He fell and she rounded back toward the door to the hall.
Gunshots in the hallway stopped her.A scream added to the chaos.
She turned.
Britta’s secret service agent lay in a puddle of blood.
Oh no, no?—
And then—yep,she should have guessed—Igor appeared, holding his AR-15.Pointing it at her.
Boris still writhed on the floor, cursing, but he managed to climb to his feet.He staggered out, and Igor motioned with his gun.
No.No way was she ending up in a gulag in Russia.
Then Boris turned and smiled, something in his grip.
A chill shook through her.
Grenade.
“Don’t—”
He pulled the pin, still smiling.
“Don’t!”
“Phoenix!”
She stilled, whirled around.
No—no!
Steinbeck appeared through the gauzy smoke, running.“Phoenix!”
“Get back!Grenade!He’s got a grenade?—”
Igor grabbed her arm and yanked, and she fell against him as he headed toward the stairwell.She fought him?—
Boris tossed the grenade past her, into the exhibition hall.
“Stein, run!”
Igor slammed her through the doorway, into the hall, just as the door exploded out and hit the wall.She landed on the concrete, heat bursting through her shoulder, her head slamming against the floor.
She lay for a moment, just...What?What?—
Steinbeck!
Igor growled, then rolled to his feet.Hauled her up by her vest and dragged her down the hallway.
Smoke cluttered the doorway, billowed out of the room.
Steinbeck.Not again—she couldn’t leave him again.She slammed her foot into Igor’s leg, but he just turned and cuffed her across the face.
Pain exploded in her cheekbone, and her nose instantly bled, hot as he dragged her down the hallway, past another secret service officer, down the stairwell.
Screams echoed from below, maybe Britta and Madeline fighting their captors.
