Page 98 of Nothing to Fear

“Better not to use deadly force on the local security guards.” They still had to get off the island. He shoved the Maxim 9 back in the bag and grabbed the hammer and screwdriver. “Go to the hotel, out of harm’s way. And wait for me. Now.”

Flinching at his clipped tone, she rushed from the office, slinging the backpack on her shoulder. He hated snapping at her, but there was no time to debate.

Gideon stuffed the tools in his pockets, covering them with his shirt, and stepped into the doorway. He tracked Mr. Walters accompanied by another suit headed downstairs, pointing in his direction.

As Willow pressed through the front doors, stepping outside, his chest loosened.

Then two men in dark gear strode in past her. They sported military high-and-tights and had a dangerous swagger.

Mercenaries. There’d be more than two.

A terrible fear seized Gideon.

He’d sent Willow to the hotel alone. Panic would handicap him if he let it bloom. He snuffed it out with reason—the two stalking in hadn’t recognized her, and maybe the others wouldn’t either.

It was possible to reach her before anyone else did. But he had to hurry.

Gideon ducked down in the crouched position and eased up next to the receptionist’s desk. The older lady recoiled, but before the question on her face slipped from her lips, he flicked on his quarterback smile. She giggled, clutching her chest, cheeks flushing.

Walters and another suit strolled in front of him, peering down with perplexed expressions. One man opened his mouth to speak, but something on the other side of the receptionist’s desk snatched the words from his lips as the older woman turned to stare in the same direction.

No guess required as to who stood on the other side.

Gideon whipped out the hammer from the back of his pants and the flathead screwdriver from his pocket, ignoring the slack-jawed faces of the bankers. Better suited to playing offense, he leapt up and slid across the side of the desk, swinging.

The hammer nailed one merc in the side of the face, shattering a cheekbone as the guy’s neck wrenched with an unnatural whip. Gideon’s feet hit the floor as the other merc reached into his jacket to draw a gun.

Gideon stabbed the man’s forearm with the screwdriver and smashed the hammer across the clavicle in a sharp one-two. Bone cracked, a guttural cry rent the air, and the man dropped to his knees. A boot heel to the face crushed the guy’s nose, knocking him out.

Not even winded, Gideon stood steady as a blade, two bloody bodies at his feet.

The bank alarm sounded.

Both security guards approached, weapons drawn. Making eye contact with Gideon, the guards faltered. Everyone else rushed back. A wave of palpable tension crested.

“Put your hands up,” one guard said. Trepidation flashed in his eyes.

Gideon waited for his opportunity, blood-stained weapons in his raised hands.

The guards eased in on him, exchanging apprehensive glances. The guns shook in their hands, and they took measured paces, each step more hesitant than the last. He was tempted to strike, but the steady ticking in his mind tempered his reflexes. The optimal window would open.

Closer.

Almost.

A little more.

He forced himself not to move, his stillness reeling them in.

“On your knees.” They closed ranks, side by side, as if there was safety in numbers.

Gideon tossed the hammer to one guard. The natural inclination was, of course, to catch it. A simple ploy wouldn’t work on a well-trained guard with honed vigilance, but he was banking these guards had dull senses.

The fool dropped his gun to catch the hammer, and Gideon smothered a laugh. Flipping the screwdriver in his hand to hold it by the metal rod, he swooped in on the other, fluid and swift as a blink.

“Stop. Stop!” The security guard aimed at Gideon’s chest, but he’d sidestepped before a bullet was fired.

A dead click. The safety was on.