Under Fire (Elite Force 3)

“Shit!” he hissed.

Frowning, she glanced at him as they drove onto the mile-long bridge. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s following us and gaining fast… damn it.” His arm shot out across her. “Brace yourself! We’re about to be hit.”

Rachel jerked around, expecting to find the silver sedan tailing her again. She looked and found…

Her navy blue SUV. With the customized license plate she’d chosen in honor of her dog. There was no mistaking the word Disco1 as the Ford accelerated closer. Her Ford, which she’d left on base and now someone else was driving…

Her car rammed the Jeep.

Chapter 4

Jolting forward and back in her seat, Rachel braced against the dash with one hand and reached behind with her other to grab Disco’s collar. If they’d been in her SUV, she would have had him in a crate, secured. Hell, if she’d been in her own vehicle, none of this would be happening at all.

“Liam?” she shouted against the roar of insanity. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he said quickly, his voice calm, controlled, his toned body seemingly impervious.

Except she knew too well how even the strongest of soldiers could be brought down in a flash.

They slammed the concrete railing. Her body jerked and her thoughts fractured. She bit her tongue. The tinny taste of blood filled her mouth as the vehicle skidded. The echo of grinding metal shrieked along with honking horns. She looked out the passenger window as the Jeep scraped along the railing. The ocean churned below, dark and murky, waiting to swallow them if the barrier gave way. She looked up fast at the rearview mirror just as her SUV rammed them again.

The barrier had looked plenty sturdy when she’d driven over it earlier today. And now? It looked flimsier than a couple of two-by-fours holding out against a bulldozer.

Her heart lurched, then raced faster than the Jeep accelerating back into traffic. Squealing brakes sounded from behind them. She searched for ways to help, to alert Liam to anything that might help. In the rearview mirror, she saw a VW bug spinning out along the bridge, her blue SUV whipping fast. Oh God, what if this chase accidentally caused someone else to go over the side, into the ocean? Her dog jockeyed for balance with the same sure-footedness that had saved him when they worked disaster sites.

Liam steered on a dime and whipped around the other evening commuters. But so did the SUV, until it roared right up on their tail again. Whipping to the side, the vehicle—her car, which someone had stolen—accelerated beside them.

“Down!” Liam shouted, palming the back of her head.

She ducked just as a shot rang out. Both side windows shattered—driver’s, then passenger’s. Her heart in her throat, she reached to touch Liam’s chest right over the steady thump of his heart. A sigh of relief cascaded through her. With her other hand, she reached back. Her dog nuzzled her, crouching low without flinching. He was trained well.

Liam covered her hand with his briefly, firmly, then took the wheel again.

“I’m fine,” he said, the Jeep surging ahead. “But I need your help.”

“Anything,” she answered without hesitation.

“Sit up carefully and hold on to the steering wheel.”

Um, what? She inched upward warily. “Are you nuts?”

“Hold. On.” He grabbed her hand and placed it on the wheel.

He let go.

Sitting up fast, she held on tight, her shoulder pressed to his. “This really isn’t the time for you to find your sense of humor.”

“No games. I’m calling for help.” He arched off his seat to pull his cell phone out of his pocket.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed her the SUV was three cars back. “I would have been happy to do that, you know.” She gripped the steering wheel, easier said than done with the Jeep barreling along the bridge. Humor seemed like a good idea after all, anything to steady her freaking-out nerves. “Nine. One. One. Try it. I learned it back in preschool.”

“My help is a bit more intense than that, and they’ll want to talk to me. You need code words and crap like that to get through.”

“You have connections?” She narrowly avoided a slow-moving truck with stacks of orange crates.

“You could say that.”