Donna Young - The Bodyguard Contract

The copter’s blades slowed. Two men jumped to the ground, both in suits, one carrying a briefcase—a large enough case to hold quite a bit of cash—while a younger man with black hair and a beard carried a machine gun. The pilot, she noticed, stayed in the helicopter.

A man, in his midthirties, stepped out from the sedan. With a cigarette hanging from thin lips and sporting short, blond tipped hair—spiked like a David Bowie wannabe—the man waved a casual hand in greeting. Novak.

Shifting for a better view, she slowly drew her miniature binoculars, trying to get a read on the faces, the movement of their lips. Her frown deepened. Nothing.

Suddenly, Novak slapped the buyer on the shoulder and nodded toward the big rig driver.

The trailer door banged, sending a shock wave rippling through the steel beneath her. Lara pulled out her silencer pistol.

She listened, heard the laughter, recognized the underlying tone of satisfaction. Novak and his buyer climbed into the trailer, leaving the two bodyguards outside.

Lara scowled, but didn’t waste time on the slight glitch. She grabbed the gas canister from her utility belt, pulled the release and dropped the cylinder through.

Swiftly, she covered the hole. Shouts of alarm penetrated the trailer walls. The Uzi guys came running, each taking a side. Lara aimed, fired, taking down the buyer’s man with a bullet in the throat. With a cry of pain, he grasped his neck, the blood already gurgling between his gasps of breath. Lara ignored him, knowing the man was already dead.

Steroid Boy was much smarter. He dropped, rolled, then came to his knees and fired.

A rapid spray of bullets hit the air, pinging the steel beneath her. Lara twisted, grabbed the trailer’s opposite edge and dropped. She scrambled under the rig. Exhaust and the scent of gasoline thickened the air beneath. Nausea roped through her belly. Ignoring it, she aimed at the booted feet and squeezed the trigger. An agonized scream tore through the air. The man dropped, both ankles shattered by bullets. One more to the chest took him out of the picture.

The copter pilot fired its machine gun. Bullets kicked up the dirt between the car and trailer, catching the semi’s driver in their path. He jerked once, then fell to his knees. With eyes frozen open, he landed facefirst on the ground.

“Nice aim, idiot,” Lara murmured, then rolled back into the open air and fired. The helicopter’s windshield exploded and on its heels came another agonizing scream of pain.

Lara dropped her clip and shoved in her spare. Using the tires for cover, she waited two slow minutes. Bit by bit she crept around the back, knowing one or more of the men could’ve made it out before the gas rendered them unconscious.

She levered herself up, checked the darkness for signs of movement, then maneuvered around the stacked crates.

Both Novak and his buyer lay slumped on the floor—the briefcase at their feet.

Lara grabbed the case and straightened. Almost instantly, a bullet punched her chest. She flew back, her shoulder slammed against the wall of the rig.

Pain exploded from chest to chin. It knocked her legs out from under her. One of the men tackled her, sending them both out of the trailer and onto the dirt.

Before she could stop him, Novak reared back and whipped off her mask.

“Well, look what we’ve got here.”

“Surprise.” She rammed her knee into his crotch. Novak went down gasping. Lara jumped up, grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Placing the gun just under his jaw.

“Okay, Tony. I don’t have time for any guessing games. So for each correct answer you get to stay healthy. Each wrong answer, you get a bullet in a vital organ. Got me?”

“You realize who I am?” His eyes narrowed, but she noticed he still gasped out the words and took a great deal of pleasure in it.

“Well, after you get done being my bargaining chip, I’ll ask you for an autograph. How’s that?”

“Bargaining chip?”

“Later.” Lara took a quick glance around. “How many of your guys are watching from the sidelines?”

“None,” he denied, his tone artificially friendly. “Armand and I have been doing business for years. This was to be simple. In, out. No surprises.”

“Yeah, and I’m Moses looking for the right desert—”

A gun clicked behind Lara’s ear. “Drop your weapon, Moses. Or lose your head.”

Armand’s pilot stepped from behind Lara, his shoulder blood soaked from a bullet wound, his pistol prodding the middle of her back.

Slowly, she released Novak and held her hands up, leaving her gun dangling from her fingertips. Novak jerked himself away and stood. He grabbed her gun, prodded her belly with its barrel.

On the second jab, a tiny wisp of fear circled her heart.

“Looks like I’m the one with the dilemma now.”

Before Lara could react, Novak backhanded her across the face, sending her sprawling. Stars exploded behind her eyes, scraped the inside of her skull. With a deliberate pause, she spit the grit from her mouth, then sat up. Tasting the bite of metal, she wiped the blood from her lip.

“It’s my turn to ask the questions, Moses.”

“I don’t talk to dead people,” Lara taunted.

Anton Novak’s lips curled into a feral grin. “Oh, I can see this is going to be fun.” He turned to the pilot. “See to your boss. We still have a deal to finish.”

The pilot nodded and headed for the back of the trailer.

Novak crouched, this time his hand gripped Lara’s hair. “Don’t I know you?”

The shadows blurred Novak’s features, so Lara knew her own were no more distinguishable. “I haven’t been slumming lately.”

Swearing, Novak raised his closed fist.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The order came from behind Novak, its tone clipped and menacing.

Lara’s gaze snapped around in time to see Ian.

“Are you okay?” he asked calmly, but the anger was there, seething under the surface of the man. Hot enough that she could almost feel the sand liquefy beneath her.

“Yes.” Lara jerked to her feet, using the momentum to place a well-aimed elbow to Novak’s gut. His breath whooshed and he dropped to his knees. A wicked smile curved her lips, despite the soreness. “Next time, be a gentleman.” She turned to Ian. “The pilot?”

“Dead.” The word was short, to the point. Ian studied her for a moment, ignoring Novak. “How long will the buyer be out?”

“Half hour, max.” Pain radiated through her ribs from where Novak had shot her. Grimly, Lara rubbed her chest, grateful for her body armor. She’d have a hell of a bruise but not much more.

“How—”

“Later.” Ian patted Novak down, discovering a pen-sized cylinder in his pocket.

“Look what I found.” He tossed the miniature oxygen canister to Lara. “It recycles a person’s carbon monoxide back into oxygen.”

Ian grabbed Novak by the collar. “You knew she was coming?”

“Not me.” Lara answered for Novak, then scanned the perimeter. “But someone.”

A high-pitched whine, faint but distinct cut through the night air.

“Hit the deck!” Ian yelled. The explosion swallowed his warning, spitting it back in a bursting ball of fire and white-hot debris.

Ian dropped Novak midstride and dived into Lara, catching her in a side tackle that sent her flying.

Blast on blast surged over them, raising dirt, shattering the air.

Lara waited for the ground to settle, then shook her head. The after-buzz faded from behind her ears.

“Get off me, hotshot.” Lara wiggled to emphasize her point. “I mean it—” She stopped, felt the slack in his muscles, the deadweight on her back.