Edge of Truth by Brynn Kelly

Author:Brynn Kelly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQN Books
Published: 2017-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Tess bolted through the doorway, her brain registering a blur of movement. Several men. Big men. Security contractors? Oh God. Pain shot through her feet. Footsteps sprinted after her.

“Stop!” The voice was right behind, heavily accented, calm, commanding. Shouts echoed through the building, their meaning not registering. Another language.

She upped her pace. Her flip-flop slid out and she slipped sideways. Strong hands closed on her arms from behind, pinning them to her sides and lifting her clean off the floor, leaving her legs kicking air.

“We’re not going to hurt you.”

Her attacker wrapped one arm around her torso and caught her thighs with the other. She bucked but he held firm. He had to be three times her size. Shit. He wheeled, spinning her with him. Three men restrained Flynn from behind—one with a headlock, the others capturing an arm each. His gun was on the floor. Her mouth dried. She’d dropped her guard, with the end in sight. They were screwed.

One of Flynn’s captors laughed and said something she couldn’t make out. They released him, throwing him forward so he had to stagger to retain his balance.

Tess kicked out but the behemoth tightened his grip. Flynn bent double and rested his hands on his knees. He spit out a few breathless words, in French. The other men laughed. One slapped his back.

Huh?

Tess’s assailant let her go. She spun to face him, sizing up her options, her chest heaving. He held up his palms as if to calm her. Like hell. Options? Was she dreaming? With injured feet she couldn’t outrun him—hell, even with her regular feet she’d be no match. Screwed, screwed and more screwed.

“Flynn, perhaps you could reassure your friend,” the guy said, expressionless, in an accent that could be Eastern European.

Flynn? He knew Flynn’s name?

“Tess, stand down,” said Flynn, straightening. “This is my unit. Gorilles attardés, the lot of them, but we’re safe.”

A man with a thick brown beard let out a long, low whistle, imitating the swooping squeal of a falling bomb. Did Flynn just call them gorillas? She swallowed, looking from one man to the next. They were overgrown and muscular, dressed in T-shirts, shorts or jeans, sunglasses, baseball caps, a beret. One wore glasses with heavy black frames; a few carried dusty backpacks. These were French Foreign Legion commandos? They looked like the Giants’ defensive line gone hipster.

The woman who’d been in the poetry room scurried past, giving the men a wide arc.

“Morning, ma’am,” said the bearded guy. “Just playin’ a little joke on our friend here. Nothin’ to worry about.”

“You could have used the signal,” Flynn said. “I thought you were—”

“You lowered your guard,” said the behemoth, glancing from Flynn to Tess, his eyes narrowing. She felt herself blush, goddammit. “I told them to test you. You failed.”

“Good to see you, too, Angelito.” Flynn surveyed his friends, one by one. “I note it took three of you to bring me down.”

Angelito—the guy he said she could trust. Flynn’s capitaine, right? Her neck cracked as she looked up at him.

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