Chapter 34

Thirty-Four

Every plan, no matter how precise and well-researched, had an inherent flaw. They could go wrong. Plans, most often, relied on people. Though we’d gone over the plan repeatedly both before and on the way to Detroit, I couldn’t shake the niggling feeling of something going wrong.

Patch was an invaluable resource behind the computer. There was no other operator I wanted backing me. Putting her out in the field, even at her own insistence, set off every internal alarm I possessed. Yes, we’d covered nearly all angles except for every other person who would be present.

Tiffin and Patch were not “linked” online anywhere, but what exactly did that offer us? The faux promise of security and anonymity? The minute he identified her, her anonymity would be gone.

Truth be told, her anonymity had been stripped the moment her captors had taken her. They dropped me off first so I could check for the best perch. I had a couple of ideas based on the maps.

Online mapping and satellite coverage was great, but they could also be out of date. It was always better to case the physical location with time to adjust. We didn’t have time, at least not the time I wanted.

“No good sight lines,” I commented into the phone. The line was open to the vehicle. “I’ll have to be on the ground with her.”

Not one hundred percent true. There was one sight line. The clock tower itself. The problem with it, though, was she would be out of sight while at the base and if they deviated from course by even a meter, there was a solid chance I’d lose them.

This was not an acceptable margin of error.

“Understood,” McQuade said. “We’re coming around to drop her off. South side.”

“Copy.”

The sun played peekaboo with the clouds. The weather had called for partly cloudy, but I didn’t think anyone had actually informed the weather itself. The clouds were thicker and darker. They carried the promise of rain and something chillier.

So far, the only thing going according to our intel was the moderate size of the crowd coming and going from the outdoor mall. Wind swept through, bringing a slash of icier temps with it.

I caught sight of Patch the moment she slipped out of the car. McQuade didn’t exit with her. He wouldn’t. They’d pull forward to another set of cameras and let him get out there before Locke went to park.

Maybe one of us should stay with the car.

“I have her,” I said. There was a distinct crackle on the line that had me adding, “umbrella and I was going to pick up lunch. Thoughts on dining out?”

As codes went, it wasn’t sophisticated.

“Not really hungry,” Locke said. “But she might have picked up something already. So check with her first.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I cut across the quad on a direct path toward her even as I scanned the crowd. Locke had already seen two people trailing her? That was fast.

Unless the entire meeting had been a set up to reacquire her. It was the biggest risk we’d taken. Another reason to have me on the ground with her. Locke and McQuade had gone into the facility, they might have their faces.

They didn’t have mine.

Music filtered through the outdoor speakers muddying the ambient sounds. Conversations flowed around me, some strident, others more relaxed. One couple was arguing about expenses. Another man snapped out something to his office on the phone. A couple of teenagers playing truant from school and walking hand in hand.

A disparate crowd filled the outdoor area with hundreds of intersecting points. So many places it could go wrong. I caught sight of the man right behind Patch, but he diverted before I even got there. His whole expression lightened as he hugged a woman hurrying to meet him.

False alarm?

Patch’s expression was taut and I could feel her gaze even through the sparkly star shaped sunglasses. They looked ridiculously cheerful in light of the deep gray twilight out here.

Thunder rippled in the distance. The itch between my shoulder blades intensified.

“Call it,” I said. “Extract now.” I held out my hand to her and it helped that she took my hand without question. My instincts said get the hell out of here and I was going to listen to them.

A corner of a concrete planter poofed up in a spray of dust and dirt.

Sniper.

I dragged her to me.

“Heading out the southwest side,” I said into the comms and tucked her under my arm as I didn’t pretend to ignore the gunfire. A second later, the sniper stopped playing it safe.

Shots rang out, the sound echoing off the buildings, as a spray of bullets shattered glass and ripped through people. Two fell ahead of us and I switched directions abruptly.

A good sniper led their target.

“Zig zag,” I told Patch. “Keep changing where you’re going.” Most people in a panic would just run. They didn’t look at where they were going. It made leading the target easier.

I had to keep my head.

“Where are you?” I demanded but the crackle over the line said the one of the things we’d been worried about had come to fruition. Our comms weren’t working. The mobile lines and towers were probably overloading.

Patch tripped, stumbling forward and something hot sliced across my shoulder. I ignored the latter while keeping her on her feet and then we were in between buildings. It wasn’t much cover but it was cover.

“Come on,” I said. “We need to keep moving.”

“I am,” she answered in a slur, and I slowed to get an assessment. Then I saw the blood. A lot of it. All from a crease along her temple that vanished along her hairline. Her eyes glazed and she stumbled again.

I pushed up her hair. It was a strike. The bullet had sliced over her head, like the one had my shoulder. Another explosion of concrete dust erupted next to us. A piece splintered out and cut my cheek.

“Patch?” She blinked slowly then stared up at me. Her pupils were expanding. Not good.

The sound of wheels screaming as the brakes were applied jerked my attention around. There was a man in a car, an SUV. Not Locke. Not our car. But it was a car.

I pulled my gun. “Hold onto me,” I ordered her, and thankfully she listened, as I strode forward, gun pointed at the man behind the wheel. His eyes widened. He picked up his hands. “Get out of the car.”

“I—”

“Get out of the car or die in the seat, I don’t really care which.” The man was probably a civilian. A noncombatant most likely. Didn’t matter.

I couldn’t let it matter. Right now, anyone could be the enemy. Patch sagged next to me as the guy finally jumped out of the car, I pulled open the back door and got her inside after scanning that no one else was in the car. The blood soaked the side of her face and the sweatshirt she was wearing.

Head wounds bled a lot. I just kept reminding myself of that. I stripped off my jacket and pressed it to the wound, then put her hand on it.

“Keep up the pressure.”

The driver had already taken off running. More people were fleeing the outdoor mall. It was utter chaos. The comm line was nothing but static.

“Stay awake,” I ordered Patch and she stared up at me.

“What?”

“Stay awake,” I said before I was behind the wheel. Movement had me claiming the gun again and I hit the button to lower the window and sighted the man pointing a gun at us—no not at us—at her.

I shot him twice in the chest. The third shot went into his head. All the screaming around us seemed to climb and I hit the button to roll the window up as I slammed my foot down on the accelerator.

“Stay awake, Patch.”

“Not so loud,” she said. “Head hurts.”

A flick of a look in the rearview showed her expression going more lax. Nope. Not okay.

“Stay awake, luv,” I ordered her. “Need you to stay awake, so we can take care of you.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere secure.”

Back to the cabin if necessary, though we’d need a different car and I’d have to burn the interior on this one. Distance didn’t seem to matter to the comms.

Locke and McQuade were both painfully silent. The plan if it went tits up was to scatter. Well, this had definitely gone tits fucking up.

“I’m tired…”

“Stay awake,” I said, turning on a side street to avoid the oncoming stream of police vehicles and ambulances. “Talk to me…”

There was no answer and I twisted to find her slumped, chin down and eyes closed.

Bloody hell.

“Goddammit, Fallon. Talk to me…”

The adventure continues in the stunning conclusion of the Switchboard Duet:

Don’t Let Go.