Foot by foot, they progressed down the alley, blade in his chin hurrying him on as much as he could be hurried, and time raced on without her. She’d kept this guy alive because his body was a heat-signature shield and a bullet blocker, and he was too damn heavy for her to lug as deadweight, but this was too slow.

She needed to get to that woman.

She had to cut him or cut him loose.

He made that decision for her, slamming forearms down onto hers.

The bowie sliced his jaw. The tip slipped free.

He gripped her wrist with his working hand, strong, not afraid of pain.

Clare, cold and ruthless, was in her head.

Empathy and mercy for killers always gets you killed.

She kicked his stomach. Shoved him off. Lowered the blade point.

He charged her, good hand lunging for her neck. She arced the bowie, twisted her wrist, swung into a backcut. Impossible to see. Impossible to avoid. A skilled bowie fighter could deliver a five-slash sequence in barely half a second.

She wasn’t that fast. Didn’t need to be.

Velocity. Continuing force. Angle of attack. Ten inches of leverage went clean through the arm closing in on her neck, and the blade arced again, back up under his chin, into a sinus cavity, and she shoved right up into his brain.

She pulled the knife free.

He collapsed. She wiped the blade on his pant leg, shoved it back into the sheath, turned, and ran for the corner. The pop of suppressed semiautomatic fire followed.

Bullets chased her, whining past her ear, kicking up gravel, grazing her thigh. She rounded the corner, made it to the fence, still had to get across the street exit to get behind the woman. The world exploded with the lightning and thunder of compression grenades tossed into the compound.

Inside her head she said, No, no, no, no, no.

She’d been so close.

Orderly, quiet movement turned to chaos.

The two men on the left flank jerked in quick succession, as if they’d been stung—Holden with the CO2 projector, shots he’d held off on taking while waiting for the entire team to draw in closer. That wasn’t going to happen now.

Stealth had become pointless.

The woman, who’d been halfway to their motel door, tensed.

Her focus shifted. She looked right up to Holden’s position. Her mouth moved, and she changed trajectory. And just like that, Jack’s plan was fully off the rails.

Jill slowed, skidded, changed direction, and barreled directly for the woman.

Speed was the only advantage she had.