Page 17 of The Norcross Rescue

A man walked down the hall, peering into doorways.

“Now isn’t the time to goof off, Brady.”

The man passed the doorway.

Vander sprung. He landed several chops into the man’s lower back. The guy dropped his rifle and grunted. He turned, his fox mask askew. Vander slammed two punches into his face, then dragged him to the floor.

In a burst of movement, the guy broke free. His elbow clipped Vander’s jaw, knocking him back. He swung another punch, but Vander dodged.

“You’re going down, asshole,” Fox clipped out.

Vander didn’t bother replying.

The guy yanked out a knife and brandished it. He swiped out with it, and Vander leaped backward.

Fox swiped again, the knife slicing into Vander’s jacket. Dammit, Brynn would be pissed about that. Fox came at Vander in a flurry of slashes, slicing more cuts into Vander’s jacket.

Enough. Vander slipped his jacket off and held it in his hands. When Fox came at him again, he whipped the jacket over the knife and twisted.

Fox cursed. Vander rammed him into the wall, and aimed a knee into his gut.

The man let out a pained oof and doubled over. Vander pulled his jacket back and the knife hit the carpet. Then he wrapped the jacket around the man’s neck and yanked it tight.

Fox’s eyes bulged and he tried to pull the jacket free. Vander’s cellphone fell out of a pocket and hit the ground. He ignored it, and kicked Fox’s knees out from under him and yanked harder, cutting off his air.

The guy was fit and strong, and Vander had to give him credit—he fought. His body jerked hard and there was a crunch of plastic. His hand slapped the ground and he managed to grab the dropped knife. He whipped it up.

Vander blocked the blow, feeling a quick sting on his forearm, then shoved the man’s arm down.

The knife stabbed through Vander’s jacket and into the man’s neck.

Fox’s body stiffened. Blood soaked the jacket and down Fox’s shirt. Vander’s mouth flattened as he held tight, waiting until the man slumped.

He released him and the man’s lax body dropped to the floor.

Plastic on the floor glinted in the dim light. His cellphone…crushed to pieces. Dammit.

He dragged the guy into a nearby supply closet and stashed his body beside a vacuum cleaner and some mops.

Two down.

Eight to go.

He glanced at his ruined jacket. It was sliced to hell and soaked in blood. Dammit. It was better for blending into the shadows than his white shirt.

Nothing he could do about that.

He checked his watch. He hoped to hell that Saxon and the team got here soon. He needed to touch base with them again.

He had to find a phone to use.

He snatched up Fox’s rifle and checked it over. Slinging it over his shoulder, he strode down the hallway, pulling his bow tie off. He rolled his sleeves up, noting the small cut on his forearm. It wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding. He shrugged. It wouldn’t kill him. In the closest office, he grabbed the phone on the desk.

There was no dial tone. He stabbed at the buttons. Nothing.

He tried the next office, and the next, but the same thing.

Wolf and his men must have cut the line to the floor.