Gallery’s outer entrance loomed ahead of her as they crossed the enormous front foyer. It seemed strange, almost unbelievable that only twelve or so hours ago she’d been walking inside across this very floor when a rocket launcher had decimated the outside.
She giggled, and wondered if hormones and her body’s reaction to the stress were making her hysterical.
“Just a little longer,” David said. “You can make it, love.”
“Of course I can,” she insisted, not understanding what he was talking about. Only a dozen paces from the front doors she saw numerous men racing backwards and forwards in a dizzying manner.
“Well, we did want distractions.” She chuckled, not quite certain why she found it so funny to watch. There was an enormous fire out on the street. It took a moment for her to realise one of the security jeeps was burning.
“Those will be Thad’s missiles,” she said.
David grabbed her arm, halting her before they could push through the doors. Without a word he took the earpiece out of her ear and replaced it with one of the ones he’d taken from the guards they’d shot.
“Clip this to your belt,” he said, handing her a walkie-talkie as he removed their crew’s earpiece and replaced it with a stolen one. “Now, act hurt. Turn your shoulder so everyone can see the blood.”
“Sure. I’m…hey, what?”
Chelsea looked down to her arm, shocked to see a dark, wet stain covering most of the slender limb. Pain rolled over her, like being hit in the face with a bat.
“Holy fuck, that arsehole shot me.”
David opened the door and turned when she didn’t immediately follow him. He reached out and tenderly took the hand of her unhurt arm. As he tugged her, she noticed the worry and fear etched onto his face. She felt sick to her stomach, certain for one horrifying moment that she was going to throw up everywhere in an ignoble fashion and ruin her reputation.
Her mouth opened, but no words came to her lips. Shock—cold and heavy—blanketed her body, the pain of her shoulder beating at her.
“Darling,” David crooned to her, urgency underlying his gentle tone. “I know what to do, please trust me, but we have to move. Now. Please, love.”
Chelsea breathed deeply, surprised at how the simple act made her shudder. She let him lead her, willing her feet to move. It took an immense amount of mental power to force her body to react. She’d often heard how fear could freeze a soldier, that terror killing almost as many warriors as any other weapon.
Until this moment she’d pooh-poohed the idea, not understanding how shock could literally take over your will and body with such force.
“That’s it,” David urged her warmly. “Let’s go. I’ll get you patched up. You’re fine.”
The tone of his voice more than the actual words gave her strength. David kept his face on her, his gaze steady, giving her the stimulation she needed to gain momentum once again. She pushed the pain from her mind, compartmentalising it. She’d scream bloody murder later, she promised herself. Right now they had to live, to escape and finish the mission. As they moved, walking a slow trek down the flight of stairs and past the crumbled pillars, heading towards the burning car, her energy gradually returned.
“I’m okay,” she insisted, though her tone was thready and faint.
“Of course you are,” David replied, clearly not believing a word. A shout rose up as they were noticed. Chelsea trembled in fear, certain they were about to be shot—or, worse, arrested. She did not want to explain their last-minute fuck-up to McIlroy or the London branch of the Agency.
“I’ve got you,” David said in a low tone, just to her. He then turned his head to the group of guards heading their way and shouted in a commanding tone.
“We’re on Murphy’s team. We were just ambushed in the Eastern corridor in section five, two hostiles. Murphy and the others are down but alive but I need a medic here—my
She giggled, and wondered if hormones and her body’s reaction to the stress were making her hysterical.
“Just a little longer,” David said. “You can make it, love.”
“Of course I can,” she insisted, not understanding what he was talking about. Only a dozen paces from the front doors she saw numerous men racing backwards and forwards in a dizzying manner.
“Well, we did want distractions.” She chuckled, not quite certain why she found it so funny to watch. There was an enormous fire out on the street. It took a moment for her to realise one of the security jeeps was burning.
“Those will be Thad’s missiles,” she said.
David grabbed her arm, halting her before they could push through the doors. Without a word he took the earpiece out of her ear and replaced it with one of the ones he’d taken from the guards they’d shot.
“Clip this to your belt,” he said, handing her a walkie-talkie as he removed their crew’s earpiece and replaced it with a stolen one. “Now, act hurt. Turn your shoulder so everyone can see the blood.”
“Sure. I’m…hey, what?”
Chelsea looked down to her arm, shocked to see a dark, wet stain covering most of the slender limb. Pain rolled over her, like being hit in the face with a bat.
“Holy fuck, that arsehole shot me.”
David opened the door and turned when she didn’t immediately follow him. He reached out and tenderly took the hand of her unhurt arm. As he tugged her, she noticed the worry and fear etched onto his face. She felt sick to her stomach, certain for one horrifying moment that she was going to throw up everywhere in an ignoble fashion and ruin her reputation.
Her mouth opened, but no words came to her lips. Shock—cold and heavy—blanketed her body, the pain of her shoulder beating at her.
“Darling,” David crooned to her, urgency underlying his gentle tone. “I know what to do, please trust me, but we have to move. Now. Please, love.”
Chelsea breathed deeply, surprised at how the simple act made her shudder. She let him lead her, willing her feet to move. It took an immense amount of mental power to force her body to react. She’d often heard how fear could freeze a soldier, that terror killing almost as many warriors as any other weapon.
Until this moment she’d pooh-poohed the idea, not understanding how shock could literally take over your will and body with such force.
“That’s it,” David urged her warmly. “Let’s go. I’ll get you patched up. You’re fine.”
The tone of his voice more than the actual words gave her strength. David kept his face on her, his gaze steady, giving her the stimulation she needed to gain momentum once again. She pushed the pain from her mind, compartmentalising it. She’d scream bloody murder later, she promised herself. Right now they had to live, to escape and finish the mission. As they moved, walking a slow trek down the flight of stairs and past the crumbled pillars, heading towards the burning car, her energy gradually returned.
“I’m okay,” she insisted, though her tone was thready and faint.
“Of course you are,” David replied, clearly not believing a word. A shout rose up as they were noticed. Chelsea trembled in fear, certain they were about to be shot—or, worse, arrested. She did not want to explain their last-minute fuck-up to McIlroy or the London branch of the Agency.
“I’ve got you,” David said in a low tone, just to her. He then turned his head to the group of guards heading their way and shouted in a commanding tone.
“We’re on Murphy’s team. We were just ambushed in the Eastern corridor in section five, two hostiles. Murphy and the others are down but alive but I need a medic here—my
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