The driver turned his head as she stopped next to his door. She grabbed the handle but it was locked. She gripped the gun with both hands. He pressed on the gas, tires squealing, and the smell of burning rubber assailed her as he pushed her rental a few feet. She moved with it and scanned the door for a flaw. The lock was exposed so she fired into it. The hole that appeared seemed to surprise the driver and she might have hit him but the bullet wouldn’t do much damage with the chest rig he wore. She yanked open the door and aimed for the two inches of skin revealed at his throat when he looked her way and made the mistake of glancing up at the wall, lifting his head. She fired.
The passenger attempted to raise a military-grade assault rifle to shoot her but he snagged the end of it on the center divider, between the seats. She fired at him but the bullet didn’t pierce his face shield. He did lunge back. The driver choked, blood flowing over his vest. He wasn’t wearing a belt. She fisted one of the straps of his vest and yanked hard. She turned as he fell out, putting her side against the van, out of the passenger’s sight line. The driver fell to the ground and she released him.
Bullets tore into the open door next to her and she knew if she swung forward to fire at the passenger again, he’d hit her. She focused on the dying man at her feet. She bent, careful to keep out of the open door of the still-running van but it wasn’t moving forward anymore. Her car prevented it. She yanked his handgun free of its holster and spotted two objects that looked like grenades.
Holy fuck. They aren’t screwing around. She dropped the guns on the ground and grabbed the two explosive devices. They were handmade, by her guess, but looked deadly. She didn’t have time to ponder exactly how they worked or what they would do. She feared the other assailants would burst out at any second and attack. She saw the switches and used her thumbs to activate them, praying they wouldn’t instantly blow. She risked exposure when she threw them inside and leaned over to grab the door. She slammed it closed, spun and sprinted away.
“Run! Bomb!” she shouted at two advancing NSO officers.
One of them followed orders by diving behind some kind of barrier they’d set up near the guard house but the second one kept coming.
“It’s going to blow,” she got out. At least she hoped it would. It would be really bad if she’d just set off two chemical weapons, thinking they were explosive devices. She’d had mere seconds to examine them.
The guard still coming at her had to be at least six-foot-five. He didn’t point his gun at her, which was a blessing. She tucked her head when his arms opened as if to grab her but she tackled his waist. It knocked the air from her lungs when she slammed into his solid frame, reminding her of hitting a wall at full speed. They both went down though.
BOOM!
The sound nearly deafened her and something slammed into her back. She wasn’t sure if she’d been hit by a flying object or if it was just the shockwave from the explosion. Her ears rang, she felt numb and was unaware whether she was hurt. The big body under her moved. She was sprawled on top of him. He rolled over and she suddenly felt the unforgiving pavement under her back. His weight pinned her as she managed to open her eyes, not even aware they had been closed until then.
Her hearing improved somewhat as the trauma lessened. The guard was heavy, crushing her between him and the ground. He’d turned his head to look behind him. She stared up at a tan throat, revealed beneath his tinted face shield, and even noticed his square chin. Popping noises and a hissing sound filled the air.
“Son of a bitch.” His voice gave her chills. There was a gruffness to it that wasn’t quite human—too deep, almost a snarl.He pushed off her and she sucked in air, her lungs starved for oxygen. She got her first glimpse of the van, or what was left of it, when he rolled to his knees then got to his feet.
She sat up enough to stare mutely at the destruction. The windows had blown out at the front of the van and the back doors were open. Flames shot from both sides of it and black smoke rolled upward. A body lay near the driver’s door—the man she’d shot in the throat. He wasn’t moving and she didn’t expect him to. The bullet she’d fired had been a kill shot.
Her attention returned to the van and the dark object hanging out the back, to the ground. She was able to focus enough to make out what it was. Bile rose as she identified the shape of a head and arms. He wasn’t moving. She managed to choke back the urge to throw up. It sank in that she’d just killed at least three people, unless the passenger had exited the other side before the explosion. The NSO guard moved but she couldn’t take her horrified gaze off the burning van.
