by LENA DIAZ,
“Then why did we leave your room?” Her voice was panicked, high-pitched.
He held a finger to her lips, reminding her to whisper. “Because Buresh said Daniels was with him.”
“I don’t understand.” She remembered to whisper this time, but her voice shook with each word. “What does that have to do with—”
He waved her to silence again and crossed to the door. He put his ear against the wood, listening. Nothing, then...another shuffle, a shoe scraping across tile. Whoever was searching the rooms was maybe halfway down the hall. How many doors had he and Darby passed on their sprint from his room? Ten on each side, eleven? Twenty-two rooms to search. Not a lot when there was practically nowhere to hide in each room, other than under the bed or in the bathroom, maybe in the small closet behind each door.
They were running out of time.
He rushed back to her and tried to explain. “Daniels was assigned to guard you,” he whispered. “When the lights went out, he should have immediately gone into my room to check on you. That’s SOP, standard operating procedure.” He looked up again, mentally measuring the height of the ceiling. He could easily lift Darby up there. But how would he follow her up? He didn’t want to prop any furniture beneath the hole where they climbed up. That would be like a sign telling the bomber exactly where they were.
“Should we call Buresh back?” Darby asked. “Maybe he forgot about this SOP thing.”
“He didn’t forget, and there’s no point in calling him back,” he answered, only half paying attention to the conversation. There, the bathroom door. If he pulled it closed, and braced his foot on the handle, then used the top of the doorframe for leverage, he might be able to pull himself up into the ceiling.
“Why not?” Darby’s voice broke on the last word.
Rafe forced himself to focus on what she was asking. “Buresh can’t help us, neither can Daniels.”
“Why not? Why can’t they help us?”
“Because, by now, they’re both dead.”
* * *
DARBY STARED AT RAFE in horror. He’d just told her two police officers were dead, and now he was calmly holding out his hand, telling her to climb on his shoulders so he could lift her into the ceiling?
The man was insane. And he was asking her to do the impossible.
Climb into that black hole where he’d removed the ceiling tile.
The thought of going into that dark space, being cramped between the roof and the flimsy network of railings holding the tiles in place, had her stomach churning with nausea.
“Darby, we have to go now.”
She shook her head and backed up a step. She drew in a choppy breath, then another, and risked a quick glance up. No, she wouldn’t do it.
She couldn’t.
Rafe frowned and dropped his hand. “What’s wrong?”
“I just...can’t...I can’t go up there. I can’t.” She ran to the door.
Rafe grabbed her before she could open it. “We can’t go out in the hall,” he whispered furiously, his blue eyes blazing at her. “He’s armed. I’m not. It’s too risky. Our only chance is to go through the ceiling, but only if we do it now.”
“We can call Buresh. Maybe you’re wrong about him.”
“Buresh told me to follow SOP. That was his way of warning me he was under duress. If he could help us, don’t you think he’d be here by now?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. He pulled her toward the end of the room beneath the opening in the ceiling. “We could wait here for help, but I’m not going to bet my life, or yours, that help will arrive in time.”
As Darby stared at the small dark hole in the ceiling, her world began to spin. Black dots swirled in front of her eyes and she had to sit on the floor to catch her breath.
Rafe crouched beside her, a look of surprised understanding on his face. “You’re afraid of the dark, aren’t you?” His voice sounded incredulous. “Who would have thought a psychologist would be afraid of the dark?”
She stared at the floor, deeply embarrassed. “It’s not just the dark. I’m not...comfortable...in tight spaces.” She didn’t dare look at him again. She knew what she’d see—the same condemnation she’d seen in his eyes the last time they’d crossed proverbial swords in a courtroom.
“Okay, we’ll do it your way.”
She looked up, certain she couldn’t have heard him right.
“I may not understand your fear, but I can see it’s real. We’ll figure out another way.” His brows drew down. “If we have to go through the door, we’ll go through the door. We’ll have to work our way down the hall, one room at a time, until we get to the exit. But our timing will have to be perfect. We’ll have to run into the hall each time the gunman goes into a room, so he doesn’t see us. And we can’t make any noise.”
Darby remembered the way her own hospital room door had squeaked when she’d opened it to go to Rafe’s room. What if one, or more, of the doors they had to go through squeaked, too? The gunman would hear it. They’d be trapped.
She watched in silence as Rafe crossed to the tray that had been beside the bed before he’d moved the bed to block the door. He snapped off the mirror, just like she’d done in the other room. He hurried to the door and got down on his hands and knees, wincing but not slowing down even though his head was obviously hurting. He slid the mirror under the edge of the door.
The man had almost been killed protecting her. And yet, here he was, willing to put himself at risk again even though he felt there was a safer option.
All because of her stupid fear of dark, tight spaces.
Fisting her hands beside her, she forced herself to look up at the ceiling. That dark opening wasn’t a hole. She couldn’t think of it that way. No, it was an escape hatch. And the tiles surrounding the hole were just, what? Some kind of foam board? Rafe had already explained they were just going to crawl across the beams that supported the ceiling, not across the grid holding up the tiles. The grid wasn’t strong enough to support them. If she panicked, and had to get out, all she had to do was drop through one of the tiles. It wasn’t as if she’d really be trapped.
