Worth the Risk (Book 3, Wolff Securities Series) Page 8

  Both ends of the alley were blocked. One by police, the other by a gang of angry protestors with weapons ranging from sticks to AK-47’s.

  He and Shea instinctively moved closer so that their backs were pressed together. Damn, but he wished he had a weapon. And an escape route.

  “Only one way out of this,” he said. “We go back up.”

  “Yep,” Shea agreed, spinning to reach for the ladder. She was a few inches short so he gave her a boost, using his hands as a steps tool. She stepped lightly, grabbed the bottom rung and pulled herself upward with amazing agility given her injuries.

  The beating on the shields grew louder. So did the chants from the rioters. Tension bounced off the walls, crackled in the air. Like an impending lightning storm when the air zinged with electricity and made the hair on your arms stand up.

  Kell jumped, grabbed the ladder and hoisted himself up. He climbed right behind Shea, urging her faster as mayhem broke out beneath them.

  “Go, Shea. Go.”

  She scrambled faster, her foot slipping on one of the rungs. He heard her curse but she didn’t lose momentum.

  The melee below grew to deafening levels. Shots rang out. Sudden, sharp pain shot through his back, slowing him for a mere second. He kept climbing until finally they had reached the roof again.

  Shea bent over, hands braced on her knees trying to catch her breath. “I’m really beginning to hate roofs.”

  Kell felt warm blood running down his back, right beneath his shoulder blade. His t-shirt already felt sticky with blood.

  “The guys from the hospital roof are gone,” Shea said, standing upright now.

  Meant no-one was shooting at them at the moment. Kell circled the roof, searching for an alternative way down, but the riot had spread into the streets. Cops were being beaten with their own clubs. It was a brutal melee and one they needed to avoid at all costs.

  “There’s an office building next door,” he said, staring at the flat roof across the way.

  “Did you get shot?”

  At the accusation in Shea’s tone, he turned to see her stalking toward him.

  “Bullet grazed me. It’s fine.”

  She came up behind him and yanked up his t-shirt. He felt her fingers feather over his skin, distracting him in ways he couldn’t afford right now.

  He pulled away, tugged his shirt back down.

  “That needs stitches,” she said, obstinance in her voice that he knew all too well.

  “No time. No supplies. We need to get to that office building and lay low until the streets empty.”

  Her expression said she didn’t like being diverted but she followed his gaze anyway. “That’s a vertical jump. Over a ten-foot gap.”

  “Right. Easy.”

  She sent him a doubtful look but started backing up alongside him.

  “On my count,” he said, sending her a sidelong glance.

  Shea tilted her head. “Yeah, yeah.”

  He grabbed her hand. “One. Two. Three.”

  They ran, hard and fast toward the ledge. When their toes hit the edge they jumped. Weightless for a moment, Kell prepared for the landing. No more dislocated shoulders.

  He hit hard, rolled and came to his feet in time to see Shea land on her side that pushed all the air out of her lungs. Too close to the edge for his comfort. He moved to her side, helped her to her feet and got her to a safe distance, noticing she limped slightly.

  “Broke or strained?” he asked, motioning toward her foot.

  “Just twisted it when I landed. I’m good.”

  She let go of him, standing on her own. Making a point. She never had liked being coddled. Not that he was a coddler, but it definitely wasn’t Shea’s thing.

  He noticed her face had gone white except for two pink spots on her cheeks from exertion and a trail of blood from the cut on her cheekbone. Gently, he reached out and wiped it away with his thumb. The fact she was still on her feet impressed the hell out of him. She was far from recovered from her injuries, but she was a trooper. It didn’t slow her down one bit.

  Shea swiped at her cheek. “Let’s try the door.”

  Kell prayed it wasn’t locked. Their options were running thin. He tried the handle, relieved when it opened.

  “Thank God,” Shea breathed.

  Kell pushed it open, noticing a bucket filled with sand and cigarette butts next to the door. The employees probably kept the door unlocked, against regulations, so they could take their smoke breaks up here. Their disobedience worked to his and Shea’s advantage.

