Page 23

Mirage

“New target acquired,” Spectre confirmed, reversing their plan to get the fuck off the roof before the police were dispatched.

“Call it,” Mirage answered, squatting closer to Grace.

“Eliminate the bodyguard in white. I repeat, the bodyguard in the white blazer. One in the abdomen, one in the heart.”

There were two bullets left in the magazine.

Grace made a series of rapid adjustments to the weapon while Mirage calculated the best angle to hit their new target.

The top floor of the restaurant was now a scene of chaos as the customers and waitstaff scurried to get to safety.

The six remaining bodyguards were ducking with weapons drawn while searching for the direction of the shots.

Grace waited for Mirage’s new coordinates.

“Three minutes and fifty-seven seconds,” Spectre reminded them.

Spectre was able to direct and inform, but there was no way for him to help them execute.

The bodyguard in white was trying to drag Berkowitz’s lifeless body out of sight.

“Target on berm, aim left edge,” Mirage hurriedly said. “Range 2690, 1.2.1 left, wind SW half value.”

“Shooter ready,” Grace answered.

Mirage hadn’t noticed his partner adjust the scope because he’d done it so fast.

“Zero adjustments, no holds.”

Grace released a smooth exhale, and Mirage ordered the commands all in one breath.

“Fire, rotate six degrees, fire.”

Grace nailed it as Mirage knew he would.

They didn’t bother with the equipment as they bolted toward the rooftop exit.

Now, it was Spectre’s job to navigate them the hell out of there.

“Two minutes, four seconds,” he informed first.

Fuck .

The clock was ticking.

Were they really expected to run down thirty-two floors in two minutes?

They were fast, but what the fuck?

“Stay on the roof and get to the east side.”

They made a sharp right instead of exiting through the door.

“Anchors and a Deus are on the ground. Your transport’s waiting in the alley.”

Mirage assessed the straight descent into the pitch dark below.

They were supposed to rappel down four hundred and fifty feet.

“Oh, you gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Mirage ground out, staring at Grace’s calm face.

“Authorities have been dispatched. Seven minutes to your location and closing.”

“This escape is a bit excessive, don’t you think? Where’s the goddamn fire?” Mirage snarled at Grace.

“Fifty-one seconds. Move,” Spectre stressed.

Grace’s lips tightened to a thin line as he gave Mirage a low growl, telling him to grow some balls and stop stalling.

With anger surging through him, Mirage did the same as Grace, snapping the locks of his vest together and clipping the descent control device to his harness.

He threw hundreds of feet of rope over the side and pulled his leather gloves out of his pockets.

He and Grace stood on the ledge of the building and, without another thought, leapt off the side, rappelling at a speed that made the floors of the skyscraper fly by in a blur.

Landing in sync, he and Grace rushed toward the flickering headlights of the SUV and slid into the back seat.

The same driver—minus the suspicious passenger they’d arrived with—burned rubber out of the alley, weaving through a maze of dark pathways, while he spoke into his watch.

“Browns are secured and mobile. Inbound to base. ETA forty-five minutes.”

“Clock is dead with four seconds remaining,” Spectre reported, a hint of triumph lacing his smooth voice. “Mission complete.”

Mirage pulled back his hood and let out a relieved breath.

A few blocks up, they passed a dozen speeding police cruisers, first responders, and ambulances with lights flashing and sirens screaming, alerting the city to beware.

Danger was loose and lurking.