The Lost Key

She kicked open the door, but forced herself not to run in, to keep to the side.

Five shots blasted out. She closed her eyes a moment, again blessed her training.

She aimed into the breach between the frame and the door and fired, praying the bullet wouldn’t ricochet and hit Nicholas.

There was a yell, then silence.

She’d hit him, whoever him was.

Adrenaline shot through her. Time to take a chance. She went in low and fast, rolled across the floor, coming up in a perfect crouch, arms extended, facing the now open door. The shooter wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Another door—she yanked it open and ran through a bathroom and back out into the hall and saw splatters of blood. The hall was empty.

She heard Nicholas moan. She shut and locked both doors, and dropped to her knees beside him and pulled him into her arms. She saw a syringe sticking out of his neck. The plunger wasn’t depressed, and a thick, viscous gold liquid was still in the tube. Still, he must have gotten a bit of a dose. She jerked the needle from his neck. The wound began to bleed, and she blotted it with her remaining sleeve. His eyelids began to flutter; he was coming around.

“Nicholas. Wake up.” She shook his shoulder. His eyes opened. He shoved himself away from her with such force she landed on her butt.

She scrambled back to him, grabbed his arm. “Nicholas, there’s another shooter in the house. They cut our comms, I fired a shot outside, so I hope Penderley realizes we’re in trouble.”

Nicholas was on his knees, facing her, weaving a bit. Slowly, he raised his hand to his neck. She saw his pupils were dilated, saw he still wasn’t with it.

She shook him as hard as she could. “Come on, Nicholas. Pull it together.”

“Trying.” His voice sounded nearly normal.

“Okay, okay, stay still.” She rose and looked through the thick pounding rain down into the garden, but they were on the wrong side of the house. No Penderley.

Nicholas grabbed a chair and pulled himself up. “Whatever that ruddy bastard shot me with is strong. My head’s still spi

“He got out through the bathroom, over there. When I got back to the hall, I didn’t see him, but I saw a blood trail, so I gave him a shot for you.” She helped him to his feet, her shoulder under his arm. She got him up and into a chair.

He tried to smile at her. “My lips are numb, and my hands, but I’m okay.”

“Good, because we need to get out of here in case that bastard comes back with reinforcements.”

“Where’s Gareth?” Nicholas got slowly to his feet. He finally managed to straighten.

“He was shot in the neck, but he’ll be all right.”

“Good. Good. You look like you had quite a dustup. You won, I hope?”

“I did. Rocky’s on his belly, nicely handcuffed. I blew out his kneecap.”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side. You’re all right?”

She nodded. “Don’t worry about me. We need to catch whoever’s ru

He looked surprised. “I have no idea. One minute the three of us were going up the stairs, the next I woke up in your arms.” He gave her a look. “Rather enjoyed that part of it.” And then he lightly cupped her face, then shook his head, and dropped his hand.

“Yeah, yeah, can you walk without help?” Actually, she’d have enjoyed it as well if she hadn’t been so scared.

He took three steps to test and nodded, then realized, “That bloody prat took my Glock.”

“Give me your spare magazine, I’m down three bullets.”

He handed it over and she switched them out. “Okay, let’s go. Slowly. You’re still not too steady on your pins.”

There was a clear blood trail down the hallway, then suddenly it stopped. He must have bound the wound. They went down another flight, paused on the small, dark landing.

They both smelled the blood. They heard him wheezing, each breath an effort. She’d lung-shot him, but he was still on his feet, still ready to fight, waiting for them by the main staircase. He probably realized Penderley’s men were right outside and he was stuck in here. And he was fully prepared to kill them.

Mike dropped and rolled to the top of the stairs, came up on her elbows, and as the man raised his gun, she pumped four bullets center mass. He stared at her in surprise, dropped his gun, then quietly fell backward onto the beautifully appointed foyer just as Penderley’s tactical team burst through the front door.

66

Nicholas watched the paramedics wheel Gareth to the curb. His face was white, he was clearly in pain. He touched Gareth’s arm as he passed. “I’m glad you’re okay, mate.”

Gareth managed a crooked smile. “You’re going to owe me for years.”

“I’ll stand you a pint at the Feathers when you’re up on your feet.”

“You’ll stand me a pint for the next ten years,” he called out as the doors closed and the ambulance pulled away.

Oliver Leyland’s body stayed in the house, along with the two shooters, one dead, one unconscious and cuffed, while Mike told Penderley and his team what had happened inside, her voice calm, emotionless, but she wanted to yell, I won, I won, I took down both of them.

When there was no more to say, Penderley patted her on the shoulder. “Well done, lass. Damn well done.”

Mike said, “I don’t know how they cut our comms. Both Gareth and I tried to call you.”

“We heard a gunshot, that was good enough. We were with you less than three minutes later.”

Mike couldn’t believe it. Only three minutes? No, at least an eon had passed. “Hopefully, Rocky will talk.” And then she had to explain.

Penderley patted her shoulder again, making her smile, then he turned to Nicholas. “Only Leyland was inside? No sign of Adam Pearce?”

“No sign. Can we pull CCTV feed on the street, see who entered Leyland’s house and when?”

“We’re working on it now. Also working on IDs for the two men who tried to kill you and Mike.”

“I’m going to bet you’ll find they’re German nationals. Havelock has a history of sending his own men to do his dirty work, not using local talent.”

“Understood. Also, while you were inside, the call came in from the boys at MoD Saint Athan. That missile did its job thoroughly, only small pieces of the tail of the plane that attacked you were located. It was a Gulfstream, though. A private jet.”

“Ten to one it was Havelock’s. Who else would have tried to stop us coming over?”

Penderley said, “First the chancellor of the Exchequer is killed, and now the head of the Bank of England? FBI planes are being attacked with lasers, there are two Americans on British soil being held against their will, and we haven’t the foggiest idea where to start looking for them. Not to mention the world press has already reported on Alfie Stanford’s death. When they find out about the murder of Oliver Leyland, they’re going to be asking questions. You know they’ll put it together soon enough, then all hell will break loose. This is a disaster.” Penderley looked ready to stick his head in the noose.

“Sir,” Mike said, her hand on his forearm. “Once we have the weapon and Havelock, once we show the world what he is, what he has done, including the murder of these two fine men, the world media will crucify him.”

Penderley gave her an odd look. “Do we tell them we have saved the world from disaster, Agent Caine?”

She gri

“Drummond, you agree?”

“Yes, sir, I do.” Nicholas touched his fingers to his neck. The injection site throbbed and pulsed. He wished he could remember exactly what had happened, perhaps it would all come back. Would he be dead if Mike hadn’t gotten there in time? Yes, it would have been all over for him. But he was here and breathing, his brain finally working again. Mike was right, time to get it done. He said, “We know Adam Pearce was in the house at some point since your team found a laptop and gym bag stuffed in the back of a bedroom closet. We also know he was taken. The team’s still up there, with Adam Pearce’s things?”