by Karen Kirst
“Blue and black. Size twelve.”
Several tubs bearing lost-and-found labels were stacked on the bottom row. Brady helped her maneuver them onto the floor. They each chose a tub and started rifling through decorated water bottles, stuffed animals and baby blankets.
“It’s not in this one,” she said.
“This one, either.”
Together, they checked the third bin and came up empty.
Brady sighed and kneaded his nape. “Michael is going to be devastated.”
“I’ll ask the cleaning crew,” she said. “I’m sure items don’t make their way immediately here.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
The closet door closing didn’t immediately cause panic. Olivia sidestepped the tubs and, striding past Brady, turned the knob, fully expecting it to respond.
“It’s locked.” She pounded on the door. “Hey! Let us out!”
Brady came up behind her and pulled out his cell. “I’ll call building security.”
“Don’t bother.” Sagging against the door, she wiped her hand down her face. “You won’t get a signal. Not with these Fort Knox walls. Concrete is too thick.”
Pocketing his phone, he leaned around her to inspect the knob. It was the kind that locked with a key from the outside. “Whoever closed the door had to have seen the light and heard us talking.”
“The question is for what purpose.”
“I can think of several,” he said grimly.
Fear exploded in her chest. “My attacker could have used this opportunity to corral us until the building becomes a ghost town.”
Then he’d return to finish them off.
SIX
“We’re trapped.” Olivia’s throat convulsed. Horror dawned in her eyes. “Brady, I’m so sorry. You’re in danger because of me. If Leon had brought you—”
“Hey, don’t do that.” He settled his hands on her shoulders. “You can’t blame yourself. We’re going to figure a way out of here.”
Brady was perilously close to making a promise he couldn’t keep. A quick survey of the closet revealed scant options. Unlike the pump area, this narrow room had a low ceiling—maybe nine feet in height—with a single air vent. There were no windows.
“How? There’s no cell signal, and the bulk of the workforce has gone home.” A quiver worked its way through her body like a mini earthquake. “We made it easy for him. I don’t even know who he is or why he wants to kill me.”
He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze and worked to project confidence. “We’ll hash out possible reasons when we’re out of this box.” Releasing her, he started inspecting the shelving contents. “Let’s look for items that might help us.”
“Like what?”
“Sharp, sturdy objects that we could use to break off the knob.”
“Okay.”
They didn’t speak as they combed through cardboard boxes and plastic tubs. His nerves were on edge, his ears straining for any indication the enemy had returned. He heard Olivia yawn several times. Odd, considering the adrenaline rush she was likely experiencing.
Brady wasn’t sure how much time passed before they reached the end of their search.
“Nothing,” she exclaimed. “There’s nothing here besides useless paper and clothing.”
“If we can’t get the door open, we can at least try and get someone’s attention.”
He located a box of neon printing paper he’d seen earlier and shoved the pieces, one by one, beneath the door. It wasn’t his best idea, but he was out of options. His hope was that an employee would enter the pump room, see the scattered papers and come to investigate...before Olivia’s attacker came back.
“We don’t have a way to defend ourselves,” she said. “Shouldn’t we at least make it difficult for him to get in? We can use the tubs to block the entrance.”
“Good idea.”
Together, they scooted the tubs into position. Then they stacked cardboard boxes on top of them.
Kneading her temples, Olivia sat down on the floor and rested against the open wall space at the aisle’s end. She yawned again. “I don’t know why I’m so sleepy.”
Brady was feeling sluggish, too. He joined her on the floor and contemplated his course of action when confronted with a knife or gun. Protecting Olivia was paramount.
“Tell me something.” She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. “If you could go back in time and change one thing, what it would be?”
He looked over at her. “Don’t do that. This isn’t the time for regrets or confessions. We will get out of here alive, Olivia.”
The words, as good as a promise, mocked him. What was he doing? He couldn’t guarantee their survival. While he’d received the best training possible to prepare him for dangerous situations, he was at a distinct disadvantage...cornered in an escape-proof room.
Her eyebrows dipped together, and she licked her lips. “Humor me.”
He decided to be frank. “I wouldn’t waste my tears on two people who never should’ve had a kid.”
Her eyes were big and mysterious. “Have you ever attempted to contact your parents? Not for resolution, but for closure.”
“Cynthia and Leo Johnson were what you’d call free spirits. They—we—traveled around living in tents or bunking with bleeding-heart strangers. They didn’t have cell phones or email. That didn’t change after they left, according to the postcards they sent. Guilt mail, I called it. The postcards arrived less and less frequently and ceased altogether a year later. Even if I’d wanted to speak to them, I wouldn’t have had a clue how to reach them. I did receive word a few days after my eighteenth birthday. It was a letter from a hospital in California stating that they’d succumbed to injuries sustained in a fire. They thought of me before they died, at least. Giving the staff my grandmother’s address.”
