Chapter 79 *
Scarlett’s POV
I walked out of Patterson's office. Left him standing there with that conflicted expression.
The hallway was empty. Silent except for the distant sounds from downstairs. Muffled voices. The occasional shout.
I pressed my hand against my stomach. The bleeding had slowed. Not stopped. But slower.
That was something.
My shoulder throbbed with every heartbeat. I could feel blood soaking through my shirt. Warm and sticky.
I needed to move. Needed to find a way out.
But I wasn't stupid.
Going back to the lobby? Straight into a nest of armed terrorists? That was suicide.
Even with my training. I couldn't take on a dozen guys with assault rifles. Not pregnant. Not bleeding. Not alone.
I kept walking. One hand on the wall for support.
My mind was working through the options. The building was locked down. Exits blocked. Windows reinforced.
But there had to be another way.
There was always another way.
I passed a staff locker room. The door was slightly open.
I pushed inside. Locked the door behind me.
The room smelled like disinfectant and stale coffee. Rows of lockers. A few benches. A small bathroom in the corner.
I went to the bathroom first. Needed to assess the damage.
I pulled up my shirt. Looked at my stomach.
Blood. But not as much as I'd feared.
The cramping was still there. That dragging sensation. But it wasn't getting worse.
I pressed gently on my abdomen. Checking for internal bleeding. For signs of rupture.
Everything felt stable. The baby was still there. Relief washed over me. So intense it made me dizzy.
I gripped the sink. Took a few deep breaths.
Okay. Okay. We're okay.
I cleaned myself up as best I could. Used paper towels to wipe away the blood.
Then I went back to the lockers.
Started opening them. Looking for anything useful.
Most were empty. A few had spare scrubs. Some personal belongings.
I found a set of surgical scrubs in my size. Navy blue. Plain.
I stripped off my blood-soaked clothes. Changed into the scrubs.
Felt immediately better. Cleaner. Less conspicuous.
Now I looked like hospital staff. I checked my reflection in a locker mirror.
Good enough.
I grabbed a white coat from another locker. Put it on over the scrubs.
I needed to communicate. Needed to call for backup.
But my phone was gone. Taken by the terrorists when they'd collected everyone's devices.
I walked back into the hallway. Started moving toward the west wing.
If I remembered correctly, there was an administrative office over there. Computers. Landlines.
Maybe the terrorists hadn't cut all the phone lines yet.
Maybe I could get a message out.
The hallway was eerily quiet. Emergency lights cast everything in red.
I kept moving. Reached the administrative wing.
Found an office with the door slightly ajar.
I pushed it open slowly. Checked inside.
Empty. Dark.
I slipped in. Closed the door behind me.
There was a computer on the desk. I moved toward it.
Pressed the power button.
Nothing.
Of course. They'd cut the power too.
But wait.
I knelt down. Checked the power strip.
The battery backup was still glowing. Faint green light.
I flipped it on. The computer hummed to life.
Yes.
I waited for it to boot up. Precious seconds ticking away.
The login screen appeared.
I pulled out one of my hidden tools. A USB drive I kept in my watch band.
Plugged it in. Ran the bypass program.
Three seconds later, I was in.
I opened the network diagnostics. Checked for any active connections.
Most of the network was down. But there was something.
A weak signal. Coming from an external server.
Probably a backup system. Something the terrorists hadn't found yet.
I started typing. Pulling up a secure messaging protocol.
My fingers flew across the keyboard.
I could send one message. Maybe two if I was lucky.
Then the signal would probably die.
I needed to make it count.
I started composing the message. My mind racing.
That's when I heard it.
Footsteps.
Extremely light.
Coming down the hallway.
Heading straight for this room.
I froze. Listened.
The footsteps were barely audible. The kind of silent movement that came from years of training.
This wasn't one of the terrorists. They moved with heavy boots. Made noise.
This was someone else.
The footsteps stopped. Right outside the door.
I could hear breathing. Slow. Controlled.
Whoever was out there knew I was in here.
My hand went to my waistband. Grabbed the tactical knife I'd taken from the dead guard.
I moved silently. Positioned myself behind the door.
Held my breath.
The doorknob turned. Slowly. Carefully.
The door opened an inch.
I saw a shadow. A shape in the darkness.
Male. Tall. Moving with precision.
This was a professional. No question.
My mind calculated the angles. The timing.
I had one shot at this.
I waited until the door was fully open.
Then I moved.
I threw the knife. Aimed for center mass.
At the same time, I launched myself forward. A flying kick aimed at his head.
The knife flew through the air.
He caught it.
Just plucked it out of the air like it was nothing.
Then his hand shot out. Grabbed both my ankles mid-kick.
Before I could react, he twisted.
Threw me to the ground.
I hit hard. Air knocked out of my lungs.
He was on me immediately. Knee pressing down on my chest.
A gun appeared. Cold metal pressed against my forehead.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.
But my hand was already moving.
I'd grabbed my backup knife. The small one strapped to my thigh.
I brought it up. Fast.
The blade stopped an inch from his throat.
We both froze.
His gun at my head. My knife at his throat.
Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke.
We just stared at each other.
He was wearing a mask. A face that looked completely ordinary. Forgettable.
Mid-thirties maybe. Brown hair. Average features.
The kind of face you'd pass on the street and never remember.
But I knew what that meant.
Nano-mask. The kind professional contractors wore on missions.
Designed to be unmemorable. To blend in. To disappear.
This wasn't just any killer.
This was someone at the top of the food chain.
His voice came through. Low. Distorted by a voice modulator.
"Which organization are you with?"
I didn't answer. Just kept my knife steady.
"You first," I said.
He tilted his head slightly. Studying me.
There was something about his voice. Even through the modulator.
Something familiar.
My mind raced. Where had I heard that voice before?
Then it hit me.
Two years ago. Pacific Basin.
That isolated island in the middle of nowhere. The illegal research facility.
Intel said they were researching Cosmos-1. Or something like it.
I'd gone in to steal a sample.
But someone else had gotten there first.
A man in a generic mask. Moving like death itself.
He'd beaten me. Badly.
I'd fought with everything I had. Used every trick I knew.
And he'd still beaten me.
The sample had shattered in the fight. Liquid spilling across the floor.
I'd revealed my identity then. Shown him who I really was.
Sable.
And he'd let me live.
But only after destroying everything. Burning the entire facility to the ground.
He'd stood there watching it burn. And said one thing. "This poison shouldn't exist in the world."
That voice.
I knew that voice.
My breath caught.
"Ronin?"
The name came out before I could stop it.
He went completely still.
Then slowly, very slowly, he spoke.
"Sable?"
The voice modulator couldn't hide his surprise.
We stared at each other for a long moment.
Two of the most dangerous killers in the world. Meeting in a terrorist-occupied hospital. With guns and knives between us.
This was going to be complicated.