Safe Harbor Read Free

real trouble this time. He stood swaying, the only thing steady was his gun hand.
    Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a photograph, the single one he carried, the one that mattered. He should have destroyed it. He could see his own face, the terrible raw truth caught on film. He was staring down at a woman and the love on his face, the stark hunger, was so evident it was a betrayal, there for everyone—even him—to see. His finger glided over the glossy paper, leaving a smear of blood. Hannah Drake. Supermodel. A woman with extraordinary, magical gifts. A woman so far out of reach he might as well try to pull the moon from the sky.
    He heard footsteps and the whisper of clothing sliding against the wall. Ramming the photograph back in the pocket of his shirt, close to his heart, he shook his head to clear it. More sweat dripped into his eyes and he wiped it away. The hard-asses were coming in first, staying to the shadows but definitely advancing. The sweat stung his eyes, and blood ran steadily from his side down his leg, mingling with the rain that had begun to come down in a relentless pour. He steadied the gun and waited.
    At the end of the alley, a man dropped and the first shot rang out almost simultaneously. Jackson was hell on wheels at that distance. Lying up on top of the roof, he could just pick them off if they were stupid enough to keep coming—and they were. Jonas took his time, waiting for a muzzle flash as one of them gave his position away by firing up at Jackson. Jonas squeezed and the count was two for them, but the entrance to the alley still looked a long way away when the stabbing fire was spreading through his body and his blood was leaking all over the ground.
    Don't be such a pansy ass. You're not going to die in this dirty alley cut down by a few low-life rats
. He spoke sternly to himself, hoping the pep talk would keep him from doing a face plant in the muck. The trouble was, these weren't just low-life rats, they were the real deal, trained in tactics just as he and Jackson had been, and they were going for the rooftop, too. He heard sounds in the building behind him—the building that should have been a warehouse empty of people.
    The murder caught on that videotape tonight was worth a lot of lives. Jackson fired again and another body dropped. Jonas waited for the flash of return fire, but not a single bullet was fired. He groaned softly as realization hit him. They knew his position
exactly
. He should have moved the moment he'd fired. He was even further gone than he'd thought. He swallowed hard and stayed low, trying to be a part of the retainer, knowing he had to get out of there, but afraid his legs wouldn't hold. A wave of dizziness hit him hard, nearly putting him on the ground. He hung on grimly, breathing deeply, desperate to stay on his feet. Once he went down, he'd never be able to get back up.
    Jackson came out of the shadows, blood dripping from his chest and arm, his face grim, eyes savage. He touched his knife and drew a line across his throat, indicating another kill—and that kill had come between Jackson and Jonas, which meant they were surrounded. He held up four fingers and directed Jonas's attention to two positions close and two behind them. He pointed up.
    Jonas felt his heart skip a beat. No friggin' way was he going to climb a fire escape ladder three stories up. He doubted if he could have run the gauntlet, straight down the alley, but it looked a hell of a lot easier—and shorter—than three stories up. He took a breath, ignored the protest as a thousand dull knives sawed into his insides, and nodded his assent. It was their only chance to get away clean.
    Jonas took a step away from the receptacle, following behind Jackson. One step and his body went ballistic on him, the pain crushing, robbing him of all ability to breathe. Shit. He was going to die in this damn alley, and worse, he was going to take Jackson with him—because Jackson would never