Their deaths had suffocated any shred of hope he’d harbored that one day they’d beg for his forgiveness and another chance to be proper parents. He’d also been denied answers he would’ve sought eventually, answers he could’ve processed as an independent adult that he couldn’t have as a disillusioned child.
“What about you?”
“I would relive Derek’s last day.” Her smile, the epitome of lost dreams, punched him in the gut. “I would’ve gotten up early and prepared his favorite breakfast. I would’ve gone to work late so we could share coffee and watch the sunrise. I would’ve hugged him—” her voice dropped to a whisper “—really hard. And thanked him for the time we had together.”
An uncomfortable sensation filled his chest. “You loved him.”
Her mouth twisted. “Why do you sound surprised? I wouldn’t have married him, otherwise.”
Brady dropped his gaze. He’d made a judgment call based on his own critical, skewed thinking.
“I can’t believe this,” she said slowly, her fingers curling into her palms. “You thought I was using him, didn’t you? For what? Money? It’s not like he was a trust-fund baby.”
His guilt ballooned. Brady knew the opposite was true. Derek, a.k.a. Matteo Giordano, was a key member of a multimillion-dollar dynasty.
“Some girls lose their heads over marines, especially pilots. Derek was a magnet for the shallow, social-climbing type. He dated many of them but was never serious. Until you. Your relationship went from zero to sixty in no time flat, and I assumed you were like the rest.”
Her face clouded. “You hurt him, you know. You were his best friend. He loved you like a brother. Because of your hang-ups, he had to walk a tightrope between us.”
Shame blazed through him, leaving his skin hot and dry. “I admit I was unfair—”
She held up her hand. “You were wrong to judge me and wrong to shut me out. You didn’t even give me a chance, Brady.”
Turning her back to him, she huddled agains
t the wall.
He felt like an ogre. The weight of his mistake became clear. He’d caused Derek and Olivia trouble, and there was nothing he could do to make up for it. He couldn’t rewind time.
Lord Jesus, You’re aware of my faults. I have a tendency to doubt others, to be critical. Please forgive me. Help me to...
Brady couldn’t finish the prayer because his thoughts were becoming disjointed.
Beside him, Olivia curled up on her side, her cast an improbable pillow beneath her cheek. The crazy thing was that he wanted to nap alongside her. Somewhere in the deep fog shrouding his brain, a warning sounded. Something wasn’t right.
He thought about getting a blanket from the lost and found for her, but his body wouldn’t respond. The overwhelming urge to sleep forced him to the floor.
I’ll just rest for a little while, and then I’ll get her a blanket.
* * *
Brady’s heart was going to explode.
He struggled to surface through the imprisoning fog. What was happening?
Think, Johnson.
The cold floor beneath him soothed his heated, sweat-coated skin. He pressed his hand against his chest in a vain attempt to slow his heartbeat. He felt like he’d just completed a twenty-five-mile marathon.
How long had he been out? Minutes? Hours?
Olivia.
With a grunt, he shoved onto his elbows. She was still curled onto her side.
Peaceful, he thought. No, not peaceful.
Red suffused her cheeks. Her forehead glistened. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Information clicked in his brain. Carbon monoxide poisoning.
He looked up and spotted the air vent.
The attacker wasn’t coming back.
“Olivia.” His voice lacked volume. Crawling closer, he shook her. “Wake up.”
She didn’t respond. There wasn’t enough oxygen left.
He placed his shaking hand to her cheek, regret bitter on his tongue. “I should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt.”
I’m sorry, Derek. By failing her, I failed you.
Colors faded from his vision, rendering the room in shades of gray.
Each breath was a fight for survival, each painful spasm of his heart a cry for more time.
Sorrow choking him, Brady lay down beside her and threaded his fingers through hers.
At least she wouldn’t be alone.
* * *
Frantic voices disturbed her numbing dreams. A hard, plastic object covered her nose and mouth and refreshing air rushed into her lungs. Why was she sleeping on the ground?
Disoriented, she opened her eyes and encountered chaos. Men in uniforms rushed into the closet with medical equipment while others barked orders into their phones.
“You’re awake.” The woman crouched beside her inserted an IV. “Your name’s Olivia, right?”
A gargled sound escaped. She couldn’t seem to form words.
“No need to answer. Just breathe and let the oxygen do its work,” she said, smiling. “I saw your name tag. You’re going to take a ride to the nearest hospital, Olivia.”
Hospital. Not again. She squeezed her eyes shut and searched her muddled mind.
She’d been talking to Leon when Brady showed up looking for something. A sweatshirt.
Brady!
It all came rushing back. The lost and found. This closet. Trapped.
Olivia’s eyes popped open, and she started to sit up. “Where—”
A firm hand pressed her down. “Don’t try to move. We’re bringing in a stretcher for you.”
She scooted her upper body in order to see past the woman, and a wave of denial washed over her. An unconscious Brady was being strapped to a backboard. He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t responding to oxygen.
He looked dead.
Open your eyes, she silently willed. Please, Brady.