There weren’t any musty, cold stone walls up there.
Or water dripping all around her.
Or the scurrying of rats as they brushed against her in the dark.
She shivered and clenched her teeth together.
This wasn’t a well.
She wasn’t a scared little girl again, trapped, waiting, crying for help. She wouldn’t have to pull herself up the wet, slimy walls, inch by inch, grasping for holds on rocks that cut her fingers until they bled.
She glanced down at the tiny white lines on her fingers, lines that would never let her forget. She fisted her hands together.
This wasn’t a well.
Muted footsteps sounded in the hallway, louder, closer.
Darby’s gaze flew to Rafe.
He was motionless by the door, staring into the mirror. He stiffened and jerked back, noiselessly pulling the mirror back inside the room. When he turned toward her, and she saw the grim look on his face, she knew what she had to do.
She had to climb into that hole.
* * *
WHAT RAFE HAD SEEN in the hallway was the dark silhouette of the gunman, holding the gun with practiced ease in front of him, far closer to their room than Rafe had expected.
He cursed Buresh beneath his breath for not leaving him a weapon.
Using some oxygen tubing he’d pilfered from a drawer beside the bed, he finished securing his hospital gown tightly against his waist. It made more sense to completely strip the gowns off both him and Darby, so the cloth wouldn’t hang down and get in their way when they climbed through the ceiling. But Darby had been so horrified when he’d suggested it that he’d settled for tying their gowns using oxygen tubing and the telephone cord.
After lifting Darby up into the ceiling, Rafe pulled himself up after her and settled on top of a crossbeam. A noise sounded from below, a whisper
of sound.
Rafe hurried to secure the tile back in the ceiling. “Come on,” he whispered against Darby’s ear. “This way.” The tiny gaps between the ceiling tiles and the railings allowed enough light in for him to plan their escape route. He could see the end of the hallway thirty feet away. If he could get Darby to that wall, they could drop down into the stairwell.
Halfway to his goal, he glanced back and realized Darby hadn’t followed him. She was still crouched on her hands and knees exactly where she’d been when he’d lifted her into the ceiling. He motioned for her to join him, but she didn’t react. Her eyes were open but even though she was staring at him, she didn’t seem to see him.
Carefully turning around on the beam, he went back to her. There wasn’t any sound from the room below. Was the gunman still there? If Darby had followed him across the beam, they’d already be over another room by now, and it wouldn’t matter.
Rafe leaned down close to Darby’s face. Her eyes were glassy and she was motionless, like a statue. Pressuring her to climb into the ceiling had been a mistake. Her fears were far more serious than he’d realized. Somehow he had to get through to her, to bring her back.
He gently brushed her hair out of her eyes, ran his fingers across her warm, soft skin. No reaction, just that scary, glassy stare. He couldn’t even risk whispering to her with the gunman below.
Come on, Darby. Look at me. See me. You can do this.
Her body started to shake. She let go of the beam beneath her and wrapped her arms around her waist. Rafe grabbed for her, barely catching her before she could fall. If he let her go now, she’d fall sideways right through the ceiling tiles, right into the shooter’s line of sight.
A noise sounded below. The creak of the bathroom door opening.
Darby’s eyes widened, and she let out a low moan.
Rafe did the only thing he could do. He clamped his mouth down on hers to stifle the sound.
The response was intense, immediate.
But not from Darby.
Rafe’s pulse kicked into high gear. Blood pumped away from his brain to another part of his anatomy. As if his hand had a life of its own, it spanned down her back, cupping her bottom.
It had been a long time since he’d held a woman. That was the reason he suddenly wanted to tear off Darby’s ridiculous and completely adorable hospital gowns. That was the reason he wanted to trace his tongue down the curve of her neck, taste the salty sweetness of her skin.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with a gunman below. And certainly not when the woman whose lips were pressed against his didn’t even know he was there.
He started to pull back, but Darby followed. She leaned forward, her lips parted as she reached her hands up and pulled him back toward her. That was all the encouragement he needed. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, delighted when she moved against him in response. She sucked lightly on his tongue, and his body throbbed against her softness.
She jerked back, and Rafe had to grab her arms to keep her from falling off the beam. Her wide eyes stared at him in horror, as if being held by him was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
That horrified look was like a bucket of ice water, and suddenly he was just as horrified as she was. How could he have gotten so wrapped up in her that he’d completely forgotten about the gunman?
Her eyes flashed at him and she pushed him away, holding on to the beam again. She looked as if she was ready to give him a furious lecture.
He clamped his hand over her mouth. He looked down toward the room below, then back at her, until her eyes widened with understanding. He slowly eased the pressure of his hand against her mouth, then held a finger in front of his lips, letting her know to be quiet.
When she nodded, he half turned on the beam and pointed to the far end, waving for her to follow him.
She blinked as if only just then realizing where they were. When she didn’t move, he grabbed hold of the beam above his head, and maneuvered himself until he was sitting on the beam behind her. He reached down and caressed her bottom. The moment his hand touched her, she jerked and began to crawl across the beam toward the far wall. He gritted his teeth, not at all flattered that she found his touch so distasteful.
