651 Shadows on the River: Trust, Betrayal, and Survival in the Rain-Slicked Underbelly of Hadley

The barrel of Garrett’s submachine gun twitched downward, tracking straight for Lincoln’s heart.

Instinct bypassed thought. I didn't have a weapon, I didn't have tactical training, and I certainly didn't have a death wish. But I had spent years working in luxury hotels dealing with erratic, dangerous guests who thought the rules didn't apply to them. I knew how to create a distraction.

With a sharp cry, I grabbed a heavy brass wall sconce holding a decorative hurricane lamp off the corridor bracket and hurled it with every ounce of my strength directly at Garrett’s face.

Garrett cursed, instinctively jerking his head to the side as the heavy brass fixture shattered against the wall inches from his ear, showering him in sharp shards of glass.

That micro-second of distraction was all Lincoln needed.

With the explosive speed of a striking predator, Lincoln lunged forward, his left hand violently batting the barrel of Garrett’s submachine gun upward just as a deafening burst of automatic fire chewed through the expensive ceiling plaster in a shower of white dust and sparks.

Before Garrett could recover, Lincoln slammed his shoulder directly into Garrett’s chest, driving him backward into the open doors of the service elevator.

The two men crashed onto the metal floor of the car in a violent tangle of limbs and grunts. Lincoln, despite his deep arm wound and the blood soaking through his clothes, rained down a vicious left hook that snapped Garrett’s head back against the control panel with a sickening crunch.

Garrett groaned, his eyes rolling back as his grip on the submachine gun went slack.

“Delia!” Lincoln roared over the ringing echoes of gunfire. “Get in the car! Now!”

I didn't hesitate. I scrambled past the thrashing men, diving into the brightly lit elevator car just as Lincoln kicked Garrett hard in the ribs, sending the corporate traitor crumpling unconscious against the back wall.