The Devil's Elixir (8 page)

I understood instantly—I didn’t need to see Michelle’s jaw drop or hear her blurt out “It’s them.” I was already moving, lunging left to push her and Alex out of harm’s way, my right hand diving for my gun, my eyes locked on the three thugs as they reached under their jackets, their handguns’ grips coming into view—

—then the bullets started flying.

“T
ake Alex, I’ll cover you,” I yelled as I bolted away from the elevator doors.

Michelle was already doing it, scooping the four-year-old off his feet and holding him tight against her as she sprinted down the corridor.

I was right behind her, moving sideways, my gun arm extended and aimed down the hall, covering the elevator, eyes at DEFCON one, ready to lock onto any movement. I saw one of the men stick his head out from the cabin’s opening, the silenced muzzle of a handgun appearing at the same time, and we both fired at the same time, me blasting away with several rounds, the goon recoiling back just as he squeezed off a few shots of his own that zinged around me and crunched violently into the walls of the corridor.

“Keep going,” I shouted to Michelle over my shoulder while flicking a lightning-quick glance behind me to get my bearings. I saw that the corridor doglegged to the left, and Michelle was already disappearing into it. I cursed inwardly, angry at the fact that I hadn’t had a choice other than to push her out of the way and not pull her toward me, thereby committing us to head down that side of the corridor and away from the room, which was now out of our reach, on the other side of the elevator. I wasn’t sure what lay beyond the dogleg, but it wasn’t like we had much of a choice.

I reached the bend in the corridor just as the shooter’s head popped out again, this time down at carpet level, his gun out front and center, spitting out more rounds. Bullets blew past me as I fired back, my aim wild as I made the turn. I sucked in a quick breath, then poked an urgent eye around the edge of the corner. I only managed to get a jarred glimpse of another shooter diving out of the elevator and taking up a kneeling position alongside the corridor wall before a riot of gunfire erupted around me, one of the rounds splintering the wall inches from my face in a burst of wood and plaster. I felt something nick me in the cheek as I pulled back into cover, felt its heat and its sting but ignored it and spun my gaze behind me to see where Michelle was.

She was around fifty feet away, standing by an open doorway at the end of the corridor, waving me over frantically and hissing, “This way.”

I took another deep breath with my back against the wall, then swung my gun out and unleashed a few blind rounds toward the elevator without risking a look before charging after Michelle.

We burst through the doorway and hustled down the stairs, Michelle leading, Alex still in her arms and tight against her, me staying several steps behind, trying to minimize the risk of either of them getting hit by a stray that was meant for me, flicking quick glances behind me to make sure I didn’t miss a step while keeping the stairwell above us covered.

It didn’t take long before I heard the shooters burst into it and stampede down the stairs after us. I glimpsed flickers of their movement higher up and traced it with my gunsight, resisting the urge to fire, not wanting to waste any bullets unless I had a clear shot. The bastards didn’t give me much of one as they hugged the walls and kept out of sight, only peering over the balustrade once for a split second that goaded a couple of rounds out of me. We were all hurtling down six flights of stairs as fast as was humanly possible. Then Michelle, Alex, and I hit the ground floor and burst out of the stairwell and into the hotel’s lobby.

I waived my gun in the air and shouted “Everybody down!” as we sprinted across the large open space and beelined for the exit. The lobby wasn’t crowded, but the few people who were in there turned in startled confusion, some of them screaming out in panic and scurrying for cover while others simply froze. We were flying past the elevator just as its doors slid open and a lone shooter burst out of it, straight into our path. Michelle sidestepped him like a quarterback on a rush out of hell and kept going, leaving him for me. I rammed him, hard, my raised forearm connecting with the goon’s jaw and channeling the full momentum of my run into it and sending him crashing down to the floor. I saw the man’s gun clatter across the floor by my feet and managed to kick it out of the way without breaking step while staying on Michelle’s tail.

We flew out of the lobby and skittered to a stop in the hotel’s forecourt. It gave onto a medium-size lot where guests parked their own cars, as the hotel didn’t offer a valet service. I knew we couldn’t afford to stop for longer than a heartbeat. I swung my gaze across the lot, breathing hard, my heart kicking and screaming furiously against my rib cage, and to our left, I spotted what I’d expected—a white van, parked facing the hotel’s entrance, one silhouette inside it, that of another shooter who flung its door open and climbed out the instant he saw us.

“That way,” I blurted as I herded Michelle away from the van—then I saw a car drive into the lot and head for an empty parking spot.

“Over there,” I told Michelle, pointing at the blue sedan. “That car. Go.”

We raced toward it with me keeping our rear covered, and we were flying past a row of parked cars when a new volley of bullets erupted, crunching into body panels around us and taking out a windshield we’d just streaked past.

“Don’t stop,” I yelled to Michelle as I spun around and fired back at the two shooters rushing toward us.

We reached the Ford just as its driver, a paunchy, bald man in a suit, had pulled in and was getting out of his car.

“Give me your keys,” I barked, shoving my gun in his face and leaving him no room for indecision. The poor guy held them out with two fingers. I snatched them from him and pulled him out of the car and pushed him away, ordering him, “Stay down.”

The man hit the ground. I yelled out to Michelle, “Get in,” flinging the rear door open for her before loosing a few more rounds at the shooters.

