Chapter Seventeen

Angel didn’t see Birdie’s gun in time to get down, and the shot slammed into the window.

The sound, a thick blast, vibrated through the entire van. The glass held, thank God, and even through the cracked webbing, Angel could see the stunned expression on Birdie’s face.

Birdie had obviously believed the point-blank shot would kill him on the spot, taking out the threat so she could move on to her next target.

Mia.

Angel had no intentions of letting that happen. Not to him. And especially not to Mia.

“Get into the back of the van,” Angel told Mia.

There were two seats with a space between them so that Mia could go all the way to the rear, where hopefully she’d be out of range of Birdie’s gun. Because eventually the shots would rip through the glass.

Mia obeyed. Without wasting a second, she crawled over the console and into the back where she immediately dropped down onto the floor of the van. Angel did the same thing.

Just as Birdie fired another shot.

This bullet did indeed tear a small hole in the glass, but that clearly wasn’t enough for Birdie because the woman spewed out some raw profanity.

“You have to die!” Birdie screeched out.

Clearly, that was her plan, and Angel had a quick debate with himself about his options. He could slide open the side door of the van, just enough for him to return fire.

Which mean killing Birdie.

That was fine with him right now, but he preferred to know why the hell she was doing this. Of course, he didn’t want that info to come at Mia’s expense. First chance he got, he’d get her out of here, but he needed to deal with Birdie first.

“Die!” Birdie shouted again, and she kept firing into the window.

Angel reached for the door, to deliver that return fire in the form of a kill shot to the head, but the sound stopped him.

“What the hell?” Presley yelled.

From the windshield, Angel saw Presley racing across the parking lot toward them. And since he was armed, that meant he’d stopped by his SUV to get his weapon.

Good.

Angel wanted him armed, but he didn’t want Presley being gunned down by a woman hellbent on murder.

Birdie shrieked out a sound that was more feral than human, and she turned her gun toward Presley. Angel’s heart dropped straight to his knees when she pulled the trigger. But Presley had obviously seen it coming because he dived behind a car while Birdie continued to send round after round at him.

Angel had lost count of how many times she’d fired, but he wasn’t surprised when she ran out of ammo. He reached to open the door. But before he could open it, he saw Birdie tossed the empty gun aside and whipped out another one from her purse.

Obviously, she had come prepared to kill.

“Birdie,” Presley yelled, drawing her attention back to him.

She pivoted toward him, taking aim when Presley levered himself up from behind the car.

Hell.

Presley was obviously now Birdie’s target, and Angel had to do something about that fast.

“Stay down,” he told Mia.

He slid open the side door of the van, and since Birdie no longer had her attention on him, she didn’t see him coming. Angel didn’t shoot her. He tackled her, using the force of his entire weight to knock her off her feet and slam her face first onto the concrete.

She howled in pain, and he heard something snap. Her arm, he thought, and he hoped it was enough to stop her from firing again. Unfortunately, the fall hadn’t knocked the gun out of her grip. She still had her hand wrapped around it, and her finger was on the trigger.

With Angel on her back, pinning her down, he latched onto her right wrist, twisting and turning her hand so that her gun was no longer pointing in Presley’s direction. Once he’d accomplished that, Angel bashed her hand hard against the ground.

“Damn you,” Birdie snarled, her voice trailing off to a hoarse sob. “You have to die.”

Angel ignored her and rammed her hand down again and again, well aware that he was breaking more bones. He’d break every damn in her body to stop her from killing them. The fourth slam did the trick, and the gun went skittering away from them.

He didn’t take any chances though since she might have brought even more weapons with her. Angel yanked off her purse from her shoulder and tossed it aside as well.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, he glanced up, already knowing that it was who it was. Presley. With his gun ready and aimed, Presley was making his way toward them.

Birdie started screaming and bucking to get out from beneath him, but Angel kept her pinned down. He definitely didn’t want to let her up so she could try to make a run for it.

Or, hell, attack them again.

“I called the cops, and they’re on the way,” Presley let him know. “Are Mia and you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Angel muttered, and he looked over his shoulder to see Mia in the still-open side door of the van.

She was pale and a little shaky, but she was very much alive and unharmed. No thanks to Birdie.

“Your chin’s bleeding,” she murmured.

Yeah, he felt it, but it was nothing. “The back of her head hit me when I tackled her.”

In the distance Angel heard a welcome sound. Police sirens. Soon, he’d be able to turn Birdie over to them, and since she was very much alive, the cops could grill her and maybe get her to confess to whatever the hell it was she’d done. Angel was betting for starters she’d been the one to murder Kenton.

“Let me go,” Birdie shrieked. “I have to end this. I don’t have a choice,” she sobbed out.

Angel was about to tell her that she had choices all right, but she’d clearly made the wrong one. But then he caught some movement from the corner of his eye. Two things happened at once.

Someone—a man wearing a ski mask—came up from the back of the van and caught hold of Mia, dragging her out and pulling her in front of him. He was holding a Glock, and he put it directly to Mia’s head.

Angel turned, his gun ready.

But he was too late.

The man pulled the trigger.

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