James Axler - Grailstone Gambit

She threw the Mohawked woman an uncomprehending stare. She smiled at Domi in amusement, inclined her head in a nod and gestured with her autorifle toward Grant.

“He’s all yours, sweetheart!” she called.

Then she turned and merged into the bustling crowd.

Breathing hard, Domi reached Grant, drawing her knife. He turned his head toward her and demanded, “What kind of rescue plan is this—to parboil my ass?”

As the edge of the blade sliced through the ropes encircling his right wrist, she answered, “The Kane kind.”

Grant gusted out a weary sigh. “Why did I even have to ask.”

Domi couldn’t help but grin as she cut the big man free. Although he looked bruised and battered, the fact that he could complain and criticize meant he wasn’t hurt too severely.

As Grant pushed himself off the hood of the Cadillac and stood massaging his wrists, Brigid Baptiste pounded up, holding her TP-9 in a two-fisted grip. Her green eyes glinted, bright with worry.

“Are you all right?” she asked, looking Grant up and down and wincing slightly at the abrasions and contusions on his face. “Do you need medical treatment?”

He shook his head. “Later, maybe.”

Brigid turned toward Domi. “We lost contact with you and almost scrubbed the op.”

Gingerly, the girl touched the Commtact behind her ear and when she withdrew her hand, her fingertips glistened with wet crimson. “Took a wallop there,” she said with a wry smile. “Mashed it up pretty good but probably kept me from a broken head.”

She glanced toward the nearby buildings rising from the skyline. “Where’s Kane and everybody else at?”

“I just spoke to him,” Brigid said. “He, Edwards and Brady are on their way to us. Once we rendezvous, let’s get to the jump chamber and gate back to Cerberus.”

She paused and smiled without humor. “I’ve pretty much had my fill of New York, New York.”

Grant matched her humorless smile. “Yeah, it’s a hell of a town. But we can’t leave it right now.”

A voice from behind them asked, “Why the hell not?”

They turned as Kane jogged up. His dark hair was white with plaster dust, his face and clothes coated with a pale film. With every footfall, little clouds of dust puffed up around him.

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