Wanted (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 8) (12 page)

****

“Still no answer from Celida or the shop.” Tuck’s voice was rife with frustration as he lowered his phone.

Zoe either. Worry was eating a hole in his gut. “We’re still ten minutes out,” Clay said. Dammit, of all the freaking times for Zoe and Celida not to be monitoring their phones. “That’s too long. Find out if any of our people are in the area. Maybe they can get the girls out. The cops are gonna beat us there, so make sure they know to search the area for a shooter.” They’d called for police backup immediately after figuring out where Zoe and Celida were.

Tuck grunted by way of answer, already on the phone to someone else. Clay knew his buddy didn’t need instructions on how to handle this, but he wanted to be sure they were on the same page. He pressed down harder on the accelerator while Tuck spoke to someone else. Sounded like it might be Travers, Celida’s partner.

Clay swerved around another pickup, tailgated another car and laid on his horn until the driver pulled into the slow lane, ignoring the driver’s flung up middle finger. He had a bad feeling about this, real bad. The enforcer was out there right now, hunting Zoe, and trying to lure Clay into the trap he’d created.

A trap he had no choice but to walk into, no matter the risk to himself. And unfortunately Tuck and Celida were caught up in it now too.

Up ahead the traffic snarled around what appeared to be some kind of road construction. Cursing under his breath, Clay jerked the wheel and headed down a side alley. A garbage truck blocked the way halfway down.

Fuck.

He threw it into reverse, gunned it back the way he’d come, the muscles in his arms so tight it felt like the tendons might snap. Reaching the street, he did a J-turn, cranking the wheel hard to the right to spin the front of the truck around to the left, then shifted to drive as it spun and shot forward back into traffic.

“Up there,” Tuck urged, pointing up and to the left.

Clay saw the opening he indicated and gunned it. He swerved around oncoming traffic, turned hard to the left and careened around another vehicle coming the other way. Just as quickly, another blocked their way.

An old man, squinting in the glare of Clay’s headlights. He raised one hand to shade his eyes.

Clay snarled and laid on the horn. “Get the fuck outta the way,” he yelled at the other driver, uncaring that he wouldn’t hear him.

The old man jumped, waved his hands in either apology or surrender and gingerly began backing his car down the narrow side street.

“Come on, come
on
,” Clay growled, knuckles white as he gripped the wheel.

The instant the old man moved his car enough, Clay hit the gas, streaking past the other vehicle with a squeal of tires. This congestion was killing him, might cost Zoe her life. He had to get to the freeway, had to make up for lost time.

Neither he nor Tuck spoke as he fought his way to the nearest onramp, only the sounds of the engine racing and the occasional blare of a horn as they sped past someone. Gripping the wheel tight Clay kept his focus pinned on the road in front of him, desperate to get to Zoe. Finally he reached the road to the onramp.

The engine’s pitch grew higher as he pressed harder on the accelerator. The speedometer’s needle read fifty miles per hour. Sixty. Seventy. He took the onramp at seventy-five, increased it to eight-five, then ninety.

It still wasn’t fast enough. His heart thudded against his ribcage, a frantic rhythm borne of fear.

Zoe. Please be safe, baby.

Tuck remained silent in the passenger seat, no doubt lost in his own worry for both his cousin and Celida. The tension in the truck was palpable. Clay clenched his jaw and raced down the darkened freeway, zipping in and out to dodge slower moving traffic, feeling the seconds slip past with agonizing speed.

Zoe had to be okay, he told himself. The enforcer planned to use her to lure him to the pickup point, and he was going there no matter what. He’d vowed to her that he’d never let her down, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

He’d do anything to save Zoe. Even die for her.

****

Zoe winced and tugged futilely at the bodice of the gown to try and squeeze her boobs into the cups for the second attempt. It was no good; her girls were spilling out everywhere. And they freaking
hurt
.

“Well?” Celida called from outside the change room. “What’s the verdict?”

“Clay’s definitely going to be happy about this latest development,” she answered. A whole cup size up already, at least. She’d noticed some of her bras getting tight but until the pregnancy bombshell she hadn’t thought anything of it.

