Double Play (Nadia Stafford 3.5)

"Go on," Quinn said.

Jack surveyed the concrete and the surrounding debris.

"Just go, Jack. I take back the smart-ass comment about solving a problem. You tried to rescue me, I appreciate that. Now go find her."

"You're not my problem," Jack said as he moved aside rubble. "You're hers. She's trying to stay friends. You say you want to?" He shoved a steel rod under the slab. "Don't act like it. Act like a sore fucking loser."

"Thanks, Jack. That's really what I need--"

"You want to be her friend? Get your shit together. Otherwise? Get the fuck away. Only making her feel bad." He looked at Quinn. "And that's my problem."

He finished wedging in the rod and said again, "On three."

This time it worked. They got the slab shifted up enough for Quinn to wriggle his leg out. When he did, Jack said, "Broken?"

"Doesn't seem to--"

"Good. Then help me find her."

17 - Nadia

I don't know how Quinn got that advance warning. Presumably something flashed on the explosive device. He'd saved my life, though, because when he shouted, I had just enough time to dive into a doorway. The hallway collapsed around me, leaving that doorframe standing.

I hadn't come away unscathed. Pieces had buffeted me, setting my injured arm ablaze and pinning down one foot and filling my lungs with dust that I suspected was very old and very toxic. But I was alive. I got my foot free, and I pulled my shirt over my mouth and nose to breathe.

And then I heard Quinn.

Well, I told myself it was Quinn. Someone was banging a pipe, and I doubted those cartel goons had rescue mission experience and knew that banging a pipe or ventilation shaft was a whole lot more effective than shouting.

The next step? Getting to Quinn. Which would be so much easier if I could get anywhere.

I was free and mobile, but when I say the hall collapsed around the doorway, I mean that literally. I was in a virtual cage, completely enclosed by broken wood and brick and concrete. I took a moment to assess. Two of the "walls" around me weren't exactly stable. Through a third I could see a faint flashing light from an approaching emergency vehicle.

I started clearing that side. It was not a speedy process. I heard sirens and shouts as the rescue crews arrived, but no one seemed in much of a rush to do any actual rescuing. Checking stability before leaping in, I assumed. Quinn kept periodically banging the pipe, but no one seemed to hear him.

I painstakingly dug my way out. With every large piece of debris I removed, I stopped and made sure the whole thing wasn't going to fall on my head.

I finally had a hole cleared that was big enough for me to wriggle through. I came out in a section of hall still mostly intact. I'd just started down it when Quinn's clanging stopped.

I went still. If he'd been seriously injured and weakening, I'd have heard that in the rhythm of his clanging. Either someone had found him or he was taking a break. Still, I picked up speed, focused on the direction I'd heard the--

Something moved off to my side. I spun and reached for . . .

Shit. My gun. It'd been in my hand when I'd been running before the blast. Long gone now.

A shape lunged at me. I twisted out of the way. Fingers grazed my arm. There was just enough light for me to see a big, burly Hispanic guy covered in dust and bloodied cuts.

I backed away, my hands raised. "Look, I'm unarmed. You're unarmed. We're in a building that just blew up and is probably going to collapse at any second. I'd suggest working together, but that may be pushing it, so let's just get our asses out of here, okay?"

He said nothing, just snorted like an enraged bull. I struggled for the few words of Spanish I knew. Before I could find any suitable ones, he said, "This is your fault, you fucking bitch."

No language barrier apparently. "I didn't blow up the damned building while I was still inside, okay? Your boss did that. Because killing me was, apparently, more important than warning his own men to get clear. If you get out of here, you can let him know what you think of that--"

He swung at me.

"Seriously?" I said as I danced out of the way. "The building is going to collapse. We survived an explosion. Let's just get the hell--"

Another swing. This time, in ducking, I hit the wall and a chunk of the ceiling fell. As I darted aside, he caught my arm. I yanked free but stumbled, and as he swung again, I kicked him in the leg, because hey, if I was going down, so was he. Keeps the playing field fair. It also gave me easy access to my ankle holster.