Tennessee Takedown. Lena DiazЧитать онлайн книгу.
each end of the aisle. When they were in position, he held up five fingers, counting down. Four. Three. He rushed into the cubicle in front of him, silently continuing the countdown, as he knew his men would do. He climbed onto the countertop that formed a desk in the cubicle. When the count reached zero, he jumped to his feet and aimed his rifle over the top of the wall.
At the same time, his men rushed into the ends of the aisle to prevent escape. The scratching stopped. A young woman lay half in and half out of a cubicle, her face an ashen-gray color, with blood running down the side of her head. Her fingernails dug into the carpet, probably the scratching sound they’d heard.
Dillon stood guard over the top of the wall. Chris hoisted the young woman in his arms while the other man covered him. Together they retreated toward the exit, with Dillon watching over them until they were safely out the door.
Two civilians rescued. How many more were still hiding? And where the hell was the shooter?
A soft pfft sound had Dillon diving to the floor and rolling into the aisle. The cubicle wall near where he’d been standing seconds ago now boasted a small round hole. A bullet hole.
“This is Gray,” he whispered into his mic. “I’ve got gunfire on the east side, fifty feet in. Shooter’s weapon is silenced.” He jumped to his feet and hurried to the end of the aisle.
“Affirmative.” Donna’s voice came through his earpiece. “West side clear so far. Do you need backup?”
“Negative.” He peeked around the wall. “Witnesses reported two shooters. Continue search and rescue on the west side. I’ve got this.”
“You sure about that, country boy?” A gun muzzle pressed against Dillon’s back.
Chapter Two
The shooter was playing a deadly game of hide-and-seek with Ashley, searching every aisle, every cubicle. So far she’d managed to stay one step ahead of him. Barely. She rounded the end of another aisle. Her breath caught in her throat. The shooter’s profile was silhouetted against the wall of windows.
And his gun was pointing at a SWAT officer’s back.
Ducking into the adjacent aisle, Ashley struggled to keep her breathing shallow, quiet, so the shooter wouldn’t hear her. Gathering her courage, she risked another quick peek around the wall. The officer said something to the shooter. The shooter shook his head and gave him a gruff command. The officer tossed his rifle to the floor.
Dang it.
The exit door was only thirty feet away now. If Ashley was quiet, she might make it. But what would happen to the SWAT guy? He’d risked his life to rescue her and the others. Could she abandon him and leave him here to die?
No, she couldn’t.
Cursing her conscience, she ducked back and grabbed one of the heavy, old-fashioned phones from a cubicle desktop. After unplugging the cord, she crept down a parallel aisle, hoping to sneak up behind the shooter. She offered up a quick prayer that he hadn’t moved or turned around as she rounded the end of the row. Yes. His back was still facing her. But the SWAT guy was now facing the shooter, and Ashley, his hands raised.
Ashley crept forward, biting her lip, holding the phone in the air. She was pretty sure SWAT guy had seen her. He hadn’t looked directly at her, but his body tensed, and the lines around his eyes tightened.
“Too bad your buddies left you by yourself,” the shooter said. “Looks like they’ll be carting one of their own out the door next.” He raised his gun toward the officer’s face just as Ashley swung the phone with both hands at the shooter’s head.
But instead of hitting him, she hit empty air, spinning in a circle then falling against the wall beside her.
It took her a moment to realize SWAT guy had lunged for the shooter right when she’d swung the phone. He’d grabbed the shooter’s gun and swept his legs out from beneath him. Now both men were rolling on the floor, wrestling for control of the gun.
“Get out of here,” SWAT guy yelled.
Ashley realized he was yelling at her.
The two men rolled into the side aisle, grappling for control.
Leaving SWAT guy’s rifle lying on the floor.
“Go, go, go,” the officer yelled again. “Get out of here, run!”
SWAT guy was heavily muscled and tall, but the shooter was on top of him and must have outweighed him by at least forty pounds. The pistol was slowly, inexorably moving up toward the officer’s face, the only part of his body not covered in armor.
Ashley made her choice. She dropped the phone and grabbed for the rifle.
The shooter twisted toward her and slammed his foot against her calf. She screamed and fell to the floor. Before she could scramble away, he grabbed her long hair and yanked her in front of him like a human shield.
SWAT guy crouched in the aisle a few feet away, glaring at Ashley before focusing on the shooter. The wicked-looking hunting knife in the officer’s hand, along with his glare, had Ashley groaning inside. Instead of helping, she’d gotten in the way and messed everything up. She hadn’t realized the policeman had a knife, and that he’d apparently been about to use it when she’d interfered.
“Let her go,” the officer ordered. “You’re surrounded.”
Ashley glanced around, stunned to see he wasn’t bluffing. She hadn’t heard or seen the other SWAT officers come in, but there were two on her left, another one on the far side of the shooter and, as she watched, a fourth officer entered the aisle behind SWAT guy, who was now crouched in front of the shooter, still holding his knife.
Surrounded was putting it mildly.
“Let her go,” SWAT guy repeated.
The shooter scooted back, pulling Ashley with him, keeping his gun trained on SWAT guy. Ashley struggled against his hold, but he squeezed hard, crushing her in a painful grip against his chest. He scooted back until he was pressed against the wall and couldn’t move any farther.
“I’ll kill her.” He yanked her hair.
Ashley sucked in a sharp breath at the fiery pain. It felt as though he was yanking half her hair out by the roots.
“Back off or she’s dead. You can’t shoot me without hitting her. Back. Off.”
Ashley struggled to draw air into her lungs. She could barely breathe with her head twisted back so hard and tight.
Swat guy clutched his knife and motioned to the two SWAT officers on Ashley’s left side. “He’s right. Lower your weapons and back away. Give him room.”
The shooter turned his head to the side, watching the officers lower their rifles.
He suddenly jerked against Ashley, a guttural moan wheezing out of his throat.
SWAT guy lunged forward, grabbing the shooter’s gun and tossing it away. He chopped his hand down on the shooter’s arm, breaking his hold on Ashley before yanking her away from him.
She twisted in the officer’s arms, looking back toward the shooter. The gunman lay on the floor, convulsing, the haft of a knife sticking out of his neck. Blood bubbled out of the wound.
She clutched the officer’s arm where it circled her waist.
“You—you threw your knife, while he was holding me?” she squeaked.
He gently grasped her chin, forcing her to turn away from the shooter.
“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice gruff but laced with concern.
She dragged her gaze up his armor-covered chest to stare into a pair of stormy blue-gray eyes.
“Are you injured? Did he hurt you?” he demanded.
She swallowed and shook her