Gunfire crackled somewhere ahead as Isla sprinted down the east wing with Ethan pressed against her side, half-staggering, half-running.
“We are so close,” she gasped, a string of sweat slipping down her temple.
“Just keep going.”
The tactical operative Damien had sent, tall, hawkish, deadly quiet… cleared the way ahead, gesturing around every turn. Isla didn’t ask his name. She didn’t need to. He was cross-trained himself, all his moves screamed that.
Maggie’s voice crackled over the comm. “East wall door is open. I got a car two blocks out, no tags. But you’ve got incursions from the north. Six men, and… s**t. Isla. He’s here. Your father has just walked in the building.”
It was like a freight train hitting her.
Ethan’s grip tightened. “We have to go.”
But it was too late.
As so