Celida laughed. “All right, well get out here and let’s see if Sophie can figure out some kind of magical solution.”

The shop phone rang again in the background but the owner ignored it. Maybe because it was after hours and she’d only kept the shop open for Zoe and Celida.

Holding the chiffon-covered bodice with the built-in bra over her chest, Zoe opened the door and stepped out. Celida’s and Sophie’s gazes both zeroed in on the problem area.

“Oh, my, that’s…my,” Sophie murmured, putting a hand to her chest.

Yeah. Her girls were looking pretty impressive at the moment.

“She got knocked up a few weeks ago,” Celida joked.

“Oh, well. Congratulations?” Sophie definitely posed that more as a question than a compliment.

“Thanks,” Zoe said, unfazed by Celida’s teasing. “So, do you think you can do anything about this?” She glanced down at her swollen boobs. They looked pretty awesome, if she did say so herself. Sucked that they were too damn sore for her and Clay to enjoy them to the fullest.

Sophie pursed her lips as she pondered that for a moment. “I could try and add a panel or some lacing to the back, maybe…” She stepped forward and turned Zoe by the shoulders, gripped the two halves at the back of the gown. “Yes, I think just adding an extra piece of material on either side of the zipper would do it.”

“What about the built-in bra cups?” Zoe asked. “I’m coming out of them all over the place.”

Celida snickered. “Bauer must be in heaven.”

Zoe shot her a grin. “Side perk.” She looked back at Sophie. “Well?”

“I think I’ll take out the bra entirely. If we pull it in enough here,” she said, tugging the material snug across Zoe’s ribcage, “it’ll give you more room up top and you won’t feel so squashed.”

“Okay, but make sure it’s snug enough to hold me in tight. I’m so sore right now there’s no way I could handle them flopping around all day in this thing.”

Celida burst out laughing at the description. “Gotta love you, Zo. You are one of a kind.”

“That’s right, and don’t you forget it.”

“As if I ever could.” She shot Zoe a fond grin. “Okay, so no worries then. My dress is still good to go, so only this one alteration needed.” To Sophie she added, “You can have this done by Saturday afternoon, right?”

The woman’s eyes widened slightly at the two-day deadline, but her expression smoothed out and she nodded. “Sure. There will be an extra charge for that, of course.”

“That’s fine.”

Sophie smiled. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

“Great.”

After standing there for a few minutes more while Sophie marked the material and put pins in place, Zoe wandered back into the change room to put her own clothes on. She checked her phone on the way out to meet Celida at the front counter, frowned. Clay had left three texts and called her multiple times since she’d been here.

Call me back ASAP
, the last one read.

“Something’s up with Clay,” she said to her friend, coming to stand at the cash register. Outside the large front window to her right it was already dark.

“Lord, if one of them got injured during the freaking paintball game, DeLuca will not be happy.”

“No doubt.”

“Could you fill this in please?” Sophie asked her, sliding a piece of paper across the desk toward her. “I need your contact info on file, just in case.”

“Sure.” Only half paying attention to Sophie as she slid a pen to her, Zoe cleared the screen and started to dial Clay’s number. The pen fell off the edge of the counter. Zoe bent to pick it up.

Glass cracked behind her and something thunked into the wall behind the desk.

“Down!” Celida yelled before Zoe could react and grabbed her, tackled her to the floor.

Zoe hit hard on her stomach, heart hammering. What the hell? Had someone just
shot
at them?

“
Move
, Zo.” Celida shoved her hip, pushing her toward the only cover close by, a concrete pillar.

Adrenaline shot through her. Zoe scrambled to her hands and knees and scurried around the edge of the pillar. She gasped when another round slammed into the back of it, spraying bits of concrete around her. It was too thin. It wasn’t enough.

“Shit,” Celida muttered, service pistol in one hand, the other fumbling for her phone as she crouched in front of Zoe. “Sophie’s down.”

With her back to the pillar and too afraid to move, Zoe risked a peek over her shoulder. She just barely caught sight of Sophie, slumped against the wall with a hand to the center of her chest, blood spilling into a puddle around her. Her wide blue eyes were locked on Zoe, full of terror, her mouth open as she gasped, blood dribbling down her chin.

