Operation: Midnight Tango. Linda Castillo

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СКАЧАТЬ white SUV parked in the far corner of the lot.

      “Now you’re adding grand theft auto to your repertoire of charges?”

      “My contact left it for me. There’s a GPS chip and a few other useful items hidden inside the wheel.” Taking her hand, he started toward the vehicle at a dead run. “Hurry.”

      Contact? GPS system? Useful items? A dozen alarms were blaring simultaneously inside Emily’s head, most of which were warning her not to believe a word he said. She didn’t know what was going on or who to trust. The one thing she did know for certain was that this man was a convict. That he was escaping. That her employers at Lockdown, Inc. presumed she was helping him.

      But she couldn’t explain what had taken place back in that locker room. Would Marcus Underwood and his men have hurt her if Zack hadn’t shown up when he did? What information could he possibly have that would be so valuable? Emily didn’t know the answers, but the possibilities chilled her to the bone.

      When they reached the SUV, Zack went directly to the right front tire and knelt to open a small hidden compartment set into the wheel. Emily stared in shock as he withdrew a good-size drawstring satchel and a set of keys. She’d never seen a key holder like that before. “How did you know that was there?”

      Grinning, he tossed the keys into the air and caught them with one hand. “Must be my lucky day.”

      The tinny thwack! of a bullet penetrating steel punctuated the statement. Thwack! Thwack!

      “Get down!”

      The next thing Emily knew, she was being shoved to the ground. She got a mouthful of snow, and then Zack was on top of her. Thwack! Thwack! His body jerked with each gunshot. She could feel her own nerves jumping, terror beginning to flood her. Thwack!

      “Damn it!”

      She looked up to see the right front tire explode. Then her hand was locked within his and she was being dragged to her feet. “Run!”

      She heard fear in his voice. Felt that same fear galloping through her own system. Adrenaline fed her muscles and within a few steps she was running full-out.

      “Where to?” Zack shouted.

      “My car. In the lot.”

      “We’re sitting ducks in the lot.”

      The pop of gunshots sounded behind them. Floodlights as bright as the sun flashed on. The outdoor sirens began to wail. Emily looked over her shoulder and saw a dozen men silhouetted against the prison walls.

      “They’re shooting at us!” she said.

      “I don’t know why that would come as a surprise.”

      Something that felt like a red-hot baseball bat traveling at the speed of sound slammed into her upper arm. She yelped at the sudden burst of pain. The impact knocked her off balance. Her legs tangled. Zack’s hand was torn from hers as she went down hard on her stomach.

      “Emily!”

      She lifted her head, saw him rushing toward her, his face taut with horror. She had snow in her eyes. In her mouth. In her hair. Down the front of her shirt. For some reason, her arm was burning like the dickens.

      “Are you hit?” He went to his knees beside her, reached for her, pulled her toward him. “Are you hurt?”

      “No. I mean, I don’t think—”

      “Damn it!”

      She looked over to see his fingers probing the tear in her coat. Now how had that happened? Weren’t the SORT team marksmen supposed to be shooting at Zack? Since when had she become a target? “Oh, my God.”

      “You’ve been shot.” He glanced over his shoulder, cursed. Four men in full SORT team assault gear were two hundred yards away and closing fast. “Can you run?”

      “I don’t think I have a choice.”

      Pulling her to her feet, he looked around. “We need a vehicle.”

      “The utility garage.” She pointed with her good arm. “Over there.”

      “Let’s move.” Taking hold of her uninjured arm, he tugged her into a run toward the corrugated-steel utility garage.

      One of the four overhead doors stood partly open. Emily and Zack ducked under the door and burst into the building. Country music billowed from a radio atop a toolbox. Two ATVs were parked near the first bay. A small yellow bulldozer hulked in the corner. Two four-wheel-drive trucks with the Lockdown, Inc. logo on the doors sat at bays two and three.

      A scrawny young man wearing insulated coveralls looked up from the engine he was working on. His face blanched at the sight of Zack. “You’re the escapee,” he said.

      “I’m your worst nightmare if you don’t find us a vehicle pronto,” Zack said.

      The young man looked as if he were about to swallow his tongue. “Take whatever you want.” He pointed. “If it were me, I’d go for the snowmobile. Weatherman says we’re going to get dumped on.”

      Wondering what else could go wrong, Zack darted to the snowmobile, shot a hard look at the kid. “Where are the keys?”

      The young man raised a trembling hand and pointed. “O-on the bulletin board,” he squeaked.

      Emily crossed to the bulletin board, snatched the keys off a hook and tossed them at Zack. He caught them with one hand, then said, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll run out that door and forget you ever saw us.”

      The wrench the kid was holding clattered to the floor. Backing away, he spun and sprinted through the door without looking back.

      Emily watched him disappear into the falling snow. She could hear voices and shouting coming through the open door. No doubt the prison SORT team and tower guards were assessing the situation. It was only a matter of minutes before they stormed the place.

      Somewhere in the distance an engine fired. She watched Zack pull a small bundle from the satchel and set it on the floor beneath one of the trucks.

      “Give me that gas can,” he ordered.

      Emily spotted the red can next to the workbench, picked it up and handed it to Zack. “What are you doing?”

      “Just taking out a little insurance.” He placed the can next to the bundle, then dashed to the snowmobile, picked up two helmets and slid onto the seat. “Come here.”

      She met him at the snowmobile. Her arm was burning and throbbing. Light-headed, she wondered if the wound was more than just a graze.

      “You okay?” Eyeing her intently, he lifted one of the helmets and slid it gently onto her head.

      “Oh, I’m just peachy. In the last half hour I’ve been taken hostage, shot at, lied to by people I thought were the good guys. No, I’m not okay! I want to know what the hell is going on.”

      His eyes met hers as he fastened the strap beneath her chin. “Look, I СКАЧАТЬ