That was better than standing here, waiting for him to find her.

Carefully, she backed out of the cover of the trees and ran as fast as she could, not bothering to hunker down. Speed was important now.

She made it back to the two shot-up vehicles and nearly cried with relief. Then grimaced when she saw Pastor’s body, a bullet hole between his eyes.

No justice for Gideon and Mercy on that front. DJ must have finally had enough.

She checked DJ’s stolen SUV first, but the keys were not in it.

She found Kowalski’s body and dropped into a crouch to search for his keys.

He was in bad shape, over and above being very dead. His body, unlike Pastor’s with that single shot between the eyes, was riddled with bullets. DJ must have emptied an entire magazine into the man.

He was still warm, his clothing soaked with blood. Which wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before. She took the gun from his hand, checked the chamber, then ejected the magazine. It was empty. Dammit.

She tossed the gun into the trees so that DJ couldn’t find it, then briskly patted Kowalski down, grimly triumphant when she pulled his keys from his pants pocket. She wiped his blood from her hands to the scrubs. Again, nothing she hadn’t done before.

Keys in one hand, the ceramic blade in the other, she was sliding behind the wheel of the Jeep when cold metal burned the skin at the back of her neck. Goddammit.

“You’re good,” DJ murmured in her ear. “I’m better.”

She spun the blade so that it was flat against the inside of her forearm. If she lost it, she’d be defenseless. “You’re nothing.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree. Get out.” He jabbed the barrel hard against her neck and she winced. “Now.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me? I’m not helping you.”

“I still have my phone. I can still detonate that bomb.”

“I don’t think you ever had one,” Liza said flatly. And even if he had, the FBI would have swept the facility already, just like they’d swept the Sokolovs’ house yesterday. Little Brooklyn and the other innocents wouldn’t be harmed. “I think you’re lying.”

He grabbed the collar of her scrubs and yanked her from the Jeep, dragging her on the ground. “You do not get to disobey me.”

She twisted out of his grip, catching his grimace. She’d hurt him. Good. She’d keep hurting him until either she killed him or he killed her.

“You do not get to tell me what to do,” she fired back, distracting him with her words so that she could deliver a kick to his knees.

He grunted in pain, but he sidestepped out of her reach, his hand clenching the butt of his gun as he pointed it at her head. It was suppressed, just as she’d thought. When he fired, no one would hear. No one would come. She experienced a pang of regret, not that she’d volunteered for this assignment, but that Tom would probably be the one to find her body. He was on his way. She had no doubt of that.