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Seconds later, Tim hauled Eric across the threshold.
Rachelle closed and locked the door. The lock wouldn’t keep out a determined intruder for long. She glanced around, grabbed the chair sitting off to the side, and wedged it under the knob. “What now, Tim?” No second exit from this supply room.”
“We’re taking the express elevator to the garage.” His lips curved.
Express elevator? Her gaze shifted to the small metal door on the right side of the room. “The laundry chute?”
Amy’s eyes widened. “Can you and Eric fit into the chute?”
“We’ll make it.” Tim gestured for Amy to climb inside the chute. “A laundry bin is down there with linens inside. It’s straight down two floors. If you scream, you’ll bring the terrorists down on us. Go.”
Amy perched on the chute ledge and let go. Tim motioned for Rachelle to go next.
After securing her pack in front, she climbed over the metal lip and dropped, clamping her lips shut against the scream rising in her throat.
Seconds later, she landed on a mound of sheets and towels, and scrambled out of the bin into a darkened room lit by a dim exit sign.
Another person dropped into the bin. A low, soft moan came from Eric as he struggled to move out of Tim’s way. Seconds later, the other man landed in the bin and hoisted his wounded comrade over the edge.
Once Rachelle and Amy steadied Eric, Tim hauled himself over the lip of the bin and hurried to the door. He opened it a crack, then motioned for the others to stay put and slipped from the room.
“Where is he going?” Amy whispered.
“To retrieve your SUV. Eric can’t run.” What an understatement. The wounded man swayed where he stood.
“Eric needs to go to the hospital.” Her friend’s voice shook. “He’s losing a lot of blood.”
“Need you safe,” the man mumbled.
“I need you alive,” she retorted.
Tires squealed outside the door. Seconds later, Tim threw open the door. “Go. Amy, into the backseat with Eric.”
Rachelle grabbed a handful of towels and dashed after Amy and the others. Once Eric and Amy were inside the vehicle, she scrambled into the shotgun seat and handed the towels to her friend. “Put pressure on his wound. We have to slow the bleeding.”
Tim shoved the vehicle into gear and burned rubber racing for the nearest exit. “Can you fire a weapon, Rachelle?”
“No, but I’ll try.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
If it did, they were in serious trouble.
“Amy, hand Eric’s weapon to Rachelle. Keep your finger outside the trigger guard.”
A moment later, Amy handed over the weapon.
“There’s no safety on that weapon, Rachelle. Just point and pull the trigger.”
“If I have to fire, do you have any advice?”
“Don’t close your eyes, and hold the grip tight. The Sig will buck in your hand.”
Fantastic. Hopefully, she wouldn’t shoot out the tires of their own SUV. “Right.”
When Tim rounded a corner and barreled up a ramp to the exit, a man with a gun in his hand stepped out and fired at their vehicle. Instead of slowing down or taking evasive action, Tim pressed down on the accelerator and clipped the guy as he leapt out of the way.
After a quick right turn out of the garage, they raced down a side street away from the hotel, and hung a fast left onto a six-lane street swiftly filling with vehicles fleeing the area around the hotel. Tim wove in and out of traffic, his gaze scanning the mirrors and peering through spiderwebs of compromised glass.
