“Stop where you are, love,” Charlie says. I look up and a nurse is frozen, stock-still, with an upturned tray at her feet, and small drug vials rolling on their sides down the corridor toward us. She looks like she’s just shit her scrubs. Probably because Charlie’s pointing the gun at her. I can’t go for Charlie’s weapon now; it’s too risky. He might shoot the nurse. But now that he’s distracted, I can pull my own gun. I grab it from my waistband, hissing through my teeth at the jaw-dropping pain that rips through my stomach. “Drop it, Charlie.”
Charlie angles his head toward me, grinning. He looks even madder now, the whites of his eyes showing. He starts to laugh. “Oh, this is just fucking perfect, isn’t it? You’re gonna ’ave to shoot me in a hospital. You’re gonna get caught and sent back to fucking Chino, ’cept this time they’ll fling your ass on death row. No early release for good behavior with that one, son. And what if you don’t kill me? Imagine all the nasty, depraved shit I can be doing to your little doctor while you rot away.”
He’s still pointing his gun at the nurse, but I’ve had enough. Years. Years I fucking spent in that hellhole for him, for a crime I didn’t commit. That injustice pales against the threat he’s making toward Sloane, though. He can’t be allowed to hurt her; I won’t fucking let him. Not ever. I roar, launching myself at him; I hit hard, sending him crashing into the wall, and the nurse screams. A screen of red drops down over my vision, and I’m pounding my fists into Charlie’s face, his side, his stomach. I’ve dropped my gun, but I don’t care. I don’t care about the pain. I don’t care if I lose every last drop of blood from my body. I will kill this motherfucker if it’s the last thing I do.
Charlie swings the gun back round, smashing it into the side of my face. Pain explodes inside my head, but I keep going. I keep swinging. I only stop when Charlie manages to regain a footing and he spins, pointing the gun at me again. I grab up the Desert Eagle, and then I’m pointing that right back at him.
“FREEZE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”
My heart is slamming in my chest, and my head is spinning. I can barely see straight, but it doesn’t take much to spot the two DEA agents over Charlie’s shoulder. They both have their weapons drawn, and Lowell is staring, wide-eyed, at us as though she’s just hit the mother load. “DEA! PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!” she yells.
Charlie looks at me and starts laughing again. “I’m afraid I don’t quite feel like it,” he shouts. “You see, we’re in the middle of a conversation here.” He pivots and fires in one swift motion, way too quick for the cops to react in time. The nurse at the other end of the hall starts screaming again, and the guy behind Lowell falls back, arms and legs out straight as he sails through the air. A cloud of pink mist blooms behind him, and that’s it for Denise Lowell’s lover.
They call the FN Herstal Five-Seven the cop-killer for a reason. This is why. Its rounds will pierce anything, even police-issue body armor. I doubt Lowell’s partner was even wearing any, though—wouldn’t want to ruin the line of his suit—and now the fucker is dead. This shit is now officially way out of control.
I do the only thing I can; I turn and I run.
******
We’ve almost traveled the length of the hospital before we come across Zeth; we hear shots, shouting, and then there he is, his forehead covered in a sickly sheen of sweat.
“Oh my god! What the hell is wrong with you?” I head for his shirt, to lift it up, to see what damage he’s done—running! He was running!—but he slaps my hand away.
“Later, Sloane. Later, okay?”
“Hey! Hey, stop!” A shout echoes down the corridor, and the next thing I know Zeth has grabbed hold of my hand and I’m being dragged in the opposite direction, away from Agent Lowell. “STOP RIGHT THERE!” she hollers.
We have a good thirty feet on her, though. We skid around the corner, all five of us, and I push ahead, tugging Zeth down the left-hand turning that will take us to the service stairwell; we’re never going to make the elevator in time. I slam through the emergency exit and begin to race down the concrete steps, my heart thundering in my ears. This is stupid, this is stupid, this is SO fucking stupid. The chant is like a metronome, keeping my legs moving. I am running from the law. Never, ever, ever in my life did I think this was who I was, or would be for that matter.
Down we go, staircase after staircase. My head is spinning by the time we hit the ground floor, and my ears are ringing with the sound of footfall and incoherent shouting.
“Keep moving, keep moving!” Zeth roars. I turn and Lacey is right behind me, her eyes wide, a mask of panic frozen on her face. Zeth is behind her, followed by the other men. And three turns of the staircase above us, Agent Lowell leans out into the gap, pointing her….pointing her gun.
“Don’t fucking move!” she yells. Zeth keeps on pushing, though; he obviously has every intention of moving. And fast. We burst out of the emergency exit into the rear car lot, straight into a downpour of rain that’s so heavy it instantly soaks me to the skin.
“Get to the front lot,” Zeth says, pulling both me and Lacey to the right. I’m already moving, but Michael grabs Zeth by the shoulder.
“Give me your keys,” he says. Zeth shrugs him off, but he doesn’t give up. “Zeth give me your fucking keys. Now!”