Hot Zone (Elite Force #2)(22)
Author: Catherine Mann

She kept her voice low and calm, her body language as loose as possible with every cell within her screaming out in protest.

Amelia held out her arms. “I’ll be careful with him and have him right back to you. In fact, you can stay with us if you would like.”

And, please God, they would find some other hospital staff, maybe even one of those guards carrying around a big machine gun. Or better yet, this would be the perfect time for Hugh to come around the corner—unless he’d already left through another exit to avoid her. He could already be long gone.

The woman hugged Joshua closer with one arm and called over her shoulder. “Oliver?”

Another person? The time had come to act before the odds went against her. She needed to grab Joshua and start screaming bloody murder.

As Amelia lurched forward, a man stepped from behind a stack of pallets and shoved the woman and Joshua behind him. He wore dirty camouflage with patches from some other country, his red hair slicked back, and long, for someone in uniform.

Amelia opened her mouth to shout—

A survival knife gleamed in his fist, jagged blade kissing her neck. “The boy belongs to us now, and if you want to keep your pretty face unscarred, you’ll shut up.”

The other woman peered around his shoulder. “What are you thinking, Oliver? The Guardian gave us our orders. Get the kid and get out. Now kill her, and let’s go.”

Oliver’s grip on her arm tightened while he stroked back her hair with the blade. “The Guardian understands the importance of a profit margin to keep a business going, and this woman’s worth almost as much as the baby. The blonde bitch? She’s coming with us.”

Chapter 7

A distant shriek echoed down the corridor, stopping Hugh in his tracks as he stepped out of the closet. A cry of pain? Certainly not unheard of in a hospital. He moved deeper into the hall, peering around a corner. A solitary nurse in an open office filling out charts merely lifted her eyes for half a second.

The hall was all but deserted, just as it had been when he stepped from the closet after shaking off the shock of Amelia’s rejection and hauling back on his clothes. Most everyone was asleep, and no new patients were coming to this full-to-capacity makeshift school-turned-hospital. He jogged past the gymnasium crammed with beds sectioned off from one another with extra wrestling mats and uneven bars.

Hugh shrugged away a crick in his neck and pushed through the front door into the warm haze of post-earthquake dust. He must just be on edge because of the impulsive, crazy-as-hell hookup with Amelia. What had he been thinking? One thing was clear. They both needed space to get levelheaded again. Then he would contact her and… What? Hell if he kn—

Another shout echoed. Louder, rippling through the quiet night. The scream ended abruptly, as if cut off. And God, his head must really be screwed up, because he could swear that sounded like Amelia.

Crazy or not, he had to check it out.

He scanned the dark lot, a mess like the rest of the area. Cars lay on their sides, some crashed into each other, the asphalt cracked. None on the lights worked. Two poles had fallen on top of a storage shed and corner of the school. Still, there was no activity other than a couple of displaced cats scurrying under cars, no doubt in search of the rats that had already started scuttling through the aftermath.

Which only left the back of the schoolyard to search.

A deep gut sense of premonition drove him forward. He broke into a jog, his boots pounding along the cracked asphalt, onto the soft earth. When he rounded the corner, he would probably find another cat shrieking or someone laughing. The scream had to be his imagination. Everything inside him was a jumbled-up shit pile of the past and present melding together since he’d rescued Amelia and the boy.

The back lot resembled the front, a broken mess. More rats scampered. A kitten screeched beyond the tree line. Could that be what he’d heard?

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the lot, past the cars and a spindly fallen palm tree. He squinted through the darkness lit only by a half moon above. Damn, but it was dark. He would give his left nut for NVGs right now.

He picked his way across the lot, sidestepping an upended trash bin, hurtling over the downed tree. Foreboding buzzed in his ears like the distant rumble of crashing waves on the shore.

His eyes homed in on a glow ahead, lights inside a van with back doors open. The light dimmed with a couple of people blocking the opening. He charged ahead, his gaze locked in for some clue about what was going on, as the lighting shifted over the group. The glow flickered over long blonde hair, a female face…

Shit.

About fifty yards away, Amelia was draped over some man’s shoulder in a fireman’s carry. A woman beside them held a baby that looked too damn much like Joshua for his peace of mind. He didn’t know what the hell was going on but it couldn’t be good. The silent pantomime of the whole absurd scene sealed the deal.

Hugh drew his weapon. “Stop. Put the lady down now and pass over the child.”

The woman holding Joshua spun sharply, her face cast in shadows. She held the baby in front of her like a shield, damn it.

“Oliver.” The woman’s voice carried softly on the briny breeze. “Get the van started.”

The man—Oliver—threw Amelia into the van, diving in after her, and there wasn’t a thing Hugh could do about it with Joshua in the line of fire. He ground his teeth and assessed his options. For every step he took toward them across jigsawed asphalt, the woman backed away, closer to the grimy white van, until she hit the bumper. She ducked inside just as the vehicle’s engine roared to life.

Waiting time was over. Hugh bolted forward. The doors slammed shut. He ran full-out, eyes trained on the taillights glowing like red snake eyes in the night. He only had a split second to make his move, to—

Jump!

He hurtled through the air. Arms extended, he willed his straining body onward. A roar ripped from his throat with the effort. He slammed against the back of the van, grunted, grappled on top for a hold. His feet braced on the rear bumper. Shit… This looked easier in the movies.

The van peeled around a corner, damn near on two wheels. Hugh slipped sideways, almost off. His heart pumped like revving pistons. He slapped the side, found a firmer hold on the luggage rack.

His brain raced as fast as the tires. No way could he make it to the front. He didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of climbing along the top. And if they hadn’t already figured out he was holding on, they would soon. It wouldn’t take much to jar him loose—or ram him against a brick wall.