Game of Secrets and Shadows (Book One in the Covert Operations series)

Sixteen

Lauer slumped forward against the steering wheel, eyes wide open and glassy, lifeless. Blood pooled from the hole in his forehead, sliding down his cheek and dripping onto the carpeted flooring of the car. It splattered against the back of the leather chair he was sitting in and against the windows. The car skidded to an abrupt stop, slamming into the vehicle in front of us.

"Get down!" Brent screamed. He turned his head halfway and a fraction of a second was all it took. A spray of bullets tore through the rest of the windshield. Max dove towards me, pushing me down beneath the seats where the bullets couldn't reach. I could feel his body pressed tightly against mine, a human shield protecting me from harm.

For a moment, there was only the echoing bangs of gunfire and the panicked screams of civilians around us. Cars screeched and skidded and Max's breath was labored in my ear. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest.

And then it was quiet. He moved back and I looked up. Brent was crouched low in his seat, just barely underneath where the bullets had shattered the windshield. Web-like fissures had appeared in the glass, broken only by the little holes where the bullets had pierced through.

"Kids?" Brent asked. His breath was quiet, faint. I wasn't sure if it was because he sounded weak or because my ears were ringing. "Are you okay?"

Max looked me over, his eyes fervent. "We're fine," he said and there was the sound of relief in his voice.

"We have to get out of here," Brent said. I wasn't imagining things. He definitely sounded weak. "Now. Max, get us out."

Shadowy figures were moving steadily closer. I could just barely see them through the cracked windshield. They were being cautious, waiting to see if they'd killed us all or not.

"Stay down," Max said. He gave me a sharp look. Brent reclined his seat all the way back and, as he did, I noticed a bright spot of red blooming against the front of his shirt. Max followed my gaze and then his eyes flicked to mine, panicked but steady. Taking charge. "Get him back to you. Keep pressure on that wound."

I did as he asked, pulling Brent out of the way and ignoring his pained pants as I did so. I ripped open Brent's shirt and tore some loose strips from the thin cotton and balled it as a make-shift gauze to press against the wound. It was near his upper chest, dangerously close to his heart. The pallor of his skin was paling, beginning to turn grey. His eyes were starting to get that far-away look as he descended into shock.

"No," I said. "No, no, no, no, no. You are the only father I have left. I will not lose you, too. Just keep your eyes on me. Okay? Stay awake and keep your eyes on me! Max! Get us out of here now!"

Max shuffled Lauer's body over into Brent's now-empty seat and slid into the driver's seat. Then, without preamble, he shot the car into reverse. The front window was completely out of commission and so he turned, looking out the back only. I heard people screaming and the crunching of metal and another rapid succession of gunfire that dinged against the frame of the car, and then we were gone, shooting off through the streets of Paris as Brent Grimes bled out in my arms.

"How's he doing?" Max yelled. He swung the car around so that we were going forwards instead of backwards. I glanced out the back window, saw a trio of people run back into their own car and begin to follow us. We had a couple hundred feet of distance on them. Max pushed the pedal farther to the ground.

"Not good. He's losing a lot of blood. We need to get him stabilized and quickly."

"God, I can't see anything," Max muttered, more to himself than to me.