  “Stay close,” he said, walking through the door. The stairwell was empty, quiet. Too quiet.

  Making very little noise they took the stairs down to the next level. Kell held a finger to his lips in a shhh gesture. Shea nodded and followed him through the door.

  They were in a hallway. Deserted. The office building was open, the wall only coming halfway up, the rest windows so you could see from one end of the room to the other. Good for managers to keep their employees in check. Bad for anyone trying to hide.

  Something fell from inside one of the cubicles. Kell froze, searching for the cause. He saw the top of someone’s head peeking over one of the desks.

  A terrorist wouldn’t peek to see who was there. They would shoot first and never ask questions so Kell pushed through the door into the office area.

  In Azebek, he said, “We’re Americans. We seek shelter.”

  Movement. Whispers.

  Finally a native man stood slowly, putting himself in the line of fire in case they weren’t who they said they were. In broken English he said, “Americans? You are alone?”

  Kell nodded. “Yes. We need a place to hide.”

  Other people, men and women, began to crawl out from beneath their desks. They all looked terrified.

  “Is it safe here?” Kell asked.

  Something exploded outside, startling everyone. A car alarm started honking. Kell and Shea ducked simultaneously.

  The man who had stood first answered, “No-one has been here. You need medical attention?” He motioned toward Shea.

  “We’re fine for now—”

  The sound of something big rumbling down the street shook the windows. He knew that sound. Knew exactly what was coming.

  A tank.

  14

  Cedar Falls, Michigan

  Ellen Wolff set a chipped mixing bowl on the counter next to the ingredients she’d gotten out to make her mother’s Chocolate Sheet Cake. It just sounded good to her. And, she hadn’t made it in a while so today seemed like a good day for chocolate cake.

  It also served as a therapeutic way to get her thoughts off…everything. So much had happened this summer, she needed a reprieve. Just for a few hours while she baked.

  She opened the sugar tin and measured out a cup, then another, and dumped them in the bowl. Her favorite mixing bowl. The very same one her mother had used to make her delicious desserts. Hence, the chips around the rim. The country blue color made her think of her own childhood, standing on a stool at the kitchen counter, watching her mother mix just the right ingredients to make the perfect cake. She’d loved those precious moments with her mom. It was how she learned to love the art of cooking and baking.

  Humming to herself she added water, oleo, cocoa and homemade buttermilk, smiling when she added the margarine. No-one called it oleo anymore.

  Cracking an egg on the edge of the bowl, she added it to the batter along with some vanilla and baking soda. With a strong arm she stirred the mixture, holding the bowl against her midsection as her mother had done.

  When the chocolate batter gleamed like silk she poured it into a greased sheet pan and spread the top even with a spatula. Then she popped it in the oven to bake.

  As it did, she cleaned up her mess and prepared to make the frosting. More a glaze than frosting, but delicious all the same.

  She paused when she picked up the tin of flour, her eyes straying to the empty stool next to the counter. She’d always wan
ted grandchildren. A sweet girl or precious boy to stand on the stool the same as she had, learning the family secrets to delicious treats. Never did she think it would be her youngest son giving her the first grandchild.

  Her chest tightened. Ryan would never know his son or daughter and it hurt her heart because he would have been an amazing father. So gentle and loving. Patient. Fun. All the qualities that went into a good parent.

  She shook off the darkness creeping into her soul. There was no time for dark thoughts. Her Ryan was with the angels in heaven and one day they would be reunited. That gave her peace and allowed her the strength to go on.

  And, God had blessed them with the first grandchild. Part of the son she’d lost would forever be held in that sweet child. As long as Dani stayed clean and took care of herself there should be no problems. With a little help from the family Dani would get through this and deliver a healthy, beautiful baby.

