by Evie Hunter
Sinead bolted for the bathroom, barely making it inside before she threw up. She slumped, shivering on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, unable to move. She stared at the shower cubicle.
Was it only a couple of days since they had been there together, clinging to each other as the water pumped down on them? He couldn’t be gone. Please don’t let him be gone. She would put up with anything from the annoying Viking if he would return. Hell, he could question her non-stop for twenty-four hours and she wouldn’t complain. Please keep him safe. Keep him safe.
A hot tear ran down her cheek and splashed onto her knee.
‘Sinead.’ Andy tapped on the door and entered the room. He rinsed a washcloth in the sink and used it to wash her face. His gentle, oddly intimate gesture brought her back to reality.
‘Thanks,’ she murmured, raising her face for his deft ministrations. A memory flashed into her head of attending Sunday mass in Castletownberehaven with Granny O’Sullivan. Her grandmother always carried a proper linen handkerchief – no paper tissues for her – and she wielded it like a weapon when confronted with a snotty-nosed grandchild.
Satisfied that she was clean, Andy tossed the washcloth into the linen basket. ‘He’s not dead.’
‘You heard something?’
Andy shook his head. ‘No, I’ve heard nothing and that makes me sure that he’s still around. Besides, it would take more than a train to take down Niall Moore.’
He sat on the floor beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders and they sat in silence.
‘For a womanizing flirt, you’re actually a nice guy.’
Andy laughed. ‘For a stuffy museum curator, you’re not bad either. Everything will be okay, I promise.’
Her phone rang. Andy raced from the bathroom and she followed close on his heels. He snatched up the phone, knocking over a cup in his haste to answer it. Sinead stepped from one foot to the other, watching his face for clues, but apart from a narrowing around his eyes, his expression betrayed nothing.
‘Fine. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.’ Andy disconnected the call.
‘Well?’ Sinead poked him in the chest. ‘Tell me, before I have to hurt you.’
‘That was Reilly. There’s good news and bad news – there’s no body.’
‘Oh thank god for that.’ The urge to jump up and down was quashed when she realized that Andy wasn’t smiling.
Sinead closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear this. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘The bad news is that no one knows where he is.’
19
Niall caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, but it was enough. One moment, Sinead was there at the vending machine, the next she had vanished. Niall moved before his brain caught up with his reflexes. He had to find her.
An almost invisible maintenance door behind the vending machine was closing. Niall jammed his hand in before it could slam shut. Pain lanced up his arm, but he ignored it. He’d worry about broken fingers later.
He shoved his weight against the door, forcing it open and revealing a concrete corridor lit with intermittent red bulbs. And a large man whose form-fitting black outfit made him hard to see. He had his arm around Sinead, but she bit his hand, clenching her teeth hard enough to hurt him through his gloves. He cursed, a vaguely American accent that Niall couldn’t place, and Sinead screamed.
Niall lunged forwards, hauling Sinead free of the kidnapper’s grip. He pushed her out through the door onto the platform and turned back to the danger.
The other man didn’t wait for Niall to get his bearings. He swung his fist, a fast lethal jab that rocked Niall backwards.
It didn’t matter. Sinead was free. He spotted a familiar face. ‘Andy, get her to safety.’
Niall ignored their protests and concentrated on surviving.
Because this would be about staying alive. One operator would always recognize another, and Niall had no doubt that he was dealing with one of the most highly-trained spec-ops warriors in the world. In fact, he was pretty sure he already knew who he was dealing with.
‘Hall?’
The other man didn’t answer, except by drawing a MK3 diving knife, but his flinch was confirmation enough. J. Darren Hall.
Niall curled his left hand, and the agony in his fingers confirmed his suspicion that he had injured them. Mollycoddling could wait until he had time. Now he had to get out of here alive.
Hall’s blade flashed and Niall jumped back. In the closed corridor, he was at a disadvantage. He needed to get out onto the platform where he could use his height to advantage.
He lashed out with a front kick and feinted a punch. Hall dodged both with insulting ease, but came close enough for Niall to elbow him in the face. There wasn’t enough force to do more than rock Hall back, but it allowed Niall to move closer to the door.
He reached out to open it and was caught when Hall’s kick hit him in the nuts.
Fuck! He doubled over, fighting the need to puke. He saw Hall’s knife glinting in the red light above him as it descended, and he dropped to the floor, grabbing Hall’s knee and taking him down with him.
Hall fell through the doorway and Niall went after him.
