safe. Still, in light of the horrible tragedy yesterday, she was a little on edge as she waited for the agent to open her door.

The agent knocked once on the window, signaling for her to get ready. She gripped her briefcase tight in her left hand and prepared to make the short run to the entrance as instructed.

The moment the door opened, she shot through it and jogged straight for the door to the elevator where another agent waited, holding it open for her. Halfway there, she vaguely picked up the sound of a vehicle’s doors opening behind her.

“Get her inside, now!” her guard snapped.

Rowan wrenched her head around in time to see masked men burst from the van, holding rifles. Fear ripped through her. She swung her gaze front once more to find the guard at the door reaching for her, his weapon raised and his expression set. Urgent.

The staccato pop of semi-automatic gunfire shattered the silence. A scream locked in her throat as the guard at the door grabbed hold of her shoulder, yanking her inside the building.

Bullets slammed into the windows and door, spraying bits of glass down on them. The agent dragged her to the floor and landed on top of her, shielding her with his own body. The shooting got louder, more ferocious as the FBI agents returned fire. Bursts of shots came one on top of the other until it sounded like continual gunfire.

Then, suddenly everything got quiet. Over the ringing in her ears, the agent on top of her let out a vicious curse and scrambled off to drag her to her feet. “This way,” he commanded, seizing her by the upper arm. “Run and don’t stop until I say.”

Heart in her throat, Rowan rushed after him, her high heels sliding on the bits of glass. Her shins and the front of her thighs stung in places but she barely noticed, racing to keep up with the man, who raised his weapon as he wrenched open another door and pushed her up the stairs in front of him.

As she turned the corner of the staircase and began to run to the second floor, she glanced back and glimpsed the two FBI agents beside the SUV down. And the masked men bearing down on the entrance with their weapons up.

Terror rocketed up her spine. She kicked off her stupid shoes and fled up the stairs, her heart racing. She bit back a scream when the man at the base of the stairs fired his weapon.

A volley of rifle fire answered him. Rowan didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare slow down, racing for the upper hallway.

Another agent appeared on the landing, weapon drawn. “In here,” he shouted to her. Rowan ran for him, had almost reached the doorway he was in, holding out his hand to her, when an accented male voice called out from behind her.

“There’s nowhere to hide from us, bitch.” Then male laughter.

God, how many of them were there? More gunfire shattered the stillness. High-pitched pops amongst the staccato fire of the rifles.

Gasping for breath, her heart was about to explode, Rowan latched onto this new agent’s hand. He was talking to someone via his earpiece, demanding backup as he dragged her inside, quickly locked the door, and herded her away toward the far side of the room to another door.

He shoved her inside it. “Lock it. Don’t open it until I tell you to.”

Her hand shook as she turned the bolt home, then retreated to the opposite side of the storage closet and stood there with her back pressed to the wall, her breathing shallow as she stared at the door.

This was it. Her last refuge. If the agent on the other side couldn’t take down the attackers, then she was dead.

She squeezed her eyes shut, took a shuddering breath. She thought of Malcolm. Kevin. Her parents.I don’t want to die!

The thought had barely formed before gunshots ripped through the room. She swallowed a cry and forced her knees to hold her upright, her chest so tight she could barely draw a breath.

The shooting stopped. The resounding silence reverberated against her eardrums, mixing with the terrified thud of her heart. There was no way the FBI agent had survived that. She had no weapon. Nothing to defend herself with.

Rapid Spanish filtered through the door. Her heart sank, fear giving way to denial.Oh my God, you’re about to die and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

The door handle rattled. She shifted her stance, balled her hands into fists, ready to fight if she could.

More Spanish, and an oily male snicker that made her skin crawl. A single gunshot hit the door. She flinched and pressed her lips together, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

A moment later the ruined door swung open. Before she’d even taken a single step, fist raised, hands reached in and plunged a hood over her head.

She fought it, grabbed at the fabric and tried to wrench it off but cruel fingers wrapped around her wrists and yanked them behind her, squeezing until her bones hurt. Something wound around them, imprisoning her hands.

“Don’t bother fighting,puta,” one of the men sneered, dragging her out of the closet.

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