  Something inside Ellen shifted, warmed. She did love children. It would be nice to have little ones in the house again. There was nothing like the carefree laughter of a child. Nectar of the gods. She couldn’t wait to smell that unique baby scent, rock him or her to sleep while singing the same lullaby she’d sang to all her kids. One passed down from her grandmother to her mother to her.

  Ellen smiled and pulled a saucepan out of the cupboard. The good was beginning to outweigh the bad. The man responsible for her son’s death had been laid to rest and a new life would be brought into the world in a few months.

  There was so much to do. A nursery to set up. A baby shower to plan. All fun and exciting. Good things.

  Feeling lighter, she added a stick of oleo, some milk and cocoa to the pan. When it boiled, she added the remaining ingredients and stirred it with a wooden spoon until it glistened.

  As soon as the cake came out of the oven she would pour this scrumptious frosting over top, sprinkle it with a handful of chopped walnuts and let it cool. She already planned what to make for dinner and this cake would be the perfect compliment for grilled hamburgers and homemade fries. It had been awhile since Frank had fired up the grill and summer was almost over so today seemed the perfect day for it. She was handy in the kitchen, but her husband was the king of the grill.

  Dipping a finger into the frosting, Ellen gave it a taste. Perfect.

  Jamshid, Azbakastan

  “Everyone down,” Kell shouted, grabbing Shea and diving for the nearest desk.

  They barely fit in the small space. Kell folded himself over Shea as much as he could to protect her from what was coming.

  “A freaking tank,” she said, sounding angry.

  Seconds later everything exploded around them. Glass shattered, people screamed. Papers caught fire from the blast. The noise from the explosion made their ears ring.

  Dust and debris peppered the desk above them. Something heavy landed directly above their heads and Shea jumped. The desk buckled from the weight.

  “Get out,” Kell said, helping push Shea from beneath their cover.

  She scrambled out, climbing over books and destroyed computer parts. Kell followed her, cutting his hand on a piece of twisted metal that had once been a chair.

  Half of the office building was missing, blown apart by the missile. Small fires burned, debris fell from the crumbling walls and ceiling. Lights flickered.

  “Oh, dear God,” Shea whispered when she got a look of the devastation. The dead bodies strewn everywhere.

  “We can’t stay here. They’ll be sweeping the building for survivors,” he said, clenching his jaw. So many innocent lives lost.

  The words hardly left his mouth before they heard shouting from the floor below. Screams cut off by gunshots.

  Kell tried to find a way out but they were trapped. By the dilapidated building in front of them and the alley where the riots were happening behind them. Couldn’t go up. Couldn’t go down.

  “Hide,” he said. “Over there.”

  They took refuge beside a crumbling wall, ducking beneath the overhang and pulled as much debris around them as possible.

  They’d barely gotten hidden when three gunmen got there and started searching the rubble for survivors, using the barrels of their guns to move debris.

  Shea’s breathing was a little fast, her muscles tense against him. He knew she could handle herself with whatever came up. Her training would keep her sharp. Her injuries would hamper her. No matter what, they couldn’t be found.

  The voices got closer. Nearly on them. Shea went rigid and so did he. He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered shhh, barely audible. She nodded her head, drawing in a slow, deep breath and quietly letting it out.

  Something fell on the desk above them and tumbled to the floor in front of their feet. Kell shifted slightly, preparing himself for hand-to-hand combat.

  The book that had fallen sat right next to Shea’s foot. If the man who knocked it down took one more step to the left…

  With a sudden, loud crash their protective cover went tumbling, spitting up a cloud of dust. The man who’d done it shouted in Azebek, training his AK-47 on them.

  Kell lunged up, knocking Shea over in the process. The man fired, the bullet hitting rubble right where Shea’s head had been.

  He grabbed the man’s wrist, pointing the gun upward so the shots hit the roof, and twisted. The man screamed in pain as the bones in his wrist broke. Kell snatched the weapon from him, pointed and shot. He swung around and pulled the trigger on the other two, taking them down before they put him down.

  He patted the man down for more weapons, coming up with extra magazines, but nothing more. Good enough for now.

