Page 72 of Deadly Hope
The sound of the shot was deafening in the enclosed space. But Olivia didn’t crumple. It was Voss who staggered backwards, red blooming across her chest.
Voss who crumpled to the floor.
“The evidence is out there now,” Voss gasped, one hand pressed to her chest. “You’ve lost, Bing.”
Pistol at his side now, Driscoll stared at the two women, blinking in shock.
Driscoll’s phone buzzed. His face went ash-white as he read whatever was on the screen. Outside, sirens began to wail.
“FBI’s moving in,” Voss whispered, her voice thready. “DOJ too.”
“Shut up!” Driscoll roared. His weapon swung between Olivia and Axel, eyes wild. “Nobody moves. We’re all walking out of here together, or?—”
Multiple shots erupted from the hallway. Kenji’s voice cut through their comms. “In position. East stairwell secured.”
“West stairwell clear,” Ronan added. “But not for long.”
Driscoll swore and backed toward the private exit at the back of his inner office, weapon still trained on Olivia. “Don’t try to follow. This door locks behind me.” Attention still onOlivia, he raised his phone to his lips. “Get the helicopter here. Now.”
If Driscoll escaped now, he’d disappear forever. But Voss’s breathing was becoming more labored, blood pooling beneath her.
“Your call,” Axel said to Olivia, keeping his voice steady. “But we’re losing her.”
A heartbeat of silence. Then Olivia’s voice, ice-cold. “Go,” she ordered Driscoll. “But this isn’t over.”
Driscoll’s smile was savage as he backed through the door. “It never is.”
The moment the door clicked shut, Axel was moving. He stripped off his jacket, pressing it against Voss’s wound.
“Status?” Griff demanded through comms.
“Driscoll’s running,” Axel replied. “But we’ve got something better.” He looked down at Voss, who was struggling to stay conscious. “We’ve got proof. And a witness.”
“If ...” Voss coughed, blood staining her lips. “If I live that long.”
“Medevac, two minutes out,” Zara reported.
Olivia knelt beside them, her expression unreadable. “Why?” she asked Voss. “Why take the bullet?”
“Because,” Voss whispered, “James was right about one thing. The truth ... the truth matters more than revenge.”
The sound of helicopter rotors grew louder. Axel’s hands shook as he pressed harder against the woman’s wound, but his eyes were fixed on Olivia. She was alive. Dear sweet Lord, she was alive. The prayer of gratitude that rose in his throat was wordless, primal—just his heart crying out in thanks.
Voss’s pulse faded. He’d seen too many people die to miss the signs. She wasn’t going to make it. But in this moment, all he could feel was overwhelming relief that the bullet hadn’t found Olivia.
And somewhere in the city, evidence of Driscoll’s crimes was spreading like wildfire through every agency database in Washington.
42
Blood soakedthrough Olivia’s silk blouse where she pressed against Voss’s wound. The copper smell, the sticky warmth—it brought her right back to her ER rotations. Except this wasn’t a stranger. And this wasn’t a hospital.
“Stay with me, Margaret.” Her voice stayed steady, professional, even as her pulse hammered. She’d seen GSWs before, but never ... never like this. Never someone taking a bullet meant for her.
Voss’s lips moved, blood-flecked. “James ... he didn’t know. Couldn’t know. Had to make it look real ...”
The words came in gasps, each one more labored. Olivia’s clinical mind catalogued the symptoms: tension pneumothorax, likely arterial damage, blood pressure dropping. Her hands knew what to do, but without equipment, without a trauma team ...
“Shh, don’t try to talk.” But Voss grabbed her wrist, grip surprisingly strong.