Her fears froze her in place twice again, and each time, he ran his hand lightly across her bottom, shocking her into moving forward. By the time they reached the wall, he was hard and aching. This was a heck of a place and time for him to realize that Dr. Darby Steele had a smoking-hot rear end.
At the far wall, she clung to one of the crossbeams, her eyes closed, her entire body shaking.
Sympathy curled inside him. Something terrible must have happened to give her such a deep-seated fear of dark, enclosed places. He pressed his lips next to her ear. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you to climb into this ceiling. But it’s almost over now. All we have to do is drop down onto the stairwell landing and we’re home free. Okay?”
And just like that, she was gone again. She’d retreated back inside herself, her mind blocking out her fears, taking her to a place where she was safe.
Rafe listened intently. He hadn’t heard any sounds from below, or any creaking doors opening again, as he and Darby had worked their way across the beam. He hated going down into the stairwell blind, but he wasn’t about to sit and wait for gunfire to come strafing up from below, either. They were far too vulnerable and exposed up here.
Curling his fingers around the ceiling tile directly beneath the beam he was sitting on, he quietly lifted it. The landing below was all clear. But there wasn’t anything for him to use to climb down. He would have to lower Darby down first, then drop down after her.
He pulled her onto his lap. She didn’t react. She just gave him that same glassy stare she’d had before. He scooted forward and braced his legs on two crossbeams, with the opening in the ceiling centered between his thighs.
“I’m going to lower you down into the light,” he whispered. “No more dark, tight places, okay?”
She didn’t even blink.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, he cradled her in his arms and held her over the hole. He gently released her legs, then held her under her arms, carefully lowering her. He bent down as far as he could, sliding his hands to her biceps, then her forearms, until her feet were dangling just a few inches off the floor. Still, she didn’t move. Her breath came in short, choppy pants.
He hated to just let her go, but he had no choice. He released her hands, grimacing when she crumpled onto the concrete landing. He swung out over the opening and dropped down beside her, praying he hadn’t hurt her by letting go.
He started to pick her up when the door to the landing flew open. He shoved Darby behind him as a man stepped through the opening, gun in hand, pointed straight at him.
Jake.
Rafe sagged with relief. Had he and Darby been running from a fellow police officer this entire time?
“I’m sure glad it’s you.” Rafe grinned, but his smile faded when Jake remained silent and continued to point the gun at him.
“Jake?”
The sound of booted feet clomping up the stairs sounded from below. Jake and Rafe both looked over the railing. The SWAT team had finally arrived.
Jake gave Rafe an odd look, then holstered his gun. “Detectives Jake Young and Rafe Morgan are up here,” he called out. “This floor is clear.”
The SWAT team stopped on the landing. “We’ll do a sweep, just to be sure. We’ve cleared the lower floors.” He looked at Darby. “Is she okay? Does she need a medic, sir?”
Rafe scooped Darby into his arms. “I’ll take her to the E.R. and have her checked out.”
“Officer Terry will escort you to the elevator on the next level down, sir, while we sweep this floor.”
Jake and the SWAT officer led the way down the stairs to the next landing.
The SWAT leader held the door open.
Jake’s mouth tightened as Rafe approached him with Darby cradled to his ch
est. Jake glanced at Darby, then jerked to the side to allow Rafe to pass.
Rafe wasn’t sure what to make of his brother-in-law’s reaction, but he didn’t have time to think about it now. He needed to get Darby help. The SWAT officer led him down the long hallway, through the double doors to the bank of elevators. Rafe stepped inside the nearest one and punched the button for the first floor.
As the doors began to close, Jake stepped in front of the elevator, his eyes intent, his hands clenched into fists. Rafe didn’t bother holding the door for him.
Chapter Five
Dawn was still a few hours away, which had Rafe itching to leave the hospital. He wanted to get Darby out of here, into hiding, before the bomber came looking for her. But he couldn’t do that until the doctors cleared her to leave.
She wasn’t critical, and wouldn’t even be in the intensive care unit except that Rafe had insisted. She’d woken up from that trance almost as soon as he got her to the E.R., which was a huge relief. But a psychiatrist was in with her now. And since the walls in the ICU patient rooms were all glass, this was the perfect place to watch over her, even though Rafe was currently standing in another patient’s room directly across the hall—Captain Buresh’s room. Buresh had proved to be harder to kill than Rafe had given him credit for.
“I thought you were here to see me, but I guess I was wrong.” Buresh’s voice sounded weak but amused.
Rafe dragged his gaze back to Buresh. “About time you woke up. You look like hell.”
“You don’t look so great yourself. The way you’re frowning, I expect you still have a devil of a headache. And you look like you’re ready to fall down from exhaustion.”
“I’m fine.”
Buresh snorted. “I bet the doctors disagree with you.”
Rafe didn’t bother to respond. Buresh knew him well enough to know he wasn’t one to follow doctor’s orders. He grabbed a plastic chair from across the room and dragged it over to the bed. He straddled the chair and rested his arms across the back. “I’ve heard a few of the details, but I want your version. What happened after you left my room last night?”