Orders were shouted in the background but she ignored them. I did that. I killed them. It sank in and she couldn’t force her limbs to move. Kat didn’t flinch when the guard leaned down and grabbed her arms. He easily jerked her to her unsteady feet. She swayed a little but locked her knees. Her training demanded she snap out of it and get with the program but all she could do was watch the burning van. She could smell burning flesh under the thick stench of rubber and whatever else was on fire.
“You’re under arrest,” that deep voice growled next to her ear.
The feel of handcuffs being snapped on her wrists finally pulled her out of her shock. She turned her head and peered up at the guard. He was over a foot taller than she was and massive. He’d snapped the cuffs on her wrists in front instead of behind her back and now gripped the chain between them.
She swallowed, trying to find her voice. “I can explain.”
“You blew up that van.” He growled. “You stole a gun from one of my officers. Who are you?”
She turned her head. Black-clad officers had rushed forward with fire extinguishers, trying to put out the blaze. She wanted to order them back in case the gas tank hadn’t already blown but they were keeping a safe distance. The New Species at her side expected an answer. She remembered that and looked at him. “I’m Kat Decker. I’m the crime lab consultant.”
“Bullshit.”
She inwardly winced at his harsh tone. Her mind began to fully function again and she realized she’d fucked up. She’d have laughed outright at someone if they’d just done what she had then claimed to be some lab jockey from forensics. She didn’t regret her actions though.
He spun her and a hand firmly clamped around her upper arm before he shoved her gently. “Move.”
It came as a shock when she saw the destruction done to the guard shack. Part of the roof had caved in, the entire side facing the van having taken heavy damage. “Is everyone okay?”
“I don’t know.” He definitely snarled. “We’re checking.”
Rusty rushed forward. Kat identified her by her shape and empty gun holster. “I’m so sorry, Darkness.”
“Save it,” he snapped. “Take her to a holding cell. I have to check our people. Strip her down to her underwear and make damn sure she’s not hiding anything.”
“Of course.” Rusty sounded stressed as her voice broke.
He pushed her toward Rusty. “Calm. Take a deep breath.”
Kat admitted she followed his advice too, though she knew it wasn’t meant for her.
“Do you think any of ours died?” Rusty sounded close to tears.
“I don’t think so. I need to check. Move. Take her now and watch her closely. No one is to go near her until I get there. I’ll interview her.”
Rusty gripped her handcuffs and tugged. Kat followed her around the damaged building, taking in every detail. Officers had rushed to the scene and she spotted movement through an intact window when they rounded the side. One man was lifting a section of roof off the floor.
Kat had no words as she was escorted to the back of the long building. Its much smaller appearance from the front had been deceiving. More officers rushed out in full gear. They didn’t take time to stop or question who she was as Rusty just pushed her against the wall to get out of their way.
“Come on,” Rusty whispered.
Kat didn’t argue. She needed to think up a good lie to explain what she’d just done. “I’m sorry about taking your gun.”
Rusty growled. “Silence. You heard Darkness. No talking until he comes. He’ll be the one to interrogate you.”
That didn’t sound good at all. She was led down a hallway at the very back corner of the building and the door was shoved open. Kat glanced around the room—maybe fifteen feet by twenty-five feet. There were no two-way mirrors. A chair was bolted to the floor near a drain. There was a hook at the top of the wall behind it on one side and a long table with two chairs on the other. The walls and ceiling had been painted to match the dull-gray concrete floor.
The first tinges of fear shot up Kat’s spine. It wasn’t like any interrogation room she’d ever visited in a police station. It reminded her more of one she’d recently seen in a movie. The guards had nearly beaten the prisoner to death. Blood had soaked the walls and floor of that room, the drain on the floor there for easy cleanup. She really hoped the NSO hadn’t seen a similar film and taken notes.
Rusty fished out a key and removed the cuffs. “Remove everything but your undergarments.”
Kat winced at the thought of a cavity search but she didn’t resist. The room was chilly as she stripped and placed her clothing in a folded stack on the table, her shoes next to it. She faced Rusty, wondering if it was policy to keep the face shield and helmet on.