Page 94 of Ground Truth

And second, a totally pissed-off Alonzo Drake would be waiting for Brand when he came through the back door to the parking lot.

Brand wouldn’t know what hit him.

Flint trotted as rapidly as he dared, weaving through patients and workers and around various equipment obstacles toward Drake and Brand outside.

About halfway to the exit door, he heard pounding footsteps and shouted orders coming from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.

Two armed goons, one short and heavy, one lanky and awkward, coming up fast.

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Chapter 46

Flint picked up his pace. He could hear their hard-soled shoes slipping on the marble behind him but gaining ground. What he’d remembered as a short hallway now seemed longer than a football field.

Hoping to slow his pursuers down, Flint pushed a trash barrel to the floor behind him, strewing garbage in his wake.

The short one slipped and fell, cursing when he landed on his ass. The lanky one paused to offer a hand.

Flint struggled to increase his speed and put more distance between himself and the armed guards.

When the two guards were vertical and moving again, they came after him with a vengeance. They’d been doing the job before. Now they were angry.

“Stop! Stop or we’ll shoot!” one of them yelled like dialogue from a bad movie.

Laughable words but the threats were dead serious.

A moment later, they fired two shots to prove how serious they were.

The deafening blast and acrid stench of gunshots in the enclosed corridor were unmistakable.

When the shots rang out, hospital personnel screamed and moved aside, crouching low near the walls, clearing a path.

Flint ducked instinctively and covered his head with both arms as he ran.

Both shots went wild.

One hit the wall near Flint, sending a mini spray of drywall dust over the floor.

The second bullet penetrated the ceiling on his left.

Flint zigzagged and bobbed and weaved, taking quick looks over his shoulder for brief risk assessments.

Only short glances were required to prove he was losing the battle.

Never a fast runner even when he wasn’t nursing a concussion, Flint took a deep breath and poured on as much speed as he dared, running full out toward the exit.

The door was only twenty feet of unobstructed corridor ahead now.

He could make it before they killed him.

Possibly.

If he kept going.

The goons shot and missed again. But they ramped up their running speed at the same time.

He could hear them. They were close now.

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