Michelle hustled Alex into the car and was flying in behind me when I saw one of the crew raise his head and put a bead on us. I lined him up, but just as I pulled the trigger, I saw the man fire and heard a sharp
unnnh
coming from my right.

A stab of dread ripped through me as I flicked my head sideways and caught sight of Michelle staggering into the rear seat after Alex.

I also spotted a small, dark patch at the base of her chest.

“Meesh?!”

She didn’t reply and just disappeared into the car.

I cursed inwardly, knowing what had just happened, knowing it wasn’t good, not in that spot, not where you’ve got lungs and a heart and all kinds of other soft, crucial bits all packed in tight next to each other, but I couldn’t do anything about it right now, couldn’t do anything other than get them the hell out of there. I jumped in, punched the ignition key in, and threw the car into reverse, twisting around to look over my shoulder as I blasted the car out of its parking spot.

I couldn’t manage more than a quick glance at Michelle, but the sight of her sent an ice pick through my gut. Her eyes were wild with fear and anguish, and her face had burst into sweat.

“Jesus, Meesh,” I rasped.

She glanced down at her wound, then looked up and just held my gaze, her face flooded with confusion. She tried to say something, and her mouth just couldn’t form the words at first, then she said, “I’m—fuck, Sean, I’m hit.”

Behind her, through the windshield, I could see the two shooters still coming at us. One of them, the bastard who’d shot her, was moving with more difficulty and I saw that he had a dark patch on his shoulder. I figured that was where my bullet went, though it had obviously got there a split second too late.

I wasn’t about to give him a second chance.

“Hang on,” I told Meesh, keeping my foot down, flooring the pedal, hard, like I was trying to ram it through the foot well, sending the Ford rocketing backward and straight into the shooters’ path.

One of them managed to avoid it by taking a flying leap over the hood of a parked car, but the guy I really wanted wasn’t as light-footed. I just plowed into him and pushed him along before crushing him against the side of another car, obliterating the lower half of his body in a sickening, wet crunch that sounded damn good to me. Then I threw the car back into gear and we flew out of the hotel’s lot, hanging a squealing right before tearing down the seafront, my head snapping back and forth as my eyes searched for any kind of reassurance about Michelle and the bullet that had found her.

“M
eesh, stay with me, okay? Just hang in there,” I yelled, breathless, all kinds of expletives coming out thick and fast inside my head as I threw quick glances behind me to see how she was while I pulled out my phone.

As I hit the green button twice to redial the last called number, I caught a glimpse of her looking up at me, and it wasn’t good. Her eyes were half-closed, her mouth was twisted with pain, and the sheen of sweat on her face had turned into a full-on drench. Her chest was now soaked in blood, and she had her right arm around Alex, squeezing him tight against her. Her eyes widened and hooked mine, and she started to say something, but it was cut short as she coughed and blood spurted out of her mouth.

My gorge shot up into my neck.

“Hang in there, baby,” I repeated as Villaverde picked up the call.

“Reilly?”

“I’m with Michelle, she’s been shot, we need help,” I told him. “I’m in the car with her and her kid and—” I scanned the area around us, looking for markers to give him. “I’m on the seafront, heading west, away from the hotel.”

“You being pursued?”

I glanced in the mirror, but couldn’t see any sign of the goon squad.

“No. But I need to get her to a hospital, fast.”

I heard Villaverde call out to one of his men, then he said, “Okay, you must be on Harbor Drive, which means the nearest hospital to you is . . .” He paused, thinking about it.

“Come on,” I hollered, “she’s bleeding out”—and just then, something caught my eye, in the sky, to my left. An airliner, coming in to land.

My pulse tripped. “Forget the hospital. I’m by the airport.” My eyes scanned the road ahead and, sure enough, I spotted a big overhead sign for the airport, announcing an exit for Terminal Two. “Get them to send an ambulance to meet me outside Terminal Two. I’m in a blue Ford sedan.”

“Hang on.”

I heard him yell out the order to get onto the airport’s EMS dispatcher, then Villaverde came back.

“What about the shooters?”

“I got one of them in the parking lot, some of him might still be there when your people get there, but the others’ll be long gone.”

“All right, I’ll keep you posted. And good luck with her.”

I chucked the phone onto the seat next to me and crunched the pedal. As we blew past some slower vehicles, I adjusted the mirror and locked it onto Michelle’s face.

“Almost there, Meesh, you hear me?” I urged her, “We’re almost there.”

Her eyes were struggling to stay open.

Fear swamped my heart as I guided the Ford past a blur of cars before veering off the six-lane road and throwing the car onto the winding ramp that led to the terminal. Less than a minute later, we were pulling up to the curb by a startled traffic cop.

I leapt out of the car and threw a quick glance up and down the ramp, looking for the EMS van. There was no sign of it.

“There’s an ambulance on its way,” I shouted to the cop as I flung open the rear door to get to Michelle. “See if you can find out where it is. We’ve got an emergency here.”

I leaned in, and the sight that greeted me froze me stiff. Michelle wasn’t moving. Her breathing was shallow and when it did come, it wasn’t much more than a feeble wheeze. There was a messy streak of blood and saliva running down from the side of her mouth, and the car seat was drenched.