Chapter 19 : The Daggett Job — Part 2
Selina's voice cut through the silence: "Get down!"
I dropped behind a marble pillar as gunfire shattered the penthouse windows. Two shooters—not the regular security I'd taken down earlier. These moved differently. Military precision. Tactical coordination.
"Private contractors. Daggett had a backup plan."
Selina was pinned behind the desk, the safe half-open, a bag of documents clutched to her chest. The contractors had her cornered—one covering the door, one advancing in a flanking pattern.
"Who the hell are you?" the advancing one called out. "Building security says the alarm system's compromised. That means we handle this our way."
I pressed against the pillar, mind racing. My pistol was a last resort—gunfire would bring police, and explaining dead bodies was beyond my current capabilities.
"Think. What do I have?"
The hallway behind me. Fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. The alarm panel I'd passed on my way up.
"Chaos. Create chaos."
I eased back into the corridor, keeping low. The fire alarm pull station was ten feet away. I yanked it.
The building erupted into noise—sirens, flashing lights, the automated announcement ordering evacuation. The contractors hesitated for a split second, their attention divided.
I grabbed the fire extinguisher, aimed, and hurled it through the penthouse doorway.
It hit the marble floor and burst—white foam exploding in every direction, filling the room with chemical fog. Someone cursed. Someone fired blind, bullets chewing into the ceiling.
I moved.
The first contractor was coughing, wiping foam from his eyes. I hit him from behind—arm around throat, pressure on the carotid arteries. He struggled, clawed at my arm, but I held on. Ten seconds. Fifteen. He went limp.
The second contractor emerged from the foam cloud, weapon raised. I was exposed, no cover—
Selina's arm swung. The bronze statue of some Greek god connected with the contractor's skull. He dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
We stood there, breathing hard, surrounded by unconscious bodies and dissipating foam.
"Took you long enough," Selina said.
"You're welcome."
She grabbed my arm. "We need to move. Now."
No argument from me.
The building was evacuating—perfect cover. We stripped off our outer layers, revealing civilian clothes underneath. Selina's bodysuit disappeared into her bag, replaced by a leather jacket that made her look like any other late-night office worker heading home early.
We joined the stream of confused employees filing down the emergency stairs. No one looked twice at us. No one noticed the bag Selina carried, or the way I kept my hand near my concealed weapon.
Ground floor. Lobby. Outside.
The night air hit us like a benediction. We walked—not ran, never run—two blocks east, then north, then east again. Standard evasion pattern.
The parking garage was deserted. We slipped between concrete pillars until we were deep enough that street cameras couldn't reach.
Only then did we stop.
Selina leaned against a support column, chest heaving. I braced myself against a parked car, suddenly aware of the ache in my ribs where the first contractor had gotten in an elbow.
We looked at each other.
White powder covered both of us—fire extinguisher residue, clinging to our hair, our clothes, our skin. Selina had a streak across her forehead that made her look like a ghoul. I probably looked worse.
She started laughing.
It was infectious—absurd, uncontrollable, the kind of laughter that comes from surviving something that should have killed you. I joined in, and for a long moment we stood in that parking garage, two criminals covered in foam, laughing like idiots.
"Your face," she gasped. "You look like a powdered donut."
"You should see yourself."
The laughter faded, leaving something warmer in its place. Selina wiped her eyes, smearing the white powder into new patterns.
"You came for me." Her voice was different now. Quieter. "You left your post and came for me."
"That's what partners do."
She studied me for a long moment. Something shifted in her expression—the careful mask slipping, revealing something underneath.
"Most partners would have cut their losses. Saved themselves."
"I'm not most partners."
Silence stretched between us. The parking garage hummed with distant traffic sounds. Somewhere above, sirens were converging on the Daggett building.
"We should move," Selina said finally. "Lay low for a few days. Meet at the theatre when things cool down."
"Agreed."
She reached into her bag, pulled out a stack of documents. "Your copies. As promised."
I took them. The weight felt significant—leverage, power, information. Everything I'd been building toward.
"Thank you."
"Thank me after we fence the jewelry." She was moving toward the garage exit, back to business. But at the edge of the shadows, she paused. "Darek?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't make me regret trusting you."
She vanished into the night.
I stood there a moment longer, ribs aching, heart pounding, powder-covered and exhausted.
"I won't."
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