Page 54 of Nothing to Fear

A shadow moved out of the corner of his eye. Whipping his head, he glimpsed the merc scanning the room while crossing to the other side of the doorway. Gideon freed his right hand of the rope and pulled his gun, aiming for the opening.

The static rope shot through his left hand, burning his palm and the leather of his jacket around his forearm. Jamming his hip against the windowsill, Gideon rounded the cord in his fist to keep Willow from slamming to the pavement.

Her weight jerked to a stop, and he hissed at the sharp pang wrenching through him.

The wide-mouth barrel of a grenade launcher poked into the room. Specialized shells came in an assorted range: concussion, fragmentation, incendiary. He wasn’t sticking around to find out which was coming his way. Letting the rope go, Gideon jumped out the window.

He crashed onto the closed lid of the dumpster below. Blinding pain burst in his side, the ache in his chest flaring. Rolling off the top, he landed in a crouch and stumbled as Willow climbed to her feet from the ground.

A blast of fire exploded in the second-story bedroom. Flames spewed from the window, lashing the air, and black plumes snaked up into the sky.

Adrenaline keyed him up tight. Applying pressure to his side, he leapt toward Willow and cupped her arm. They ran through the alley to the car he’d parked at the corner, but he kept a vigilant eye on their six.

“Gideon, are you okay?”

Without answering, he jumped in behind the wheel and connected the dangling wires, firing up the engine while she got in the other side.

The bruiser dashed into the alley from the opposite end. Fucker was too damn fast.

“Get down.” Shifting into reverse, Gideon smashed the gas pedal.

Willow ducked low in her seat as they sped backward out of the alley. The merc opened fire, knocking the driver’s-side mirror clean off. Gideon hooked a hard ninety-degree turn into the side street, whipping the car around. He jerked into drive and slammed through an intersection, narrowly avoiding a collision.

“In the backpack, find the countersurveillance signal detector.” Pressing a hand to his side to slow the bleeding, he checked the rearview mirror for a tail. Nothing.

“What signal detector?”

“Looks like a black stick with a small paddle on the end.” To be sure they weren’t being followed, he took a right and immediate left, hitting Manchester Boulevard.

No tail. But if his hunch was correct, those guys didn’t need to follow them overtly.

Willow rifled through the bag and pulled out the countersurveillance detector. If there was a bug or GPS locator anywhere on her, the device would pick up an active signal.

He careened right, taking the Springfield Parkway. Less than a mile down, he pulled off and roared into the parking garage for the Franconia–Springfield Metro station. On the third floor, he found a spot in a corner. Holding his side, he climbed out and hurried to the passenger’s door.

“Oh God, Gideon.” Willow flew out of her seat and peeled his jacket to the side. “You’re bleeding.”

“It can wait.”

“No, it can’t. There’s so much blood.” Fear colored her face. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

“The gash isn’t too deep. The knife didn’t hit a major organ.” He took the detector from her hand and clicked the button at the bottom, switching it on. “We need to know if there’s a tracking device planted on you. They could be on their way here.”

He swept the detector across the pearls around her throat. No chirp sounded to alert him of a transmitting signal. The necklace was clean.

“Wouldn’t any bugs have been picked up by the countersurveillance detector at the Gray Box?” Her wide doe eyes scanned his face, searching for an answer in his expression.

“They should’ve. That’s why I didn’t think to check you sooner.” Gideon waved the detector over her blood-speckled shirt, arms, down her torso and smudged legs to her pumps.

No alarm pealed.

Couldn’t be. A planted locator was the only explanation for how they’d been found. He hadn’t been sloppy near any CCTV cameras, had only used cash in the stores.

Think. There’s an answer.

He swept her again, making sure to run the wand along her back and up in between her legs. She flushed, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. He hated that she had to go through this. Wanted to tear the flesh from the bones of the men after her.

Still no indication of a planted bug. Gideon shook his head. He was missing something, an item she had to carry with her every day. Looking her over, he asked, “Where’s your purse?”