Page 107 of Talk to Me

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I cut across the quad on a direct path toward her even as I scanned the crowd. Locke had already seen two people trailing her? That was fast.

Unless the entire meeting had been a set up to reacquire her. It was the biggest risk we’d taken. Another reason to have me on the ground with her. Locke and McQuade had gone into the facility, they might have their faces.

They didn’t have mine.

Music filtered through the outdoor speakers muddying the ambient sounds. Conversations flowed around me, some strident, others more relaxed. One couple was arguing about expenses. Another man snapped out something to his office on the phone. A couple of teenagers playing truant from school and walking hand in hand.

A disparate crowd filled the outdoor area with hundreds of intersecting points. So many places it could go wrong. I caught sight of the man right behind Patch, but he diverted before I even got there. His whole expression lightened as he hugged a woman hurrying to meet him.

False alarm?

Patch’s expression was taut and I could feel her gaze even through the sparkly star shaped sunglasses. They looked ridiculously cheerful in light of the deep gray twilight out here.

Thunder rippled in the distance. The itch between my shoulder blades intensified.

“Call it,” I said. “Extract now.” I held out my hand to her and it helped that she took my hand without question. My instincts said get the hell out of here and I was going to listen to them.

A corner of a concrete planter poofed up in a spray of dust and dirt.

Sniper.

I dragged her to me.

“Heading out the southwest side,” I said into the comms and tucked her under my arm as I didn’t pretend to ignore the gunfire. A second later, the sniper stopped playing it safe.

Shots rang out, the sound echoing off the buildings, as a spray of bullets shattered glass and ripped through people. Two fell ahead of us and I switched directions abruptly.

A good sniper led their target.

“Zig zag,” I told Patch. “Keep changing where you’re going.” Most people in a panic would just run. They didn’t look at where they were going. It made leading the target easier.

I had to keep my head.

“Where are you?” I demanded but the crackle over the line said the one of the things we’d been worried about had come to fruition. Our comms weren’t working. The mobile lines and towers were probably overloading.

Patch tripped, stumbling forward and something hot sliced across my shoulder. I ignored the latter while keeping her on her feet and then we were in between buildings. It wasn’t much cover but it was cover.

“Come on,” I said. “We need to keep moving.”

“I am,” she answered in a slur, and I slowed to get an assessment. Then I saw the blood. A lot of it. All from a crease along her temple that vanished along her hairline. Her eyes glazed and she stumbled again.

I pushed up her hair. It was a strike. The bullet had sliced over her head, like the one had my shoulder. Another explosion of concrete dust erupted next to us. A piece splintered out and cut my cheek.

“Patch?” She blinked slowly then stared up at me. Her pupils were expanding. Not good.

The sound of wheels screaming as the brakes were applied jerked my attention around. There was a man in a car, an SUV. Not Locke. Not our car. But it was a car.

I pulled my gun. “Hold onto me,” I ordered her, and thankfully she listened, as I strode forward, gun pointed at the man behind the wheel. His eyes widened. He picked up his hands. “Get out of the car.”

“I—”

“Get out of the car or die in the seat, I don’t really care which.” The man was probably a civilian. A noncombatant most likely. Didn’t matter.

I couldn’t let it matter. Right now, anyone could be the enemy. Patch sagged next to me as the guy finally jumped out of the car, I pulled open the back door and got her inside after scanning that no one else was in the car. The blood soaked the side of her face and the sweatshirt she was wearing.

Head wounds bled a lot. I just kept reminding myself of that. I stripped off my jacket and pressed it to the wound, then put her hand on it.

“Keep up the pressure.”