The window, she thought, as the man kept moving in her direction. She frantically looked around for something to use against him, but his hands grabbed her by the neck. His fingers fastened around her throat, squeezing her flesh, choking the life out of her. Veronica kicked at his shin, but her strike didn’t carry much power. She pounded at his arms, tried to scratch his eyes, but to no effect. Already her strength was leaving her. Even in his wounded condition, the man was too strong for her. Her chest was burning, and black dots swirled at the edges of her vision.
She went limp. All the rage and anger inside her wasn’t enough to move her body. How was it possible that a moment of pure magic could be transformed into absolute horror? For the first time in her life, she could feel death breathing down her neck.
And it terrified her.
Suddenly, she was with Clay again. He was on one knee in front of her, holding in his hand the most beautiful engagement ring she had ever seen.
I’m no saint, and I’m no hero. I’m just a man who loves you.
As her last conscious thought drifted away on a wave of pain, a tear slowly rolled down her cheek.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Ritz-Carlton
San Francisco, California
White’s entire face hurt, making it difficult for him to breathe. He felt as if he was coming up from deep underwater, rising sluggishly to the surface. He opened his eyes. His vision was blurry. Everything was unfocused. He couldn’t make out anything clearly. Even the sounds were muffled. Fuzzy movements to his right made him turn his head. A searing pain shot through his jaw and eye socket. He groaned. He blinked several times, and his vision cleared enough for him to see.
The man with the silver hair had White’s Bishop blade embedded in his back. More worrisome was the fact that he had his hands around Veronica’s neck. He was holding her up, pinning her back against the window. Her legs were thrashing madly, her feet two or three inches from the floor. The icy terror that raced through White’s veins was suddenly replaced by a tsunami of adrenaline. He forced himself up and rushed the assassin, dropping him rearward with a sharp kick to the back of the knee. The man let go of Veronica’s neck and tried to elbow White with his right arm. White anticipated the move and blocked it easily with his forearm while simultaneously giving a good shove at the Bishop blade with the palm of his left hand, pushing the blade even deeper into the man’s back. White heard him growl in agony.
Not wasting any time, White wrapped his right forearm around the front of the man’s neck and his left forearm across the back of it. He then locked his right hand into the crook of his own elbow, pinioning the man’s neck in a viselike grip. The man was tough and resilient, more than White could ever have imagined given the knife in his back. He tried to pull White’s arm away from his neck. It was a futile effort. He then pitched forward and attempted to pull White over, but he was getting too weak. White squeezed his bicep even tighter, cutting off the man’s flow of blood and oxygen. It should have been over by now, but the man continued to struggle for another thirty seconds before he finally stopped moving.
Drenched in sweat and out of breath, White let him go. A few feet in front of White, Veronica started coughing. She looked at him with glassy red eyes, holding her neck. White glanced around. A few feet away from the bed, the man’s silenced pistol lay next to the diamond engagement ring. He slipped the ring in his pocket and placed the man’s gun in the bathroom sink. Drawing his own pistol, White ejected the half-spent magazine and inserted a fresh one before holstering it again. He then headed to the coffee maker and ripped the electric cord off it, which he used to tie the assassin’s hands behind his back. Pulling his pistol out, White walked back to Veronica and knelt down next to her.
“You okay?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the door and his pistol in the low-ready position.
“I . . . I think so,” Veronica said, her voice faltering. “You?”
“Yeah,” he replied, barely moving his mouth. His tongue was swollen, and his jaw was killing him.
Still, he had to let his team know what was going on. As far as he was concerned, this was just the beginning. A second wave of attackers could breach the door at any time. But before he could contact the mobile communications unit, Vigil-Three’s voice came in through his earbud.
“Vigil-One, this is Three,” the agent said, his voice barely loud enough for White to hear.
“Go for One.”
“I’ve been shot in the back, but I got the bastard.”
White’s breath caught in his throat. “What’s your location?”