Their last exchange couldn’t be the final one. She’d been hurt and angry. Was still hurt and angry. More the former than the latter, truth be told. His opinion mattered. He didn’t understand how much. He was so blinded by old wounds that he couldn’t see his true worth. Or gauge his effect on others.
He didn’t know that she craved his approval and friendship.
One of the EMTs working on him shook his head and said something to his partner. Their expressions were grave, as if they didn’t expect him to make it.
Her heart quailed. Her chest ached. She hadn’t given him a chance to apologize.
Brady can’t die, Lord. Not because he’s my last link to Derek and not because I’m the reason he’s in danger. He’s a good man. A charitable human being. An honorable marine.
The woman shifted to obscure her view. “Don’t worry, your friend is being taken to the same hospital.”
“What...happened?”
“From the looks of things, you’ve suffered carbon monoxide poisoning. The authorities will examine the ventilation system and determine the source of the malfunction.”
Malfunction?
“Ah, here’s your ride.”
While Olivia was being strapped to the backboard, Brady was carried out of the room and to a waiting ambulance. Then it was her turn. A throng of bystanders watched the procession. She recognized the head of security, Don Welch. He was talking to the custodian, Mr. Ludwig. The EMTs walked at a fast clip. Since the straps prevented her from turning her head, she wasn’t able to search for other familiar faces. Had the perpetrator hung around to make sure he’d achieved his goal? Would he conceal himself or remain in the open and pretend to be a concerned party?
Trying to answer impossible questions compounded the throbbing in her skull. After arriving at the ER, she was told Brady had regained consciousness and would spend time in a hyperbaric chamber, as would she. This would quickly replace the oxygen in their blood and tissues. Her immense relief was tainted by worry.
The attacker wouldn’t be happy his plan was thwarted. He wasn’t going to stop.
If he’d gotten to her inside the aquarium, he could get to her in the hospital. With staff, patients and visitors milling around, it would be easy for a criminal to blend in.
Surely Brady was out of danger, though. He’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time...right?
Olivia remained on high alert during her treatment. She studied every stranger who came near, trying to ascertain their motives. Help or harm?
When the nurse informed her that she would be admitted for observation, she balked.
“I can’t stay here.”
“It’s standard procedure.” She guided Olivia’s wheelchair into the deserted hallway. “We’ll need to measure your oxygen levels and other vitals throughout the night.”
The prospect of spending the night in a sterile room, vulnerable to attack from a hundred different sources, was untenable. She kept her thoughts to herself during the elevator ride to the patient floor. Once in her room, she listened to the nurse’s instructions without comment. As soon as she was alone, however, she located her bag of belongings, ducked in the bathroom and changed into her clothes.
The simple task left her light-headed. She exited the bathroom and immediately collided with a tall figure built of compact muscle. Firm hands closed around her upper arms and held her prisoner.
Olivia sucked in air and would’ve screamed if he hadn’t spoken.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Brady?” She angled her face up and drank in his striking features. In the darkened room, his eyes appeared more blue than gray—tumultuous cerulean seas. She belatedly noticed he was wearing his jeans, T-shirt and hoodie. “You’re dressed.”
“So are you.”
“You’re leaving?”
His hands glided slowly down her arms and cast before falling away completely. “I’m going home, and I
’d like for you to come with me. A buddy of mine has agreed to park outside my house overnight. He’s Force Recon. Nothing will get past him. He’s waiting downstairs to give us a ride.”
Her throat clogged with emotion. Tears threatened. He’d almost died because of her. Overwhelmed, she walked to the bed and sat down, grateful her loose hair slid forward and hid her face.
Brady waited a beat before joining her. The thin mattress sagged beneath his weight.
“Look, I can’t force you to come. I know you’re upset with me and rightly so. But you should know that I have an alarm system, a comfortable guest bedroom and a freezer stocked with at least five different flavors of ice cream.”
“I forgot about your addiction to dairy.”
“I wouldn’t want to live in a world without ice cream.”
One tear escaped, then another. She folded her arms tightly across her middle and worked on not falling to pieces.
“Liv?” His voice was quiet. Hesitant.
“I’m okay,” she gasped.
He scooted closer, until their arms and legs were touching, and very carefully swept her hair behind her shoulder. “No, I don’t think you are.”
That brought her head up. His intense gaze swept over her face. He frowned at the obvious tear tracks. Reaching behind him to the table on wheels, he snagged a tissue and held it out. His body heat warmed her, his nearness comforted her. What an odd reaction to the man she’d tiptoed around the duration of their acquaintance.
“I was wrong,” he said quietly. “Words are cheap, I know, but I truly am sorry. You asked if there was anything I would redo in life. I’d like to change my answer. If I had another chance, I’d go back to the night we met. I’d welcome you with an open mind and congratulate Derek on his good fortune.”
His remorse washed away the last of her anger. “I forgive you.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Can we start over? As friends?”
“You did save my life. That has to count for something.” Her attempt at lightheartedness wasn’t entirely successful. “If not for your quick thinking, we wouldn’t have made it.”