Brain Storm (A Taylor Morrison Novel Book 1) (52 page)

I sped past Lars and Connors, dodging around corners, moving fast, knowing there were too many of them to take down at once. There’d been at least three men waiting in the main room and at least one was still hot on my heels. I rounded the corner into the hallway that led back to the bathroom and ran full out in the straightaway.
 

Suddenly Keith stepped out of the shadows at the end of the hall, blocking my way. I saw him standing there as he raised his gun and leveled it at me.

I dove, stretching forward and hit the floor hard, sliding down the hall as the shot rang out over my head. I barely had come to a stop, when his hand grabbed my hair, jerking me up to my feet and throwing me against the wall. He pinned me there, one hand around my throat, the other centering his gun on the footsteps coming at us through the crates.

“Keith, let me go,” I gasped, digging at his hand, trying desperately to warn Lars.
 

Suddenly, he was there, stepping into the hallway, his gun aimed at Keith, murder in his eyes.

For a second, I thought they were going to kill each other, then just as fast, Keith dropped his gun and his grasp on my neck. Lars dropped his gun as well, and reaching behind him, drug Connors into view before shoving him down the hallway toward us. I slid down the wall onto the floor and within seconds Connors dropped down beside me.

“Is the perimeter secure?” Lars asked Keith, while checking his ammo. A quick glance told me he had managed to get his gun back and lose the other gun somewhere along the way. I realized, looking at Connors, that Lars hadn’t been so much pushing him as dragging him along. He looked exhausted, his facial muscles slack and his eyes vacant. I didn’t know what had happened back there, but it had pushed him over the edge. As I watched, he roused himself enough to try and give me an encouraging smile, but it was obvious he needed help and fast.
 

“Yes. For now. ” He went to the man he’d shot and rolled him over with a kick. “Recognize him?”

Lars shook his head no. He didn’t recognize him, but I did. I’d last seen him at the warehouse in Denver where they’d been keeping Brown, which meant he worked for Hughes, not whoever Hughes had promised me to. I clung to the chance that Hughes had a keen sense of self-preservation and hadn’t given me up. They might not know exactly who they were looking for, but it was a sure bet that they were expecting delivery tonight. Whoever the buyer was, if they had a brain in their head, they’d have been watching Hughes, waiting for him to bring out the package.
 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I said, scrambling to my feet and dragging Connors up with me. “We don’t have much time.”

“Shut up, Taylor. You’ll leave when I say and not before. Now sit down.” Keith glared at me and motioned with his gun to sit back down.

I had my hands full with Connors but my legs were free and Keith was standing much too close to me for his own good. I took him in the man parts with a shot that made his eyes roll up in his head and the gun drop from his limp hand. The feeling of satisfaction that went through me as he hit the floor almost made me feel ashamed of myself. But not quite.

“The man you shot worked for Hughes, Keith. They’re here to get me. Tonight someone is expecting a delivery. They may or may not know who they’re buying, but you can bet they know where we are and when Hughes doesn’t come out with me, they’ll be coming in. I don’t intend to be here when they do.”
 

I turned to leave, only to be stopped by the feel of a gun barrel, pressed tight against the back of my skull.
 

“You’ll leave when he says you leave. Now sit down.” Lars shoved me back down, causing me to loose my grip on Connors, ending us in a tangled pile on the floor, while Lars helped Keith to his feet. “She’s right. They’ll come for her when Hughes doesn’t show up.”

Keith was up, but barely. He was standing with his hands braced on his knees, dragging in deep breaths of air.
 

“You do that again, Taylor, and I’ll kill you myself,” he hissed out when he finally managed to straighten up. “I don’t care how valuable they think you are.”
 

He gave me a look and I knew he meant every word of his threat. If I took him down again, it would have to be for good. The fact that I even thought such a thing, made my head spin. The realization that I would do it, if push came to shove, made it that much worse.
 

“I’m glad you understand me,” Keith snapped, misinterpreting the look on my face. He pulled the radio from his pocket and thumbed it on. “Get the cars ready. We’re leaving.”
 

He clipped the radio back on his belt and turned to leave. “Bring them along, Lars. If she causes any trouble, shoot her.” He turned back to give me a parting sneer before he disappeared behind the crates.

We stepped out of the warehouse and Lars pointed us to the car we had arrived in. Keith was already inside, with the engine running. A second car pulled up next to us as Lars opened the rear door and motioned us inside with the gun. Connors went in first, sliding over to the far door, giving me time for a quick look around before I got in.

Vivian was nowhere to be seen and I had to assume she had gone ahead. There was one guard manning the gate, and one at the wheel of the other car, so she either took the other guards with her, or they had been killed in the fight. Either way, Vivian had left us short handed. I settled into my seat, wondering if Keith realized what Vivian had done and why.
 

I leaned over and helped Connors with his seatbelt, before snapping my own into place. I glanced out the window to see the gate opening, the last guard running for the waiting car and wondered how far we would get before the attack came.
 

We sped quietly through the industrial area, flying past darkened warehouses and empty parking lots. Lars ran through the intersections, ignoring the stop signs without hesitation. Connors hadn’t moved in quite a while. He was either asleep or unconscious and I was betting on the latter. He’d expended too much energy and we needed to get him some help. At the moment that didn’t seem to be much of an option.
 

I looked behind us to see the other car tailing us, several car lengths back. Close enough to keep an eye on us, far enough back to be able to react. They were running without lights, making themselves a decoy. Anyone attacking, would assume the package was in the rear car, that the lead car was the security team. A plan that would either work for us or against us.

