Page 32 of Nothing to Fear

His mind unplugged from the pain, and adrenaline took over. He leapt into a crouched position, grabbed her, and steamrolled through the front doors.

A heavy clunk boomed behind them as the solid gate sealed shut. They hit the rough concrete outside.

Gideon winced from taking the full force of the impact and Willow’s weight on his torso. Clutching her against his body, his primal awareness surged, distracting him for a heartbeat.

In five minutes, the guards would reset the system, lifting the gate, and a quick response force would be on their asses.

God, his chest hurt, but they had to keep moving. He lumbered to his feet, hauling in an agonizing breath, and kept a solid grip on Willow. The steel shutter door dampened the alarm, but the noise still must’ve been too loud outside, since she kept her hands plastered over her ears and her eyes closed.

They staggered down the front steps, him doing his best to help her along. His vision wavered. He slipped, nearly dropping to a knee. Shit. Those bullets hurt like a son of a bitch, making Willow’s small frame against him feel heavier than it should. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let the tidal wave of pain swamp him.

As they drew toward the car, she came back to herself, opening her eyes. She hooked an arm around his torso, slipping under his shoulder, propping him upright.

She hit the key fob, unlocking the doors.

He hustled to the driver’s side, started the car, and helped her up into the seat. Before she’d shut the door, he jerked the car in gear and peeled out of the parking lot. The tires screamed against the hot asphalt. He wheeled around the corner toward the road leading to the front gate and slammed on the brakes.

Security lockdown triggered the bollards to pop up—a series of stainless-steel pillars, four feet high, six inches in diameter. No vehicle could get through those. Not even a Mack truck. And even if they found a way, the gate at the entrance would be sealed tight.

He punched the Jeep in reverse and railed the wheel, whipping the car in a tight one-eighty J-turn. Then he shifted to forward gear and stamped the gas. He took the road toward the back side of the compound.

Cutting a hard right, he narrowly avoided plowing into a bollard and shot up onto the grass berm. The car bumped and rocked from the change in terrain. Willow shot him an anxious glance, her hands flinging out to brace against the dash and door.

Barreling over the grassy median, he headed behind the main building to the warehouse, where they stored mission vehicles and the AVX high-speed helicopter. Sanborn had persuaded the head of the Senate Select Intelligence Committee to let the Gray Box have a military prototype rather than shipping the sleek, low-drag aircraft to a museum to sit idle.

He wove past a huge oak and swerved to avoid plowing into a sycamore. Bypassing the small patch of concrete for parking, he sped to the door. “Let’s go.” He jerked the car into park.

Without waiting for Willow, Gideon jumped out and ran to the warehouse door, hissing through the agony in his body. He stabbed the code on the digital lock. Seven digits. He was one of four to receive the weekly changes in the updated codes, since he could pilot the chopper.

A red light blinked and the lock beeped. Crap.

The door didn’t open. Security lockdown wasn’t linked to the warehouse door. It should’ve opened.

He cleared his mind, concentrated on the last set of numbers and tried again.

Green light. The lock clinked. He yanked the door open as Willow ran up behind him.

“See those hangar doors?” He pointed to the massive steel doors, wide enough to get a semi through. “There’s a big black button on the side wall that opens them. Hit it and meet me in the helicopter. I’ll get it started.”

Her face was pale, hazel eyes glassy, and her body trembled. He wanted to haul her into his arms, reassure her they’d get through this if they kept moving. Hesitation could get them killed.

Something fired through her. Resolve. Purpose. Maybe good ol’ grit. She straightened before he said anything else, expression hardening, and took off running toward the hangar doors.

Gideon raced past a black fleet of bulletproof SUVS to the AVX. Hopping inside, he settled into the leather seat with the long cyclic control stick between his legs. He’d learned to fly at a CIA black site in Tangier before Sanborn recruited him. Flight startup procedures came to him like muscle memory. He switched on the master fuel and flipped the hydraulics up. Scanning the console overhead, he ensured all fuses were in and toggled the battery on.

The hangar doors clattered open. He checked his watch. Lockdown would end any second, and then topside security and his team would be bearing down on them, guns hot.

Time was an enemy. He adjusted the throttle, gauges zeroed.

His gaze locked on Willow as she cut in front of the helicopter and climbed into the seat. “Can you handle the sound of the chopper?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Check your side for a headset. It’ll reduce the noise.”

She snatched a headset and put it on. He grabbed the lever of the collective control mounted on the left side of his seat and pressed the red start button. The engine wound up with a keening sound.

While they waited for the throttle to reach one hundred percent rpm, he helped her with the multiple buckles of the seatbelt and strapped himself in. He threw on a headset in case she needed to talk to him.