Our best chance of survival lies in getting everyone to that plane. Even with my help, my parents are barely functioning as is.

So I suppress the urge to rush back toward the limo and instead yell, “Hurry!” to Rosa, who’s nearly caught up with us. Then the four of us are running again, my dad towing my mom along. He’s deathly pale and his eyes look wild, but he’s putting one foot in front of another, and that’s all I need him to do at the moment. If we get through this, I’ll worry about the impact on my parents’ psyche and agonize about my role in all this.

For now, our only task is survival.

Still, even knowing this, I can’t stop myself from casting frantic glances behind us as we run. Fear for Julian is a giant knot in my stomach. I can’t imagine losing him again. I don’t think I’d survive it.

The first time I glance back, I see that Julian and Lucas took shelter behind the limo and are exchanging fire with men hiding behind the SUV. There are already two corpses on the ground, and a bloody hole in the SUV’s windshield.

Even in my panic, I feel a flash of pride. My husband and his right-hand man know what they’re doing when it comes to taking lives.

The second glance I steal reveals an even better situation. Four enemy corpses and Lucas making his way around the limo to get at the remaining shooter while Julian provides cover fire.

By the third glance, the final shooter is eliminated, and the gunfire stops, the hangar oddly silent after all the racket. I see Lucas and Julian on their feet, apparently uninjured, and tears of joy start rolling down my cheeks.

We did it. We survived.

We’re already by the plane, and I see Thomas, the driver from my hair appointment, standing by the open door. “Please get them inside,” I tell him in a shaking voice, and he nods, shepherding my parents and Rosa up the stairs. “I’ll be with you in a second,” I tell my dad when he tries to get me to join them. “I just need a moment.” Liberating myself from his grip, I turn back toward the limo.

“Julian!” Raising the AK-47 above my head, I wave at him with the weapon. “Over here! Come, let’s go!”

He looks at me, and I see a huge smile light up his face.

Half-laughing, half-crying, I begin to run toward him, cognizant of nothing but my joy—and then the wall next to the limo explodes, sending him and Lucas flying.

Chapter 36

Julian

Pain. Darkness.

For a second, I’m back in that windowless room, with Majid’s knife slicing through my face. My stomach heaves, vomit rising in my throat. Then my mind clears, and I become cognizant of a dull ringing in my ears.

That didn’t happen in Tajikistan.

I didn’t feel this hot there, either.

Too hot. So hot I’m burning.

Fuck! A spurt of adrenaline chases away all traces of mental fog. Moving with lightning speed, I roll several times, putting out the flames eating at my vest. Nausea grips at my insides, my head throbbing with agony, but when I stop, the fire is gone.

Panting furiously, I lie still and try to regain my senses. What the fuck just happened?

The ringing in my head eases slightly, and I pry open my eyelids to see burning pieces of rubble all around me.

An explosion. It must’ve been an explosion.

As soon as the realization comes to me, I hear it.

A burst of gunfire, followed by answering shots.

My heart stops beating. Nora!

The jolt of panic is so intense, it supersedes everything. No longer cognizant of pain, I surge to my feet, stumbling as my knees buckle for a second before stiffening to support my weight.

Whipping my head from side to side, I look for the source of gunshots, and then I see it.

A small figure darting behind a large plane after letting loose another volley of shots. Behind her is a group of four armed men, all dressed in SWAT gear.

In a split second, I take in the rest of the scene. The hangar wall near the limo is gone, blown into pieces, and through the opening, I see the police chopper sitting on the grass, its blades now still and silent.

My men in that last SUV must’ve lost the fight, leaving us exposed to Sullivan’s remaining forces.

Before that thought is fully formed in my mind, I’m already on the move. The limo is burning next to me, but the fire is in the front, not the back, so I still have a few seconds. Leaping toward the car, I wrench open one of the doors and climb inside. The weapons are still in the stash, so I grab two machine guns and jump out, knowing the car could blow up at any moment. As I do so, I notice Lucas struggling to get to his feet a dozen yards away. He’s alive; I register that with a distant sense of relief.

I don’t have time to dwell on it more. A hundred yards away, Nora is weaving around the planes, exchanging shots with her pursuers. My tiny pet against four armed men—the thought fills me with sickening terror and rage.

Gripping both weapons, one in each hand, I begin running. The second I have a clear line of sight at Sullivan’s men, I open fire.

Rat-tat-tat! One man’s head explodes. Rat-tat-tat! Another man goes down.

Realizing what’s happening, the two surviving men turn around and begin firing at me. Ignoring the bullets whizzing around me, I continue running and shooting, doing my best to zig-zag around the planes. Even with the vest protecting my chest, I’m far from immune to gunfire.

Rat-tat-tat! Something slices across my left shoulder, leaving a burning trail in its wake. Cursing, I grip the guns tighter and return fire, causing one of the men to jump behind a small service truck. The second one continues shooting at me, and as I run, I see Nora step out from behind one of the planes and take aim, her eyes dark and enormous in her pale face.