“Dividing us into smaller groups for questioning, divide and conquer… Okay, it’s a cliché, but I’m a little nervous here, sir.” All this time, had Liam been cracking jokes to cover nerves or help others over theirs? She wished he was with her now so she could ask. Hell, she just wished he was here with her. Period.
In spite of the assurance via email from Special Agent Cramer, Rachel had a seriously creeped-out feeling, much the same as when she’d driven onto base a few days ago. She scanned the lines of parked aircraft, checking the rearview mirror. Brandon sat in the back alone. In the distance, the other Humvees drove in the opposite direction, Liam tucked away inside one of them. “Why aren’t we following them?”
“Because we’re going somewhere else. Information will be relayed to you on a need-to-know basis, and right now, you don’t need to know shit.”
His final word snapped her upright in her seat. Her instincts shouted something was wrong here. Way wrong.
She glanced up at the rearview mirror again at Brandon in the back. He looked as confused as she felt. And then his body tensed. His eyes narrowed. And she realized he was about to act.
The general’s left arm whipped around in a flash so fast Rachel barely had time to register the black gun in his hand. He reached over his right shoulder and—
Pop. Pop.
General Sullivan shot Brandon.
Rachel screamed. Panic and shock crackled through her body, threatening to immobilize her. She shook off the fear and scrambled over the backseat. She had to get to Brandon.
One look at him and it was all she could do not to scream again. Blood bloomed across the front of his shirt. He lay slumped in the backseat, already pale. Panting, he clutched his stomach. She reached out—
The general grabbed her by her waistband and slammed her back in place. Her head banged against the door. Stars snapped in front of her eyes and nausea welled at the acrid scent of gunfire and blood.
She sucked in deep breaths, willing the world to steady again. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
General Sullivan jabbed a gun into her side and snarled, “Don’t even think about running. This is a restricted area where deadly force is authorized. The guards will shoot you on sight.”
“I just want to get back there to help him.”
“Not gonna happen, ma’am.”
Ma’am? His show of manners in the face of such horror jarred her. She slumped back in the passenger seat and watched as the general rolled down the window and waved at a security vehicle heading toward them. The cops must have recognized him, because they pulled a U-turn and headed back up the parking ramp.
That easy? He was driving wherever he wanted? Shooting people?
But why? Panic popped through her like those bullets that had torn through Brandon’s flesh. Gut-wrenching guilt piled on top of her fear. He was bleeding to death, and it was all her fault for encouraging him to spill his story. And now she was grateful deep inside her that Liam wasn’t here, because if more of those bullets had torn through him… She bit her trembling lip until she tasted blood.
The general steered through the entry control point and turned in the opposite direction of the security patrol. He headed toward some dark airplanes with large propellers. He swerved the Humvee sharply and Brandon groaned from the back.
Sullivan popped another shot over the seat into Brandon.
Her ears rang, but the vehicle was silent. Dead silent.
As much as she wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and cry, she forced herself to look in the rearview mirror, to assess whatever she could about Brandon in case she was given even a split second’s chance to help.
The latest shot had torn into his shoulder. His left shoulder. Near his heart. His eyes were closed and, dear Lord, she couldn’t tell if he was still breathing or not.
The general slid the Humvee into park between two large generators. Her whole body trembled with rage and injustice and grief over Brandon’s murder until it exploded from her.
She launched herself at General Sullivan, nothing left to lose. “You bastard! You godforsaken piece of shit traitor!”
Screaming, she kicked and clawed, hoping someone would hear her before it was too late. And if not, at least she would leave some scars on Sullivan for the world to see.
The butt of his gun slammed into her jaw. Pain blasted through her. So much. She hadn’t even known it was possible to hurt this bad.
He pinned her to her seat and his evil eyes bored straight into her. “Keep it up, bitch, and we can really celebrate.” His gun dug into her neck, his erection pressing into her stomach. “I like my women with fight in them.”
She went very, very still.
Sullivan smiled, blood dripping from one of the four welts she’d clawed down his cheek. “That’s what I thought.”