Steelheart (The Reckoners #1)(11)

“Stop it, you slontze!” a voice called, interrupting Curveball. A gure moved between us in the dim light just as I red. The shot missed. That was Fortuity.

I lowered my gun as another shot rang out from high above. The sniper. A bullet struck the ground nearby, almost hitting Fortuity— but he jerked sideways at just the right moment. His danger sense.

Fortuity ran awkwardly, and as he got closer to a lantern, I saw why. He was handcu ed. Still, he was escaping; whatever the

Reckoners’ plan was, it looked like it had fallen apart.

Curveball and I glanced at each other, then he took o following Fortuity, ring a few stray shots in my direction. Having in nite bullets didn’t make him any better a shot, however, and they all went wide.

I climbed to my feet and looked the other direction, toward where the woman had been. Was she all right?

A loud crack sounded in the air, and Curveball screamed, dropping to the ground. I smiled, right until a second shot red and a spray of sparks exploded from the wall beside me. I cursed, ducking back into my alleyway. A second later the woman in the sleek red dress spun into the alleyway, holding a tiny derringer pistol and pointing it directly at my face.

People ring handguns missed, on average, from over ten paces— but I wasn’t sure of the statistics when the pistol was fteen inches from your face. Probably not so good for the target.

“Wait!” I said, holding up my hands, letting my ri e fall in its strap on my shoulder. “I’m trying to help! Didn’t you see Curveball firing at me?”

“Who do you work for?” the woman demanded.

“Havendark Factory,” I said. “I used to drive a cab, though I—”

“Slontze,” she said. Gun still trained on me, she raised her hand to her head, touching one nger to her ear. I could see an earring there that was probably tethered to her mobile. “Megan here. Tia. Blow it.”An explosion sounded nearby and I jumped. “What was that!”

“The Reeve Playhouse.”

“You blew up the Reeve?” I said.

“I thought the Reckoners didn’t hurt innocents!”

That froze her, gun still pointed at me. “How do you know who we are?”

“You’re hunting Epics. Who else would you be?”

“But—” She cut o , cursing softly, raising her nger again. “No time. Abraham. Where is the mark?”

I couldn’t hear the reply, but it obviously satis ed her. A few more explosions sounded in the distance.

She eyed me, but my hands were still raised, and she must have seen Curveball

ring on me. She

apparently decided I wasn’t a threat. She lowered her gun and hurriedly reached down, breaking the stiletto heels o her shoes.

Then she grabbed the side of her dress and ripped it off.

I gaped.

I normally consider myself

somewhat levelheaded, but it’s not every day that you nd yourself in a darkened alleyway with a gorgeous woman who rips o most of her clothing. Underneath she wore a low-cut tank top and a pair of spandex biker shorts. I was pleased to note that the gun holster was, indeed, strapped to her right thigh. Her mobile was hooked to the outside of the sheath.

She tossed the dress aside—it had been designed to come o easily.

Her arms were lean and rm, and the wide-eyed naivety she’d shown earlier was completely gone, replaced with a hard edge and a determined expression.

I took a step, and in a heartbeat her pistol was trained on my forehead again. I froze.

“Out of the alleyway,” she said, gesturing.

I nervously did as asked, walking back onto the street.

“On your knees, hands on head.”

“I don’t really—”

“Down!”

I got down on my knees, feeling stupid, raising my hands to my head.

“Hardman,” she said, nger to her ear. “If Knees here so much as sneezes, put a slug through his neck.”

“But—” I began.

She took o at a run down the street, moving much more quickly now that she’d removed the heels and the dress. That left me alone. I felt like an idiot kneeling there, hairs on my neck prickling as I thought of the sniper who had his weapon trained on me.

How many agents did the

Reckoners have here? I couldn’t imagine them trying anything like this without at least two dozen.

Another explosion shook the ground. Why the blasts? They’d alert Enforcement, Steelheart’s soldiers. Lackeys and thugs were bad enough; Enforcement wielded advanced guns and the occasional armor

unit—twelve-foot-tall

robotic suits of power armor.

The next explosion was closer, just down the block. Something must have gone wrong in their original plan, otherwise Fortuity wouldn’t have gotten away from the woman in red. Megan? Was that what she’d said her name was?

This was one of their

contingency plans. But what were they trying to do?

A gure burst out of an alleyway nearby, almost making me jump. I held still, cursing that sniper, but I did turn my head slightly to look.

The gure wore red, and still had handcuffs on. Fortuity.

The explosions, I realized. They were to scare him back this way!

He crossed the street, then turned to run in my direction. Megan—if that was really her name—burst from the same road he’d appeared out of. She turned this way, trying to chase him down, but behind her —in the distance—another group of gures rushed out from a different street.