Hit in the lung.

“Sophie, don’t move,” Zoe ordered, her breathing erratic.

“Asshole has to be shooting at us from across the street,” Celida muttered, “and with the lights on that window gives him a clear view of every move we make.”

The back of Zoe’s neck prickled. She could feel the crosshairs lining up on the pillar again. If she moved, she’d be dead.

Celida began rattling off information to whom Zoe assumed was a 911 operator.

“B-blinds…”

Squeezed into as small a target as possible, Zoe snapped her head around to stare at Sophie. “What?”

The woman tried to lift her free hand, weakly pointed it toward something hidden under the desk she was hidden behind. “B-button.”

Zoe’s gaze shot to the blinds pulled to either side of the front window, then back to Sophie. Celida was right. They were fish in a barrel right now. “There’s a button to activate the blinds?”

Sophie managed a nod, her hand falling to her side. More blood spilled from the wound in her chest, dripped from her mouth. She began to wheeze.

The sound made her skin crawl. “I’m going to shut the blinds,” Zoe said to Celida, who was still on the phone trying to get them backup.

She shook her head. “No, don’t move.”

“You keep reporting. I gotta help Sophie and get us some real cover,” Zoe snapped, gingerly getting to her knees while staying with her back to the pillar. Sophie was dying right in front of them. Closing those blinds was their only chance.

“Zoe,
no
.”

Her mind was already made up. Zoe got into a crouch and gauged the distance between the pillar and the edge of the desk. Only a couple yards.

Fear coiled her muscles tight. She didn’t want to move but she really didn’t have a choice and she wasn’t going to let Sophie lie there bleeding out all alone. The wound was bad. If she was going to die she deserved the comfort of having someone beside her when she did.

Celida was hunkered down on one knee now, still hidden by the pillar, sidearm in hand as she reported what was happening.

Zoe waited another couple seconds. When no more shots sounded, she dove for the desk.

Crack
.

A cry trapped in her throat as a hole punched into the wall inches from where she’d just been. She scrambled behind the desk, lay flat on her stomach as she waited for more rounds to tear through it.

They never came.

Her frantic gaze sought the button Sophie had talked about. With one hand she reached out and slapped her palm against it. A motorized whizzing sound started and through one of the bullet holes in the desk she saw the blinds begin to close.

Immediately she turned to Sophie. The shop owner was barely conscious now, her breaths ragged and shallow, eyes half-closed. “Sophie,” she said sharply, needing to get her attention. “Sophie, stay with me.”

Those blue eyes focused on her, the blind fear there tearing at Zoe’s insides. She tore off the sweater she’d pulled on over her top and pressed it to the wound in Sophie’s chest. The blinds stopped moving. They were covered.

For now.

But a terrible sense of foreboding told her it wasn’t over yet.

Her fingers were trembling so badly she could barely hold onto it. “She’s bleeding bad, Lida,” she called out.

“Cops are nearby and an ambulance is on the way,” Celida answered, appearing at her side a moment later with her phone to her ear. “Keep pressure on it—Tuck, we’ve got an active shooter here…”

Zoe listened as her friend relayed the information to Tuck, some small part of her relieved because she knew he’d tell Clay immediately. Clay and Tuck would come for them. If they could just hold on until the cops got here, they’d scare the shooter away. And then Clay and Tuck would be here.

“We’re behind cover and the shop owner’s been hit in the chest…” Celida trailed off, then cried, “
What
?”

Zoe risked a glance at her, saw the shock and the way Celida’s face paled at whatever Tuck had said.

Then it hit her. Maybe this wasn’t a random attack. Maybe it was targeted.

The idea made her blood run cold.

Had Clay found out about the shooter before this? Is that why he’d called? Had he somehow found out there was a threat against her and tried to warn her earlier?

Her fears were confirmed when Celida spoke to her. “NSA told Clay they think an enforcer from the Fuentes cartel might be targeting you.”

“What?” Impossible. Fuentes had just been transferred to ADX Florence supermax prison in Colorado. She’d read about it in the paper last week.

Celida’s mouth was a thin line, her expression tense as she looked around. “We can’t stay here. We gotta get out the back before he gets there first.”