Brett Battles - The Destroyed

Nate was already heading toward the edge. He leaped to the other side and took off after her.

Without hesitation, Quinn made his run, hitting the retaining wall at almost exactly the same spot Mila had. When he reached the other roof, though, his foot slipped and he began to fall. Curling into a tuck, he forced a roll, then popped to his feet. The other two had already entered the stairwell, leaving him the only one outside.

He raced over to the small hut-like structure and pulled the door open.

Behind him he heard someone shout in Italian. He glanced over his shoulder as he passed inside, and saw two cops on Julien’s roof, looking in his direction. As the door closed, he could see the cops heading in their direction.

Great.

Running down the stairs, he could hear Nate and Mila farther below.

He activated his comm. “Nate, we’ve been seen. Cops on the roof heading this way.”

There was a moment’s delay, then Nate’s voice came huffing back. “Got it.”

Chasing a woman down a staircase was not Nate’s idea of fun. Doing it twice in the span of five minutes-even less awesome.

The first time, when he caught her in the other building, she’d put up a good fight, getting in a few punches and eventually biting him in the hand before he was able to subdue her. This time, her head start had been longer, and while he had cut the distance between them, she was still a whole flight ahead. If she was able to make it outside before he reached her, his chances of catching up to her would plummet.

He could see her turn down the final flight below. Knowing he had little choice, he jumped forward, sailing above the stairs, and barely missing the final riser as he hit the landing. She glanced back, surprised. He was less than half a flight away from her now.

Taking the remaining steps three at a time, he raced after her. When she reached the bottom, she jerked open the door, but before she could run through, he grabbed her arm.

She tried to pull from his grasp. “Let me go!”

“ Che succede?” The male voice had come from the entranceway to the building.

“Let me go!” Mila yelled again.

Suddenly a man of about fifty appeared just on the other side of her. He looked surprised, then determined. “Stop!” he said to Nate, his accent heavy.

He reached over and tried to pry Nate’s hands loose. As he did, Mila twisted, and the light windbreaker she was wearing fluttered open. Nate spotted the end of an envelope sticking out of an inside pocket, and made a quick decision. At the same moment he let go of her, he grabbed the envelope and stepped back into the stairwell.

When she realized what he’d done, she said, “Give that back.”

“Stop fighting with us. We’re only trying to help.”

The middle-aged man pointed at the envelope. “Not you. Her.”

“ Non sono affari tuoi,” Nate said to the man, telling him it wasn’t his business.

“ Perche la stavi afferrando?” the man asked, wanting more explanation.

Mila looked at Nate for a second, then at the man. “ Lo e il mio amico stiamo solo discutendo. Non c'e' bisogno che lei si metta in mezzo,” she said. It was just an argument, and his help wasn’t needed.

“ Sicura?” he asked.

“ Si. Scusi il disturbo e grazie per aver cercato d'essere d’aiuto.”

Looking confused, the man shook his head and walked off.

Once he was gone, Mila said, “Give me back the envelope.”

“No,” Nate replied. “Not until Quinn says it’s okay.”

She looked over Nate’s shoulder. “Tell him to give me back my envelope.”

Nate could hear Quinn descending the final steps behind him. “We can figure that out later.” He pointed up toward the roof. “You hear that?”

Faintly from the top of the stairwell came the sound of someone heading down.

“It’s the police,” Quinn said. “We need to keep moving.”

Mila kept her hand held out to Nate. “It’s mine. Give it back.”

Nate folded the envelope and stuffed it in his pocket. “As Quinn said, we can figure that out later.”

Anger clouded her face.

Quinn grabbed her arm and pushed her into the entrance hall. “We don’t have time for this right now.”

The room was wider than the one in Julien’s building but basically the same design. Quinn kept a tight hold of her arm as they walked to the front door.

The man who’d tried to stop Nate was standing off to the side, a phone held to his ear. By the way he kept giving them sideways glances, Nate knew he was talking to the cops. Then the man did a stupid thing. He moved his phone away from his ear, and held it so its camera was pointing at the three of them. Now Nate had no other choice.

While Quinn and Mila continued toward the door, Nate veered over to the man and yanked the phone out of his hand.

“Sorry. You won’t be needing this anymore,” he said. He thought about saying it again in Italian, but it was clear from the look on the guy’s face that the message had been received.

As Nate turned for the door, he looked down at the phone. Just like he’d thought, on the screen was a picture of himself, Quinn, and Mila. The man had been in the process of texting it to someone. Nate deleted the text and pulled out the phone’s battery. He stuffed the phone in one pocket and the battery in another, then opened the door and headed outside.

Quinn and Mila were walking down the sidewalk, already a building and a half away.

Nate was only two steps past the door when Thup.

The sound of a bullet through a suppressor.

Instinctively, he dropped to the ground and pulled out his gun.

Behind him the door to the building opened. Before he could look back and shout a warning, there were two more thups, then the crumpled oomphs of bodies falling on concrete.

Somewhere ahead there was a scream.

Then a car door slammed, and an engine roared to life.

That was the point when he raised himself to his knees. The two injured men behind him wore police uniforms. One was unconscious but the other was rolling back and forth, groaning.

Nate shifted his gaze to where he’d last seen Quinn and Mila. Where the two had been standing, one lay sprawled on the ground.

Quinn.

On the street a sedan was speeding away. Nate got a quick glimpse of its license plate, automatically memorizing its number, but knowing it wouldn’t matter. The car, undoubtedly with Mila inside, was surely stolen.

He jumped to his feet and ran over to his mentor. There was blood on the sidewalk and all over the upper part of Quinn’s shirt. The bullet had hit near the base of his neck just above his clavicle, both entry and exit wounds no more than an inch from each other. As ugly as it was, it could have been a lot worse if it had been just a bit to the right, where it would have pierced his windpipe and shattered his spine.

People were starting to come out of their homes to see what had happened.

Nate knew he had to get Quinn out of there now. He looked down the street. Two cars were heading in their direction. The first was a taxi with a passenger, the second a sedan with a couple of kids in back.

Nate lifted Quinn to his feet, and dragged him into the street just in time to get in front of the taxi. The driver had no choice but to stop. He gestured angrily and honked, but only once. The gun in Nate’s hand convinced him another blast of the horn was unnecessary.

Nate locked eyes with the passenger in back and motioned with his pistol for him to get out. The guy seemed glad to do so, and within seconds was running in the other direction. The driver seemed slightly more hesitant to leave.

Nate took a step closer to the car and motioned again. The cabbie apparently felt his loyalty to his taxi had been fulfilled. He scrambled out the door and followed after his passenger.