  Shea was at his side, scanning the perimeter for more of the posse.

  Together he and Shea moved through the rubble, trying not to look at the dead innocents. They took the stairwell down to the first floor, not as dilapidated as the rest of the building, but the windows had shattered and part of one wall was missing. Dead bodies littered the floor ratcheting up Kell’s anger. He’d seen to much devastation in his career. Too many blameless lives taken in the act of war.

  “They’re slaughtering everyone,” Shea said as they crept toward the doorway where doors once stood. Now an empty hole.

  “Blood thirsty bastards.”

  She tugged on his hand and he glanced over his shoulder to see her staring at one of the bodies. A young woman. An employee. Her life cut short because the people of this country were hellbent on violence.

  He stopped, tightened his grip. “Shea. Come on. We can’t stay here.”

  She turned wide, dispirited eyes to him. “I can’t do this anymore. I’ve seen too much blood shed.”

  She was in shock. He’d never seen her like this. Nothing shook her.

  Kell cupped her cheek. “Just don’t look, sweetheart. Keep your head down and stay close to me, ok?”

  Absently, she nodded.

  With her hand gripping the back of his shirt, he led them carefully out of the building. Cars burned in the street, some overturned. Bodies lay everywhere. Police and protestors alike. Casualties of war.

  The good news: The tank had moved on and taken the posse with it. Kell looked both ways down the street and found it empty. Eerily quiet. Anyone not caught in the blast was taking refuge in their homes and offices. Hiding where they wouldn’t be found. Things like this happened all the time in third world countries. The people knew what to do to stay safe.

  “Let’s go,” he said, heading in the direction of her house. They stuck to walls, scouting out corners and streets before turning down them.

  Their luck didn’t last long. The street they needed to go down in order to get to Shea’s house was overrun with a mob of people. They ran and fought. Neighbor against neighbor. Good against evil. It was nearly impossible to tell who was in danger and who was causing it.

  Evening had fallen, casting a grey shadow on the city. Soon, it would be night and they could move in the cloak of darkness to Shea’s house.

  Scanning the area aro
und him, he saw a car on it’s side, not on fire. It would work to shield them from anyone in the street running by. As long as they didn’t stop and circle the car they might be able to stay hidden until nightfall.

  “This way.” He ran for the car, Shea hot on his heels.

  They hunkered down, backs to the roof. Kell kept the AK-47 in the ready position in case they were discovered.

  “We’ll wait for nightfall,” he said. “Then we’ll move.”

  Shea leaned her head back against the car, exhaustion written in the lines of her face.

  “Yes,” she said. “Now we wait.”

  15

  Jamshid, Azbakastan

  Shea was exhausted. Sore. Scared.

  Her ankle throbbed, but Shea knew it wasn’t broken. Sprained, maybe, but it didn’t feel like it. More like she wrenched it and the tendons were sore. That, she could deal with. It wouldn’t slow her down.

  Now that they had stopped running and the adrenaline was wearing off her body was crashing. She knew the feeling. Had been here before. Didn’t mean she liked it. This was the time when all her aches and pains became known, when her body started to quit on her.

  Not something she could afford right now. They weren’t out of danger. Not yet. It lurked around every corner and in every noise she heard.

  “Hey, you still with me?”

  Kell. Her rock. If not for him she’d still be bleeding out in that cold room. She owed him her life.

  “Yeah,” she said, not opening her eyes where she leaned her head back against the roof of the car. In the distance she could hear the staccato of gunfire, shouts and screams, an occasional bomb that shook the ground beneath them. One thing they could count on. This would get worse before it got better.

  And they were still four blocks away from her house. She prayed Alsu was safe. Shea had taught her how to lock down the house for events like this. Shea had added extra security to the only place she felt safe in this godforsaken country. The old adage about keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer served to her benefit. Hence, the reason her house was tucked away one of the tribal cities. The upper crust of the city, but right smack dab in the middle of the most dangerous part of A-Stan. It really was the perfect place to hide.