Page 99 of Code Name: Harbor

It’s nothing. A joke, really. A knife against a gun, but it’s something in my hand.

The footsteps start again, coming around the long way, around the far end of the island.

I go the short way, crouching low for the first few steps, but when I reach the near corner, I bolt.

Not toward Finn, I can’t, but down the hall toward the study. Behind me, the gun goes off twice, and I feel one round pass close enough to move the air by my ear. Then I’m through the study door.

I have the advantage.

It’s dark and Mikhail doesn’t know the house, this room, not the way I do. I’ve read in here. I’ve watched Finn work at that desk. I know there’s a low ottoman two steps in on the left that will break a stranger’s shin and I know the floor lamp is heavy iron with a marble base. I know the fireplace set hangs on a stand by the cold hearth, so I drop the useless knife on the desk before lifting the iron poker off its hook. Pressing myself flat to the wall beside the door, I stop breathing and I wait.

His silhouette fills the doorway and Mikhail pauses, trying to listen past the wailing alarm. I’m grateful for it, even if it masks his location.

He takes one step in, gun up, sweeping the room away from me, toward the desk, toward where I’d be if I were stupid enough to—

I swing the poker with everything I have.

I aim for the place where his head meets his neck and I put fifteen years of being underestimated into it. While my strength is on point, my aim not so much, and I manage to connect with his upper arm just a few inches below his shoulder joint. The shock of it travels up my arms, rattling my teeth, and Mikhail goes down to one knee with a guttural grunt of pain. More importantly, he’s right-handed and the gun skitters across the floor, right under Finn’s desk.

I don’t wait around but take off out of the study, intent on hitting the staircase and getting my gun from upstairs. I keep hold of the iron poker and make it three strides when Mikhail’s hand shoots out and catches my ankle.

I start to fall, twisting backward, and in some crazy move I’ll never know how I pull off, I bring the poker down again. It hits his wrist and he lets go with a snarl. For good measure, I kick out with my foot and catch his chin, snapping his head back.

“You fucking bitch,” he roars, but I’m up on my feet and moving.

I break for the door while he’s down and bleeding and roaring something in Russian behind me. I run for the one thing in this house that can actually save me.

The stairs.

I take them three at a time even though my legs feel like jelly and my lungs are full of smoke. I claw up the railing hand over hand, and as I go, I scream it, I can’t help it, I scream it down into the great room, “Finn! Finn, hold on, I’m coming, hold on—”

I risk one glance back, and below me, at the bottom of the stairs, I see it happen.

Finn—broken, shot through the chest, a man who shouldn’t be able to move—has dragged himself across the floor into the mouth of the hallway. I almost stop and go to him, but then Mikhail is lurching out of the study and I can see he has his gun in his hand.

I don’t want him to see Finn, so I scream at him, “Hey, asshole… come and get me if you think you’re fast enough.”

Mikhail’s face contorts with fury and through the bleating house alarm—is that my imagination or are those… police sirens?

I can’t contemplate it anymore as Mikhail raises his gun and aims straight at me. He fires a round that hits the wall two feet from my head but before he can fire again, his body jerks.

I see that Finn has grabbed his leg and my heart breaks as I see it for what it is. A miniscule distraction with a dying man’s grip. It costs Mikhail a single stutter-step and after he kicks free of Finn, he raises his gun and points it at the man I love.

Instinct kicks in, and without a thought I throw the fire poker down the stairwell toward Mikhail. It doesn’t come anywhere close to hitting him, but it does bounce off the stairwell and get his attention, which is now locked on me.

“Come on, you pussy,” I taunt from the top of the stairs. “You know I’m the one you want. Come and get me if you have the guts.”

Please, please, please let his ego not be able to tolerate a woman belittling him.

I turn and sprint down the hall out of sight, thankful I don’t hear another gunshot but rather booted steps lurching up the staircase.

I enter Finn’s bedroom, my shoulder smashing into the doorframe but right myself quick. I go for the nightstand at a dead run, ripping the drawer all the way out. It crashes to the floor and the gun’s there. I lunge for it, get my hand around the grip and spin toward the door.

Mikhail’s already there.

He fills the doorway, his face a mask of blood and fury. His gun comes up and there’s no time for me to consider the ramifications. There’s no clean shot, there’s only the two of us, fifteen feet apart and raising weapons in unison.

We fire together and I brace for an impact that never arrives.