The Hard Way Duncan Brockwell (romance book recommendations .TXT) 📖

where Vodicka had shot one of them. Her victim sat in an armchair, his head tilted to the side. The only way Walker knew he was dead was seeing the bullet wound in his cheek. “We need to help Rachel and Hayes. That woman’s got the battery.”

“You go! There’s more down here,” Vodicka replied.

Although what she said didn’t sound hostile, her eyes told a different story. Walker agreed, nodded, and walked backwards into the dining room, not wanting to turn in front of her. Once out of the lounge, he ran for the hallway.

“Rachel!” he shouted up the stairs.

More shooting upstairs made him run up one flight to the first landing. “Rachel!” Nothing, just gunshots. “Talk to me, baby, where are you?”

When he turned left, a door opened. He leapt to safety inside a room before bullets hit the wall. He was in a bedroom, plush, well maintained, with floral bedding and light-coloured walls. Walker opened the door a crack, then shut it quickly, a figure on its way.

Upon seeing the handle turn, he fired three shots into the door, then heard a body slump to the floor. When he opened the door again, his target lay there, a hole in his forehead. He couldn’t have shot him any more centrally if he tried.

“Luke, they’re everywhere!” Miller shouted from upstairs.

“How many have you taken out?”

“Two. How about you?”

He wished he could see her. “Three, and Voddy wasted one that I saw.” When he received no reply, he stepped over the body into the hall.

Bullets came flying at him from nowhere. He ran at speed in the opposite direction to Rachel’s voice.

72

Miller wanted to march downstairs, find Luke and kiss him. Instead, she stood beside the bedroom door watching as the handle turned. Sweat formed on her temple. She raised her pistol, kept it pointed skyward, ready to lower to head height at a moment’s notice.

Next to her, Marlowe had his hands cuffed in front of him. “If you’d uncuffed me, and given me a gun earlier, we wouldn’t be in this shit.” His voice was an angry whisper. “Give me that pistol now and I’ll take care of this.”

“Shh!” She glared at him. Turning her attention to the handle, the door opened slowly, letting the muzzle of the carbine inside. Miller braced herself, held her breath, and barged the thick wooden door, wedging the mercenary between the frame and the wood. The guy’s helmet fell off.

With as much power as she could muster, she slammed her full weight behind the door three more times, the guy’s head catching the force on two occasions. He slumped to the floor, unconscious. Bending over, she picked up the carbine, putting the pistol in her trousers. “That’s three. It’s time to finish this.”

“Oh what? You think it’s going to be that easy?” Marlowe stayed behind her when she opened the door and stepped over the body, into the hallway. “These guys are trained killers, remember? You think you’re getting out of here? None of us are.”

“You hear those sirens, don’t you? Your mates know that if they take too long at this, they’ll be surrounded. It’s why they’re getting sloppy.” As soon as she set foot on the carpet, Miller had to jump back inside, as bullets tore up the door. “Down!” she cried, looking up at the hallway where she’d just been, the MP5 still in her hands. “Quick! Shut the door!”

The unconscious intruder was in the way. She forced Marlowe to drag him further into the bedroom, then slammed the door shut. “Shit! We’re trapped!”

What sounded like firecrackers forced Miller onto her side. Bullets blasted their way through a wall. Next door, one of the mercenaries tried their luck. She turned onto her other side, listening. There was movement behind the wall.

“Now!” Marlowe shouted.

Without hesitation, Miller squeezed the trigger eight times at the wall, in the general area of the noise. One bullet hit her guy; she heard him moan, followed by swearing, grumbling. She’d injured one, but he still had his gun. “Damn it!”

She didn’t have time to fret, the door burst open and a black-clad mercenary ran in, firing blind. He was firing at chest height, yet Miller lay on the carpet. Waiting until he was all the way inside, committed to his attack, she squeezed the trigger three times, the first bullet hitting him in the neck, the last two missing him.

He fell back, grabbed his throat with one hand and raised the carbine with the other. The mercenary kept using his leg to crawl away from her.

“The next one goes in your forehead,” Miller hissed. “Put it down.”

Surrendering not his preferred plan, the intruder stopped crawling.

By the time he’d raised his MP5 to fire at her, Miller had already shot him twice, once in the chest and once in the forehead. He lay on his back staring skyward, his dead eyes shocked. “That’s what you get for underestimating the Metropolitan Police, you piece of shit.” Miller stood, then helped Marlowe to his feet. “See what I mean? Sloppy.”

In the distance she heard more gunfire, sporadic, small arms, by the sound of it. Miller could tell Hayes was having trouble. There were two different guns firing. She had enough experience of firearms to tell the difference. “I’ve got to help Hayes.”

“Are you kidding? You’re worried about your partner? Worry about us getting out of here in one piece, why don’t you!”

“You know, for ex-special forces, you sure are a fucking coward.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m handcuffed, with no gun, you stupid bitch! I have to rely on you not getting me killed, for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t give a shit! We’re going to find Hayes, stay close.” Miller opened the door slowly, knowing there could still be mercenaries out in the hall. She peeked out from behind the door frame. Nothing.

73

“Luke, we need help down here,” Sarge shouted.

Walker froze, listening to everything around him. He heard gunshots downstairs. Wanting to ignore Sarge, he took a step away