Helen was out of the car and halfway across the street before the panicked shouting started. A hiss passed inches from her head as she vaulted the metal guardrail, almost instantly followed by a sharp pain in her upper left buttock. She landed on both feet at the edge of the parking lot and pivoted, rapidly firing several times at each vehicle. Satisfied that she’d momentarily pinned her attackers in place, she ran her hand along her left rear side to assess the damage.

Instead of a bloody bullet wound, her hand came across a tranquilizer dart. She yanked it out and held it in front of her face, noting that the clear plastic medicine chamber was empty, its contents circulating through her bloodstream. This changed everything. They needed her alive. They needed to interrogate her—which she couldn’t allow. Helen had hit the end of her road, but she had no intention of giving them any satisfaction. At all.

She reloaded the pistol, pocketing the partially expended magazine, and rose high enough to steady it against the top of the guardrail. Her mind cleared of distractions, and unencumbered by any consequences, she methodically emptied the pistol into the sedan’s trunk area. Fifteen bullets. With any luck, a few of them hit Wilson, killing him outright or severely complicating her adversaries’ situation. She’d settle for either at this point.

A second dart hit her just above the right collarbone, penetrating deep. She ducked behind the guardrail and pulled it free, the dart’s drug chamber already empty. Helen wouldn’t have much time before the tranquilizer incapacitated her. She took a seat on the crumbly asphalt, her back pressed against the guardrail. After taking a few deep breaths, she swapped her pistol’s empty magazine for the half-empty one in her pocket.

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

Harvey Rudd studied what little he could see of Gray through the magnified scope attached to his compressed-air dart gun. She remained mostly concealed, seated behind the guardrail; a red-and-blue bank sign across the parking lot cast just enough light for him to tell that she was working on something. Probably reloading the pistol she’d very unexpectedly handled like a seasoned operative. Dave Bender lay dead on the street, having paid a dear price for that misjudgment. Rudd had no intention of making the same mistake. The handheld radio attached to his belt crackled.

“We need to move this along,” said Logan Walsh, the other team leader.

Rudd expected her to go limp at any moment. His last shot had definitely connected, and he strongly suspected that at least one of the darts fired by Walsh had struck home. A single tranquilizer dart should be enough to immobilize her within a few minutes. Two would knock her flat in half that time. He removed the radio and responded.