Page 99 of Girl Lost

The proximity to the human tissue made bile rise in the back of her throat.

“Oh my goodness...” Summer shrank back, hand flying to her mouth. She bumped a metal tray, sending it clattering to the floor.

The sound, amplified in the silence, echoed through the room.

From the hallway, a voice. “Did you hear something?”

Luna’s hand instinctively went to her holster, her fingers closing around empty air.

They were trapped. And unarmed.

34

A TRIO OF GUNSHOTSpinged offthe server rack inches from beside Corbin’s head,showeringhim with sparks and metal shards. He dropped to a crouch, heart hammering against his ribs.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. Stupid. He’d taken too long finding this room. Now he was pinned down with no clear exit.

He peered around the corner of the server rack. A man in black stood at the far end of the aisle, gun raised. No mask. Just cold, determined eyes.

As the man advanced, Corbin caught the subtle hitch in his gait.

The marina. The guy he’d kneecapped.

Corbin’s hand went to his pocket, fingers closing around the ASP baton. His only weapon against a gun. Great odds.

The flash drive felt like it was burning a hole in his other pocket. He had to get that data. Lives depended on it.

Three minutes. That was all he needed.

Three minutes to clone the hard drive and potentially bring down this entire operation. Mr. Hitch-in-his-step included.

He scanned the room. Rows upon rows of server racks stretched before him, a maze of blinking lights and humming machinery. Tangles of multicolored cables snaked across the floor and climbedthe walls like technicolor vines. The low, persistent hum of cooling systems working overtime filled the air, a constant drone that set his teeth on edge.

There. A terminal, half-hidden behind a mess of wires. To reach it, he’d have to cross open ground. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Two more firecracker pops. He flinched as sparks erupted from the rack above him, raining down hot pinpricks on his skin. Too close. Far too close.

Corbin sprinted, keeping low. Pain lanced through his side where the stitches pulled. He gritted his teeth, pushing through it.

The terminal loomed closer. Ten feet. Five feet. Almost there.

A shout of rage echoed behind him. Hitch had spotted him and squeezed off three rapid bursts.

Corbin dove the last few feet, sliding across the smooth floor. His shoulder slammed into the base of the terminal, sending a jolt of pain through his body. But he’d made it.

He fished the flash drive from his pocket. His fingers shook as he plugged it in. It didn’t fit. He flipped it over and tried again. Still no good. What in the world? He looked at the USB slot, looked at the drive. Yeah, he had it right, so why wouldn’t it—this time it slid home.

The screen flickered to life. A prompt appeared.Run SecureDump_v2.7?

He clicked it. A progress bar appeared.

1%.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Getting closer. Hitch was taking his time, savoring the hunt.

5%.

Corbin’s eyes darted between the painfully slow progress bar and the aisle where he knew Hitch was advancing. He pulled out the ASP baton. He might have to turn Mr. Hitch into Mr. Gimp.