We cleared the industrial area and came into the business district and the first stop lights. Lars would have to slow down now and obey the traffic laws. We were a car load of bloody, battered people. We couldn’t afford to be stopped by the police for running a light.
 

I expected to see the reflections of headlights behind me as we rolled up to a stop light, and glanced back when they failed to appear. The chase car was gone. I’d given them too much credit. They weren’t a decoy. They were hiding and had taken off the first chance they got. I looked at Lars and saw him glance in the rearview, saw his jaw clench and his hands tighten on the wheel. We were on our own.

It was late and the streets pretty much deserted, with the exception of a couple of blocks where the bars were located. We were almost out of town, heading for the highway into Denver when it happened. I heard them long before I saw them. The noise pounding through my head, shaking the car windows. The light ahead turned yellow and I felt the brakes grab as we slowed to a stop and then watched out my window as the car slid up next to us.

It bore little resemblance to the family car it was intended to be. Honda was the gangster car of choice and this one had been customized to the max. The music blasting out the open windows was loud enough to make my bones vibrate, sending waves of pain through my battered face and head. There was one huge black guy in front, beating out a rhythm on the dash and rocking the whole car in time to the music. I sat watching him, willing the light to change, when suddenly he turned and looked right at me, eyes narrowing in anger.

“What you looking at!” he yelled at me. He was out of his car in seconds, coming around the front of our car, banging his fists on the hood. He was all anger and indignation, pointing and yelling, pounding on the car. I sat paralyzed in my seat, not knowing what to do. Lars was out of the car and moving toward him, drawing his gun. My mind couldn’t seem to get a grasp on what was happening, couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
 

Lars shot him, taking him down right there in front of the car. He holstered his gun and drug the body out from in front of the car. Within seconds he was back behind the wheel and we were speeding away from the scene, the music fading in the distance. I looked back, the Honda’s headlights barely visible, and prayed that what I had just seen, hadn’t really happened. Because if it had, I had just watched Lars kill Bryan and I hadn’t done a thing to stop it.
 

FORTY-THREE

WE GOT TO
the airport without any further incidence. Lars had taken the exit to the airport, pulling off the main entrance road to enter through a carded gate and head in the opposite direction from the main terminal. Now we were sitting in a hangar, waiting. Keith was on his cell phone, pacing back and forth next to the car. He was doing more listening than talking and I’d have given a lot to know who was on the other end of the line. Lars had gotten out as soon as we arrived and was no where in sight.
 

The plane in the hangar was some sort of jet. I don’t know much about planes, but I know the difference between a propeller and a jet engine and this was definitely a jet. I’d expected a private plane, but was surprised at the size of this one. Whoever was behind this was well funded.

I shook my head trying to clear it. I’d actually dropped off after we’d made the highway, exhaustion and shock winning out over adrenaline. I may have needed the down time, but felt worse because of it. My eyes stung and I was beyond groggy, struggling to get my bearings. My face hurt and was numb at the same time. I reached up and felt around, my hand coming away damp with blood. I wiped it off on my shirt, which was totally ruined anyway and checked on Connors. He was alive, but his pulse was weak and erratic. He needed help and soon. I knew there was no food in the car, but odds were there was something on the plane. We needed to get moving.
 

Deciding I’d waited long enough, I reached over and grabbed the door handle, surprised when I felt it swing open. Keith hadn’t bothered to lock us in. Apparently I wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of the evening.
 

Keith glared at me and pointed at the car, silently ordering me to get back in. I ignored him and went around to open Connors’ door and reached in to unbuckle his seatbelt. He was conscious, but just barely. I pulled him out of the car and got him to his feet, propping him against the car for extra support until I got a good grip on him. I wrapped his arm around my neck and held it there, my other hand around his waist, snugging him in close to my side.

“Walk,” I ordered, and started forward. He tried, but I ended up pretty much dragging him to the steps of the plane. Fortunately, he was a little guy or I’d never have made it. Not that it had done me much good. The private plane was lower to the ground than a commercial liner, but the stairs looked impossible from my vantage point.
 

Suddenly, my load lightened, nearly causing me to fall over. Keith was there and had taken the bulk of Connors weight off me.
 

“Let go. This will be easier without your help.”
 

He swung Connors up over his shoulder and I followed him up the stairs and into the plane.
 

“You could have waited,” he said as he dumped Connors into one of the leather seats.
 

“No, I couldn’t. He’s in trouble. I need to get him some food.”

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, looking down at Connors like he was some sort of pest.
 

I shoved past him, heading toward the front of the plane where I assumed the galley would be, only to be jerked back into Keith’s broad chest.

“I asked you a question, Taylor. I expect an answer.”
 

“Sugar.” I threw the word out, trying to push away from him. “His levels are crashing.”

That wasn’t the problem, but it was close enough. The symptoms looked similar and if he didn’t get help soon, the results were going to be same. Unconsciousness, coma and death. I tried jerking away again and this time, he let me go.
 

The rear seating area easily held a dozen seats, each one the equivalent of first class on a commercial airline. The forward cabin was even nicer, set up more like a living room with leather sofas and work tables. I found the galley tucked in behind a fully stocked wet bar, and began rifling the cabinets. My frustration was growing with each drawer. I’d cleared one side of the galley and all I’d found was a bunch of pillows and blankets along with coffee cups, silverware and glasses. Where was the food?

The wall behind me held the coffee maker and heating ovens, along with a full size door. I jerked it open and stepped inside, thinking it might be a pantry. It was an elevator. I leaned out and glanced around the corner. Keith was standing in the exit door of the plane, on the phone again. I ducked back inside the elevator, slammed the door and pressed the button.