Page 16 of Cooper's Command

Realizing she didn’t have any service when she palmed her cell only pissed her off more. Had her placing her phone and her gun on the floor as she started giving the man compressions.

“Damn it, Richard, don’t you fucking die on me. I need to know who you’re working for. Who was really behind Tate’s death. So, breathe, buddy.”

She kept compressing his chest, humming that Bee Gee’s tune in an effort to maintain the proper pacing. Doing her best to get him breathing again so she could dart outside long enough to get a signal and send off an SOS to Cooper and Emery when the floor creaked by the doorway a moment before Simmons came barreling around the corner. Guns blazing like he’d walked into a saloon of some Wild West movie.

Nova had no other choice but to grab her weapon and scramble for cover. Pain shot through through her arm and side as she managed to slide behind Paulin’s desk — using it and his chair for cover.

Simmons unleashed another flurry of bullets, a few punching right through the desk and past her shoulders. She yanked out the drawers, hoping Paulin kept some extra weapons in one, when two notebooks fell onto the floor from beneath the lower drawer, the top cover fluttering open. While she couldn’t read the entries, she knew a damn ledger when she saw it. What waseither proof or a bargaining chip. A small glimmer of hope that she might have a chance at collaring whoever was running the drugs.

If she didn’t get herself killed.

Tate’s face wavered off to her right, his dead eyes openly mocking her. She took it as a sign to get her ass moving before Simmons had a chance to reload.

She shoved the books inside her shirt, fired off some cover rounds then darted out, hoofing it to the hallway before Simmons had a chance to recover. She hit the corridor at a full sprint, bouncing off the wall as she made a beeline for the front door. She didn’t even stop running in order to shoot out the light gleaming by the entrance, just lifted her arm and fired — sent glass and bits of filament raining all over the floor. Darkness blanketed the front of the building, only a hint of gray brightening the sky through the windows.

Nova was halfway to freedom — Simmons’ footsteps racing across that back room — when three men bustled in through the door. Large. What looked like AR-15s slung across their chests. They cleared the front room then headed for the hallway, heads on a swivel. Those massive guns lifted to their shoulders.

A skid and a pivot, and she was diving into the storage room — shooting out the small window on the far wall before launching herself through. Her shoulder took the brunt of the force as she smashed through the remaining glass, landing on the ground several feet from the building.

More pain sparked through her torso, but she didn’t have time to worry if she’d broken anything. Not with those assholes sending a barrage of gunfire out through the shattered window. She rolled to the left then staggered to her feet, stumbling around the back of the office before heading for the parking lot.

Until some guy busted out another window in front of her, rolling to his feet as he turned and raised his gun. Nova didn’thave time to work through any moves, just reacted on instinct, diving toward the guy before he had a chance to get off a round.

She pushed to her feet with a firm strike to his crotch, doubling him over as he grunted out a strangled breath. A quick turn and a heave, and the bastard was flying over her shoulder. Hitting the dirt in a billow of dust. A hard kick to his elbow and head and he was out, his broken arm lying at an odd angle across his body.

Voices shouted in the background, a mixture of English, Spanish and what she swore was Mandarin. Not that she understood most of it, the sound too muffled to make out individual words. But she recognized the tone and that they weren’t looking to take prisoners or make exchanges. They were out for blood.

Preferably hers.

Nova sucked in a quick breath then focused on moving. Placing each foot in front of the other as she raced toward the front of the building. She needed to find a place to hide one of the ledgers — leave a tangible piece of evidence for Cooper and his team to track down if she didn’t make it out of there alive. Because she knew, without a doubt, Cooper wouldn’t let her death slide, regardless of how Simmons spun the tale.

Nova rounded the front of the building, sticking to the shadows as she scanned the lot. Headlights winked in and out in the distance as a few more vehicles bounced along some obscure dirt road. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out where they were headed.

Heavy footsteps pounding the dirt behind her gave her the motivation she needed to make a run for the fountain. Pray she could duck behind it before anyone caught sight of her. She pushed hard, sliding the last couple feet across the gravel as three heavily armed assholes charged out from the side of the building, chests heaving. Their weapons sweeping the lot.

Nova tucked in her legs, pressing her back into the fountain as she worked through how she’d eliminate them if they’d noticed the lingering dust cloud she’d likely kicked up or how her shadow peeked out from the side. The hint of moonlight definitely playing against her.

Gravel crunched off to her right as the men walked halfway across the lot, their long, distorted silhouettes burning black against the dark gray stones. Nova followed their progression, making herself as small as possible when they stopped on the other side, a whiff of smoke and musky sweat drifting along the breeze.

No backing out, now. Either she challenged them, or she died without a fight.

She took a deep breath, running through her strategy one more time before she dove out, catching the closest asshole in the thigh and dropping him like a sack of bricks. His buddies shifted, their gazes sweeping the area four feet above her before finally dropping to her location. But that slight hesitation was all she needed.

Two shots, two hits. One in the chest, the other in the head. Sending them both tumbling backwards, a low vibration shaking through the ground beneath her as they landed with a firm thud.

But she was already stumbling her way back to the fountain. She removed the maintenance hatch at the bottom, then quickly closed it once she’d wedged one of the ledgers inside — the one already sticky with her blood from the shootout in Paulin’s office. Either a graze or maybe a through-and-through. Possibly both based on the amount of blood. Regardless, it was exactly what Whiskey or one of the other dogs would need in order to track down the ledger if it came to that.

While she’d admit it wasn’t her best option, she was out of time. Another few seconds, and every remaining cartel asshole would be barreling out the front door in response to the shotsshe’d fired. And if she wasn’t jumping into her car by then, she was dead.

After one last check to ensure she hadn’t left bloody handprints on the hatch, she was up and running. Sprinting for the rental on the other side of the lot. She yanked the door open as Simmons and two other men appeared on the porch, guns drawn. What looked like tactical vests covering their torsos. But she was already cranking the engine then stomping on the gas, careening backwards in an explosion of dust and dirt before spinning the vehicle a full one-eighty then peeling out.

The men opened fire, hitting the quarter panel as she raced for the entrance, Simmons’ voice shouting behind her.

“You won’t get far. I’ll have every cop on the island hunting you down. You’re dead, Martin.”

Stones ricocheted off the undercarriage, more bullets hitting the trunk as she sped down that gravel road, fighting to keep the damn car on track as it bounced through a series of potholes.

Oncoming headlights cut through the darkness as she rounded a corner, barely missing the first SUV when it veered to the right, skidding to a halt as she danced her car around the second. Engines growled behind her, those headlights lighting up her rearview a few moments later.

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