Page 58 of Until the End

“Those shoes are a problem,” he said. She’d be better off barefoot out here. He took another look at the six-inch thick wall separating her bedroom balcony from the main one and sized up the length of her arm span.

Holding on to one balcony and reaching over to grasp the other might prove tricky for her. Doing it at night in those slippery shoes was suicide.

He gestured for her to come back and helped lift her over the rail.

“Climb on.” He knelt. “I’ll piggyback you over.”

For once, she simply did as he told her. No smart-ass remark, no protests. No questions. Maybe she did trust him, at least in this.

Standing upright, he adjusted her weight on his back, getting it balanced. “Hold on tight.”

She wrapped her legs around his hips and clamped her arms around his neck in a choke hold.

“Not that tight,” he hissed, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder at the door. The curtain was in place, giving them precious minutes—perhaps only seconds—that might mean the difference between success and death.

He swung his leg over the side and shimmied across the ledge.

The curtain rustled. Their time just ran out.

He stepped up the pace, reaching across the wall to the other side as the drapes were drawn. Castle stared at a man wearing glasses. His gaze was hard and pitiless. He matched Kit’s description of Bravo.

Castle wouldn’t be able to draw his weapon until they were on the other side and he had a free hand. “Kit, reach into my holster and grab my gun?”

“Wh-what? I’ll fall.”

“You won’t.”

“Oh God. I’m going to be sick. I can’t.”

“You can. Trust me. They’re coming. Do it!”

She fumbled inside his jacket, her body plastered to his, legs in a death grip around his waist, and drew his Maxim 9.

The safety was already off.

“Aim at the other balcony,” he said, “finger on the trigger, squeeze, and shoot at anything that moves.”

A swish echoed in the wind as the balcony door opened.

Kit screamed, ducking her head, cheek pressed against his neck, and started shooting, wild and erratic.

For fuck’s sake. Were her eyes even open?

Silencers on both sides softened the pop of the shots. Bits of stone from the concrete wall sprayed in the air. Bullets cracked by his head, too close for comfort.

Castle hooked his leg on the rail of the living room balcony and rolled over, nearly knocking against the steel staircase that went up to the roof. He tucked Kit beneath him, using his body as a shield. “Please tell me your eyes were open when you fired?”

“You said nothing about my eyes.”

Wasn’t it implicit in the bit about aiming?

He snatched the gun from her, hopped to his feet, and aimed for the master bedroom balcony—with his eyes open.

No sign of Bravo.

Ah, shit. “Change of plan.” Gripping her elbow, he hoisted her up. “They’re about to rush us, coming in through the living room doors. Can you swim?”

She gulped and looked over the balcony. “Oh, sweet Lord. You want us to jump?”