Hank lifted his arms and clasped his fingers together at the crown of his head. He took a step forward, as Lana battled the tears seeping from her eyes. She wanted to shout for him to turn around, drive away, save himself, but the hinge of her jaw seemed to be welded together, her teeth chattering as the fear and horror of these past two months flooded her body like water from a dam that had broken inside her.
The closer her father got, the faster her heart raced. No. She couldn’t let this happen. She didn’t know why Le Clair hadn’t shot her dad outright, but it wouldn’t be long before he did. Wouldn’t be long before her father lay on the cold ground with a bullet hole between the eyes. Like Rick Garrison. Oh, God. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t—
Chaos!
Lana barely had time to blink before the entire area erupted in commotion. Men seemed to pop out of nowhere like cardboard targets in a shooting range. They swarmed out of the buildings behind them, weapons drawn from all directions as shouts for Le Clair to surrender echoed in the deserted area.
From the corner of her eye, Lana saw Echo being dragged out of a storage unit, arms cuffed behind his back. And then an explosion of gunshots ripped through the air. Beside her, Kilo dove for cover behind the SUV, his rifle spitting out bullets that clanged against the metal scaffolding and bounced off the pavement. Tango rolled to the ground, shooting at the approaching attackers.
Lana’s pulse shrieked, her ears ringing. Her feet were suddenly yanked out from under her, just as a bullet slammed into the side panel of the van, right where her head had been. Dazed, she found herself staring at the gravel, while a heavy weight pressed down on her back.
“Stay down,” a voice hissed in her ear, and she realized what had happened. Deacon had thrown her to the ground. He was keeping her out of the crossfire.
A loud thud came from beside them. Kilo had fallen to the ground. She turned, saw the hole in his forehead, the lifeless expression on his face. Sick satisfaction coursed through her. He was dead.
She heard an enraged roar, and when she peered up from under Deacon’s heavy arm, her body became paralyzed with panic. Le Clair was charging her father like an incensed bull looking to gore a matador. A blur of movement flashed before her eyes. Blue jackets with the letters FBI blazed across them. The glint of sunlight reflecting off the Mercedes’ windshield. Le Clair’s arm lifting, gun raising, aimed at her father.
“No!” Lana screamed.
She struggled to get out from the unrelenting shield of Deacon’s body, but he forced her down, one strong arm pinning her by the collarbone.
“Put your weapon down!” Loud voices barked orders at Le Clair, but the man was beyond listening.
Lana couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine his expression. Fury. Desperation. He’d come here to do a job, and he would finish it, no matter the cost.
She tried to peer around Deacon again. “Don’t move,” he ordered into her ear. “Stay down until it’s over.”
Another gunshot cracked in the air, followed by a second one.
Fear jammed in her chest. With a sudden jolt of strength, she shoved Deacon’s arm off and rolled to the side, lifting her head just in time to see Le Clair tumble face-first to the pavement. A red stain bloomed on the back of his shirt. Relief crashed into her. Le Clair had been shot. Not her dad. Not—a crushing weight of horror nearly knocked the wind right out of her.
Her father’s motionless body lay on the gravel.
Nausea rose up her throat. “Dad!”
She heard Deacon’s rough protest. Ignored him. Stumbled to her feet.
Waves of dizziness rolled through her as she hurried to her father. Voices shouted at her, people moved in and out of her peripheral vision. She ignored all that, too. She had one goal. One destination.
She froze when she spotted the blood pooling at her father’s temple.
He’d been shot in the head.
“No,” she whispered.
Her knees turned to jelly and her legs started to give out. Sirens wailed in the distance. Lights flashed from the road as a whiz of emergency vehicles raced toward them. But she couldn’t rip her gaze away from that puddle of blood. Her father’s face was pale. So pale. He was… She couldn’t…couldn’t get to him.
Black spots danced in front of her eyes, a dizzy rush made her body sway, and then a pair of strong warm arms wrapped around her from behind.
“It’s all right,” a familiar voice murmured. “You’re safe, baby girl. I’ve got you.”
She lifted her head, met her brother’s concerned dark eyes and began to sob. “Jim! Oh, God, Jim, Daddy was hit!”
“It’s okay,” he soothed, stroking her hair. “They’re going to take care of him.”
Lana suddenly registered the sound of urgent voices and hurried footsteps. She turned in time to see a pair of paramedics bending over her father’s body. A third rolled a stretcher over.
“We’ve got a pulse,” she heard one of them say, triumphant.