Page 4 of Ford

And then it didn’t matter because as he turned toward the hallway, a two-shot punch slammed into his body armor. He stumbled back and dropped, wheezing against the fire that ignited inside him.

Breathe—he just needed a breath.

His mouth worked, his lungs didn’t, and Anastasia was screaming.

Don’t leave her alone.Another voice from the past, this time his own, but it thundered into his bones, and his breath rushed out in a shout.

He rolled to his knees, found the girl, and scrambled behind one of the lab tables. She pressed her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide as she stared at the door.

He turned, spied the Tango entering, his weapon sweeping the room.

Ford palmed his Sig Sauer handgun and pumped two shots, center mass.

The man fell, but right behind him, his buddy entered the room, shooting.

Ford pulled the trigger, but the piece misfired.

No! He slapped the bottom of the handle to reseat the magazine, racked the slide, and dropped the bad round. Released the slide to load the next round and fired again.

Nothing.

Scarlett, where is he?

Gunfire sprayed the room. The shooter headed toward their position, shouting at Ford in Pakistani.

Right back atcha.

Ford pulled the girl behind him as he dropped the magazine, reaching for a fresh one.

A shot ricocheted off the counter, chipping shrapnel over them. The magazine went spinning out of his hand, beyond his reach.

The shrapnel kept flying.

“Delta Three under attack. I could use some backup.”

Anastasia was screaming in his ear.

He reached for his Windsor, hoping he got a second before the bullets hit. But he would die before he’d let the Army of Jihad take him. He wouldn’t be the guy who made the evening news with a knife to his neck.

Anastasia got up, and he turned, grabbed her arm to yank her down.

The window, the sunlight streaming through, called to him.

Just a few days ago, his big brother Tate had saved the woman he loved from a bombing by leaping out a second floor window.

Ford was on the first floor.

Ford ripped a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin. A pop, and Ford had three seconds, tops.

He lobbed the SOHG across the room.

As it flew, he turned and scooped up Anastasia. Pulling the girl against him, Ford ran for the glass, turned his back to it and flung himself backward through the pane.

The grenade detonated as he dropped.

Except, he wasn’t on the first floor—not when the building edged the cliffside, a fact that clicked in as he fell through the open air.

Anastasia was still screaming, and a big part of him wanted to do the same.