Marine Force Recon. Elle James

the next guy.

      A scuffle with another security guard in the limousine generated more shouting and an eruption of gunfire.

      Under the resulting confusion, Declan made his move and took out the next attacker, bringing him to the road surface with barely a whimper before he snapped his neck.

      Sirens wailed in the distance.

      One of the attackers yanked a dead security guard out of the back seat of the limousine and reached in to grab someone.

      “Let go!” a voice inside yelled.

      The attacker yanked a woman out of the limousine. She had gray hair and wore a dark gray suit and sensible pumps. “Don’t hurt anyone else. I’ll go with you. Just don’t hurt anyone else.”

      He pulled her against him and pointed the handgun against her temple.

      Declan cursed silently beneath his breath. A hostage meant the attackers had more than the upper hand. No matter how many bad guys he took out, he couldn’t get to the one who held the bargaining chip. Unless...

      He’d worked his way closer to the white van blocking the front of the limousine. A couple of bad guys stood at the front of the vehicle and one guarded the rear.

      Declan rolled beneath a long black sedan parked several feet away from the van. If he could just make it to the van the kidnapper was edging toward, he might be able to...

      A police car rounded the corner two blocks away, lights flashing, siren screaming. It ground to a halt. The two officers inside flung open their doors and leaped out, using the doors as shields.

      “Time to go,” the kidnapper shouted. Holding his victim with the gun to her head, he hurried toward the van closest to Declan.

      If the kidnapper made it inside, the police would not be able to stop him without potential injury to the woman.

      The van door slid open. A man inside grabbed the kidnapper’s arm and the woman’s and yanked them both inside.

      The rest of the attackers backed toward the other van, still providing cover but unaware of Declan standing near the rear of the kidnapper’s vehicle.

      As the sliding door started to close, Declan reached for the back door of the van. The handle turned, the door swung open and Declan leaped in as the sliding side door slammed shut.

      Four bad guys filled the interior. The kidnapper had released his charge and was in the process of shoving the woman to the floor of the van.

      When she collapsed to her knees, Declan had a clear shot.

      He braced himself and pulled the trigger on the submachine gun as the driver shifted the gear into Reverse.

      The kidnapper and the man who’d helped him into the vehicle dropped on top of the woman and lay still.

      “Stop the vehicle,” Declan yelled. “Or I’ll shoot.”

      The man in the passenger seat swiveled, a handgun in the palm of his hand.

      Declan didn’t hesitate—he fired several shots at the man, the bullets hitting him in the arm and penetrating the back of the seat. The man slumped forward, the pistol falling from his hand.

      The driver hit the accelerator, with the vehicle still in reverse, and he pulled hard on the steering wheel.

      Centrifugal force flung Declan across the bed of the van. He hit the other side with his right shoulder, losing his hold on the submachine gun. The weapon clattered to the floor and skittered beyond his fingertips, out of Declan’s reach.

      As he righted himself, the driver shifted into Drive and gunned the engine.

      Barely reclaiming his equilibrium, Declan staggered backward, caught himself and lunged for the driver, ready to end the rodeo. He grabbed the back of the driver’s seat to brace himself and then wrapped his arm around the driver’s throat and pulled up hard. “Park it. Now!” he yelled.

      The driver clutched at the arm with one hand and steered with the other, directing the van toward a heavily populated sidewalk and the corner of a brick building beyond.

      With a quick twist, Declan snapped the man’s neck, shoved him to the side, leaned over the back of the seat and steered the van away from the crowded sidewalk and back into the street crowded with other vehicles.

      Though dead, the driver’s foot remained on the accelerator.

      Declan held on tightly as the vehicle plowed into a delivery truck, rocking it on its wheels. The van crunched to a full stop, slinging Declan forward.

      Because he held on to the back of the driver’s seat, he wasn’t thrown through the window; instead he flipped over the back of the seat, hit his head on the steering wheel and landed headfirst into the driver’s seat.

      He lay stunned for a moment, a dull pain throbbing in his head where he’d hit the steering wheel, but he was alive. He pushed backward over the seat, sat down hard on the floor of the van and surveyed the carnage.

      A moan sounded from beneath the two men who’d hauled the woman inside.

      Declan shook the gray haze from his head and crawled toward the groan. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

      For a moment, nothing but silence came from beneath the two men.

      “Ma’am?” Declan repeated. “Are you all right?”

      “Can’t breathe,” her voice sounded.

      Declan dragged the top man out of the way and then the other. Blood soaked the woman’s gray suit, though she showed no signs of open wounds or ripped clothing. Declan assumed the blood wasn’t hers. When she tried to sit up, he touched her shoulder. “You might want to lie still. You could have an injury from being handled so roughly.”

      “I’m all right...no broken bones... I just need to...sit up.” She pushed to an upright position, her hands covered in the blood of her captors.

      Declan glanced through the front windows.

      Police vehicles surrounded the van, and men in SWAT uniforms rushed toward them, rifles aimed at the van.

      “The police have arrived,” he said.

      “Thank God.” The older woman wiped her hands on her skirt, leaving bright red streaks. Then she pushed the gray hair back from her face and squared her shoulders, a frown pulling her brow downward. “Do you think they know these terrorists have been stopped?”

      “We can’t bank on it. They might take one look at me and shoot.”

      Her eyebrows shot upward. “But they can’t. You saved my life.”

      “You in the van, come out with your hands up!” said a voice amplified by a bullhorn outside.

      “Coming out,” Declan said. “Don’t shoot!” He reached for the door handle.

      The gray-haired woman touched his arm. “Let me go first. Surely they won’t shoot me, and I can let them know you’re one of the good guys.”

      Declan shook his head. “You never know when one of them might get trigger-happy. I’ll go first...with my hands up.”

      “At least let me open the door so they will see your hands up.” The woman grabbed the handle and pulled back, opening the door slowly. “Don’t shoot,” she called out. “We’re unarmed.”

      When Declan stepped out of the van, he held his hands high.

      “On your knees!” a voice boomed.

      Declan dropped to his knees.

      “Hands behind your head.”

      Declan laced his hands behind his neck.

      The man with the bullhorn called out, “Anyone else in the van, get out now, hands in the air.”

      Out of the corner of his eye, Declan could