Page 13 of The Lazarus Protocol

Four guys jumped out. No, six. All of them wore black tactical gear, black masks over their faces that left only a slit of their eyes visible. Rifles in hand. Pistol on the hip. Knives—probably more than one—in different sheaths on their person.

And here he was, with minimal weapons per the instructions they’d been given for this assignment. “You know…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish lest he sound overly paranoid.

“What do I know?” Marina sounded distracted, likely pulled a million directions by the screens in front of her.

“We’re unarmed. These guys are strapped.” Ice watched the woman who jumped out give orders to the men, who raced toward the building. “Seems like this might be a trap. Whoever hired us sent these people in to kill us.”

“Double-cross anyone lately?” Ash asked over the open comms channel. “Because I haven’t.”

“I doubt anyone in my online poker game would come after me like this,” Ice shot back. As if that was the worst thing he could think of. In reality, he had more enemies than he could count. Far better to just live under the radar and let the story that he’d disappeared years ago be the truth people told.

Kai said, “We’re stuck behind a lab door. Gonna work our way around.”

“Listen, just get to Nix and Dan and work your way out together. We have no idea what they found downstairs.” Ice watched a woman climb out and stand there, glancing around with her hands on her hips. As if this was any other Tuesday and she could take a moment and admire her handiwork.

“Copy that,” Ash said.

“No, no, no…” Marina’s muttering trailed off.

“This about us, or something else?” Ice asked her.

A rustle entered his awareness behind him. The brush of clothing. A shift of gravel that indicated a footfall.

“Something else.”

“Work on it,” he said. “We’ll do the same here.”

Ash said, “What are you⁠—”

Ice pulled out his comms earbud and zipped it in his pocket. He strode out from the corner of the building toward her. No weapons. Hands out by his sides so she could see his palms were empty.

Whoever was behind him could make their move.

She whirled around and eyed him. Dark hair, a slim body packed with muscle she could downplay, but was visible in how she moved. The command in her graceful step, and how she held her shoulders. She was deadly and she knew it.

Ice heard the guy behind him. Definitely a guy, given the sound of his footsteps. He took a couple more steps, slower than before, so whoever it was got close enough, then turned. Planted his foot. Twisted his hips. Swung out with a fist, blocked the knife with a swipe of his other hand.

Fire erupted on the front of his shoulder, beside the protective vest he wore. This might be an op that demanded no weapons, but he always guarded his vital organs. He wasn’t an idiot. Except when he got distracted, too in his head, and an elbow smacked it.

Ice’s skull jerked from the blow. Ouch. If he was going to get answers from this woman, he needed to be in a conversation, not a fist fight.

He slammed a punch into the guy’s stomach but faltered as if the blow to his head had knocked his equilibrium askew. The guy capitalized on it, which was good because Ice didn’t know how to make it convincing otherwise.

A one-two hit the wound on his shoulder, and his cheekbone.

Then he was flat on his back, looking up at the Patagonia stars overhead and trying to catch his breath. This guy hit hard, almost as hard as Ice’s father.

The guy landed on him, and Ice could smell his breath. He kicked his legs but didn’t dislodge his attacker.

Panic started to set in, and the plan went out the window. To be fair, the plan always went out the window at some point. Especially when the chilled air tickled over him and blows rained down, and Ice fell back into far too many memories.

On a cold floor. His father standing over him.

A roar erupted from his lips, and he grabbed the guy by the collar, rolling them both. Ice got off the guy, backing up so fast he stumbled onto the ground on his butt.

“Enough.” Her English had an accent that sounded French to him, but it was hard to tell with only one word. He looked at her and saw she had a Sig Sauer, currently pointed at his vitals.

His attacker coughed.