Chapter 5 - Ambush at the Shore
"Get down!" Roman roared, tackling me to the concrete floor just as a hail of automatic gunfire chewed through the wooden walls of the shed.
Splinters and drywall dust rained down over us. Roman covered my body with his own, his heavy frame shielding me completely from the flying debris.
"Tactical team," Roman hissed against my ear, his hand firm on the back of my head. "Cross used satellite tracking on the estate’s communications array. They found us."
"How many?" I gasped, clutching the hard-case tightly to my chest.
"At least six," Roman replied, reaching around his waist to pull two spare magazines from his belt. "They're moving in a wedge formation from the tree line. They aren't here to arrest us, Elena. This is a clean-up crew."
Another volley of high-caliber rounds tore through the iron door.
Roman rolled to his side, raised his weapon, and fired three controlled shots through the broken window frame. A muffled scream echoed from the mist outside, followed by the heavy thump of a body hitting the wet earth.
"Follow me!" Roman commanded, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward a rusted hatch in the floor of the electrical shed—an old maintenance crawlspace leading out toward the drainage canal near the beach.
We crawled through the dark, damp pipe, the sounds of gunfire and shouting growing distant behind us. The iron pipe emptied into a sandy ravine covered in tall beach grass, thirty yards from the crashing waves of Lake Michigan.
We burst into the open air, running low through the fog toward the shoreline.
Behind us, two tactical operatives in unmarked black gear broke through the pine trees, raising their rifles.
"Roman!" I screamed, spinning around.
I didn't hesitate. I brought my gun up, lined up the iron sights with the lead shooter's shoulder, and pulled the trigger twice. The sharp cracks echoed across the water. The lead shooter stumbled backward, his rifle discharging harmlessly into the sky before he collapsed onto the wet sand.
Roman fired a single shot that took down the second operative.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the roaring wind and the rhythmic crash of the grey waves against the shore.
Roman turned to look at me, his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide with an intense, fierce pride.
"Nice shot, housekeeper," he breathed, a ruthless, thrilling smile breaking across his face.
"I told you," I panted, wiping wet sand from my cheek. "I know how to hit what I aim at."
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He stepped close, grabbed the front of my canvas coat, and pulled me hard against his chest. Before I could speak, his mouth came down on mine in a fierce, breathless kiss that tasted of rain, gunpowder, and absolute survival.
My arms wrapped instinctively around his neck, the leather drive still clutched in my hand, as the world burned around us.
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