Page 81 of False Sins

Challenge accepted.

Shoulders down, gait stiff with anger and a hefty dollop of defeat, Bridger shuffled past Romero and Pegs and punched the button to raise the dented hangar door. The magician’s sportscar waited inside, trunk already up.

“Be careful with my things,” Romero taunted from a safe distance.

Bridger curbed the urge to kick in the polished doors, and headed straight for the useless vehicle, lifting a prayer on his way. They’d need every ounce of help they could get.

He was about to go big.

40

“Don’t believein traveling light, do you?” Bridger squinted at the four large duffels filling the sports car’s small trunk.

The magician smiled, a strangely prideful expression, under the circumstances. “Once a man reaches a certain age, a go-bag becomes go-luggage. Preparation, my friend. It’s the key to magic. And the key to life.”

Getting advice from a morally bankrupt washout like Romero made Bridger want to gag, but he made sure his expression didn’t reveal his disgust.

The muscles in his wounded arm burned as he hefted a loaded bag. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as he hauled it to the Eurocopter. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Romero’s grip tighten on the gun pressed to Pegs’ head.

Mistake number two. You’d think a trained spy would know better than to keep his weapon within arm’s reach of a trained warrior like Pegs. Romero might be a great magician, but his tradecraft was sketchy.

Romero’s eyes darted between Bridger and the aircraft, tension etched on his face.

With a grunt, Bridger shoved the bag into place. As he headed back toward the hangar for the next bag, he winced and stumbled slightly, weaving toward Romero and Pegs.

Between the weapon and the detonator, Romero’s hands were full. He staggered sideways bumping into Pegs’ hip before righting himself. “Stay back!”

Bridger raised his hands and ducked his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“He’s hurt,” Pegs added. “He was shot a couple days ago.”

“Whatever.” Romero glared at him. “Just keep moving.”

Sweat trickled down Bridger’s back as he passed them on his way back to the vehicle. It was now or never. High on adrenaline, he felt like he was floating toward the vehicle. He had Jane’s life in his hands. Pegs’ too. Making a move was the right thing to do. The man wouldn’t hesitate to detonate that bomb. Better to take their chances. He lifted a last prayer, begging the Lord to save Jane.

He groaned loudly as he hefted the overstuffed bag from the trunk, stumbling slightly as he hooked the straps over his uninjured shoulder.Please, Lord, help me carry this through.

One step forward, then another. Three more strides and he was within striking distance. He avoided looking at Pegs and kept coming.

Another step and he stumbled sideways again, as if his legs had gotten tangled together. The bag swung off his shoulder, pulling him even closer to the couple.

The bag brushed Romero’s side. The man stumbled backwards.

“Sorry, man,” Bridger said quickly, genuine concern in his tone. He took a step back, giving Romero space.

Annoyed, Romero sidestepped away from Bridger but kept the gun aimed at Pegs. For a split second, his focus wavered.

Bridger seized the opening. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, he lunged forward. His hand closed around Romero’s wrist in an iron grip, wrenching the detonator away.

Then he prepared himself for the shot that would come tearing through his flesh. It wouldn’t matter. He had the phone. Pegs would incapacitate the magician.

Jane would be safe.

His heart pounded in his ears so hard the gunshots barely registered.

Romero crumpled to the ground, hands clutching his thighs.

Ears ringing, Bridger’s gaze shifted to Pegs. She stood tall, Romero’s pistol in hand, expression steely as she surveyed the writhing man.

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