Melissa Cutler - Secret Agent Secretary

The man and woman who’d been left to stand guard were distracted by the presence of the limo. Even Avery knew this was the perfect window of time to act. But she was scared witless about it. All she could do was hope Ryan didn’t expect her to pull off any moves like she had in the stairwell. She’d used up all her allotted spy powers for the day.

In one fluid motion, he pulled the gun from her Spanx, shoved her to the ground alongside the car and pivoted toward the man with the machine gun. The man went down with a single shot.

Next Ryan lunged at the woman, who fired in his general direction but missed, obviously flustered by the turn of events. He paid her gunfire no mind as he took hold of her blouse and pulled her into the open trunk.

Avery scrambled to her knees. She couldn’t see much but knew there was no way the men talking to the limo driver had failed to hear the gunfire. Sure enough, as Ryan slammed the trunk closed, someone opened fire in a continual staccato of shots.

Ryan dived to the ground near Avery. “Let’s jam,” he said, cool as a cucumber.

He gestured with his gun toward the rear of the garage. Avery kicked her shoes off and followed after him, threading in a crouched position between car bumpers and the wall.

Bullets flew in all directions, crumbling car windows and the concrete wall and ceiling. Avery ran as quickly as she could. License plates tore chunks of her dress off and slashed at her legs, but she never slowed more than an arm’s length from Ryan’s back. Every so often, he’d pause and return fire, buying time for them to dart across empty parking spaces.

Finally, he ground to a halt behind the passenger door of the last car. Avery fell to her hands and knees beside him. The dress, now ripped to shreds, no longer impeded her movement.

“What’s the plan?” she asked between breaths. Her voice sounded muffled to her ears, damaged as they were by machine-gun fire.

Ryan glanced at the stairwell door, then lifted his pant leg, exposing an ankle holster where an extra magazine rested against the inside of his calf. That must’ve been where he’d had the gun he stashed in her underwear, she reasoned.

As she caught her breath, he exchanged the empty magazine for the fresh one. “I’m going to cover you while you run for the door.” He flashed a set of keys. “I lifted these from that woman. Hopefully one opens the door to the locker room.”

She had to play his words over in her mind twice to make sure she’d heard him right. “You want me to run? Out in the open?”

“Yes. Are you ready?”

Avery gauged the distance from their hiding place to the door and estimated it to be at least fifteen feet. “No,” she answered honestly.

He blinked at her; then his eyes turned soft and his lips twitched like he was contemplating a smile. He looked playful. Boyish. Like they were back on the employee softball team last November when one of the other agents was razzing him about a missed catch. Like in the next few seconds they weren’t going to risk their lives all over again.

“I’m not ready for you to make that run, either. But it’s our only option.”

He pulled the tail of his shirt free of his pants. Strapped to his waist over his undershirt and above his belted pants was a black canvas belt with lots of pockets and zippers. Reaching near the small of his back, he withdrew two small canisters.

“What’re those?”

“A decoy grenade and smoke screen.”

She gaped at the objects in his hand. Unreal. Then she looked into his deep brown eyes, intense but for the slightest touch of amusement, and tried her best not to swoon. Sure, the thrill of the battle was starting to course through her system again like a bizarro happy drug she couldn’t control, but still, they were cornered in an underground garage while being fired at by machine guns.

Her fingers danced over the decoy grenade as she shot him a sidelong gaze. “You carry gadgets on your belt?”

She couldn’t help it. She swooned a little anyway. Mr. Tall, Dark and Droolworthy just got even more intriguing.

Chapter 4

For someone who’d freaked at the sight of his gun, Avery sure did caress the grenade canisters in Ryan’s hand like they were her favorite sex toys. And calling them gadgets? Ryan didn’t know anybody who referred to grenades as gadgets, but if it gave Avery courage for the life-risking run they needed to make, then she could call them whatever she wanted.

Fighting a smile, he bought Avery a few more seconds to make peace with what she was about to do by squeezing off several rounds that forced Chiara’s men to scatter for cover. “Yeah, I’ve got a few gadgets. Are you ready to move?”

Avery gave a thumbs-up and crouched into a sprint starting position. A pulse of admiration for her bravery nearly had him smiling again as he removed the pin from the first grenade and tossed it. It exploded in a screen of smoke.

The decoy he lobbed at the garage entrance. The hostiles’ gunfire stopped, and Ryan could see them running for cover. Spraying gunfire to cover Avery’s sprint, he gave her back a nudge. “Move!”

She took off running. Ryan followed, shooting through the smoke screen. Machine-gun fire resumed all around them. Bits of wall and ceiling crumbled over Avery as she threw the door open, but she kept moving like a champ. Ryan slipped in behind her. There was no way to bar the door from opening, but lucky for him, Avery had kept her wits about her and was already working the keys in the locker-room door.

Ryan held his position near the door, ready to neutralize anyone who dared open it.

“Got it,” Avery called. She shouldered the door open, kicking her fallen purse in with her.

Ryan sidestepped her way, gun trained on the parking-garage door until he was at the employee entrance. As he closed his hand over that door, the parking garage door opened, followed by another succession of gunfire.

He ducked behind the door, paused to squeeze out a half-dozen rounds, then slammed the door behind him. If Chiara’s men had another key, he and Avery had maybe thirty seconds to bolt. If they didn’t, their window opened to a minute or two, perhaps more until Chiara’s attack dogs either blew the door down or found another way to reach them.

A thunder of noise from beyond the door preceded the appearance of dimples in the metal plated wood. Gunshots. Ryan dived away from the door. “Let’s move!”

He scooped up Avery’s purse and jogged with her past the kitchenette and dining area, toward the lockers. Behind them, the sound of the doorknob rattling was followed by another long roar of gunfire.

So they didn’t have another key. Excellent. He tucked Avery’s purse in the inside pocket of his jacket. “How do we get out of here?”

“Stairs, straight ahead.”

Halfway down the row of lockers stood a solitary young man, shirtless, his eyes and mouth wide-open as he stared at Ryan’s gun. The poor schmuck looked harmless but frozen with terror, which was probably why, despite the gunfire in the parking lot, he looked more ready to pee his pants than flee. While Ryan was busy mentally debating whether or not to incapacitate him so he didn’t call hotel security on them, Avery rushed the guy, spearing a finger in the air.

“You. Take off your shoes. Now!”

The man gaped at her. Ryan was taken aback, too, but he caught on quick. She’d left her heels in the parking garage and had correctly reasoned that even used, ill-fitting shoes were better than no shoes at all.

He moved beside her, his gun aimed at the poor, half-naked employee. “You heard the lady. Get those shoes off.”

His focus riveted on the gun, the man whimpered and sank to his knees. “Don’t kill me.”

Avery rolled her eyes and swatted at the air between them. “It’s a gun. Get over it. Give me your shoes, or I’m going to make you.”