They were evenly matched, both tall, broad shouldered and in remarkable physical condition. Except that Niall, dressed for a day out in Paris, was still smarting from the full body wax job, and had what felt like several broken bones in his left hand. And Hall was dressed in a Kevlar-reinforced bodysuit and armed with a diving knife.
It didn’t matter. This was a fight that Niall had to win. He attacked Hall, using his weight and agility to make up for the lack of weapons. He gouged at his eyes, one of the few weak spots, and accepted a punch in the kidneys as the price he paid.
They rolled over, first Niall on top, now Hall, locked together as close as lovers, but in an embrace that would end with one of them dead.
From the corner of his eye, he saw commuters frozen, unable to take their eyes off the combat. Andy and Sinead vanishing through the exit. The roar of a train.
The instant cost him. A cold burn along his ribs. Hall’s knife dripped blood.
Niall shoved his head up under Hall’s chin, exposing his neck.
Hall hooked his leg around Niall’s and heaved.
Fuck. Too late, Niall realized his danger. The edge of the platform caught him, and he tumbled onto the tracks, right in front of the oncoming train.
The train was the size of a mountain as it roared straight at him.
Desperately, Niall flattened himself onto the ground.
The electricity of the metro track half an inch from his arm made his hair stand straight up. The train engulfed him. The clearance was so tight he couldn’t breathe. Any movement of his chest resulted in a scrape from the metal edge of the engine.
Who needed to breathe? It hadn’t crushed him. Yet.
The train went on forever. Carriage after carriage raced by, moving incredibly fast, and yet far too slow. He didn’t know how long he could take this. Would the train ever end? His chest burnt. He had to breathe.
Over the noise of the metro, he was vaguely aware of sirens and screaming. Someone must have seen him go under and raised the alarm.
Even while his lungs fought against the need for oxygen, he calculated the logistics.
He couldn’t identify Hall with certainty as the man who had attacked Sinead and pushed him onto the tracks. Alerting the Gendarmerie wouldn’t do much good. It would tie him up in hours and hours of red tape, hours in which Sinead would be alone. Or worse, she would be with Andy.
The last carriage was still passing over him when he decided he would have to make sure he was not detained by the authorities. He couldn’t be around when the train was gone.
Fuck, this was going to hurt.
He grabbed a bar across the bottom of the train, and held on. The train dragged him along, and he held himself rigid against the bottom of the moving carriage, desperately trying to pr
event his back touching the ground and being ripped open by the motion. He clung on grimly, ignoring the agony, until darkness signalled the end of the metro platform and the beginning of a tunnel.
Finally, he was able to let go and lay there in the dark, dragging in deep breaths and wondering if there was any part of him that didn’t hurt.
He might have lain there for hours if the lights of another train hadn’t reminded him of where he was. Fuck, time to move unless he wanted to be run over again.
Painfully, he forced himself to his feet and flattened himself against the wall while the RER went past.
The rain beat incessantly against the windowpane and Sinead paced the apartment. She turned on the television again, desperate to see if there was any mention of what had happened in the metro station. Nothing. How was it possible that it wasn’t a headline?
Andy was on the laptop, tapping away furiously, occasionally barking orders into his phone.
She turned off the television, paced some more. Stopped.
‘Where could he be?’ she asked again. ‘Surely we should have heard something by now?’
Andy closed the lid of his laptop. ‘Don’t worry about the big guy. He’s come out of tougher situations than this. He’s a Ranger.’
‘Tougher than being run over by an express train? Are you out of your mind? I don’t care how amazing you Rangers are supposed to be, you can’t take on an RER and expect to win. You’re all flesh and blood, not titanium. You can be killed.’ She was aware her voice was rising and that she was getting hysterical.
She didn’t care. Niall had been run over by a train. She was entitled to a few hysterics.
‘Here.’ Andy sloshed some whiskey into a tumbler and gave it to her.
She took a sip and shuddered. It reminded her of the night she and Niall had sat in her apartment in Geneva drinking Bushmills. Was it really just a couple of days ago? She felt like she’d known him for a lifetime.
‘Got any ice?’
‘No, but I have something you’ll like better.’ Andy went to his room and when he returned he was carrying a bar of chocolate.
How had he known? Nothing would kill the uncertainty, but the sugar would calm her. Sinead pounced on it. ‘I love you.’
‘I know.’ He flashed her a perfect smile. ‘All the ladies tell me that.’
‘Any lady in particular?’ It was inconceivable that Andy didn’t have someone special in his life.
He mouth tightened briefly. ‘It’s hard when you’re in this game. I don’t like the idea of someone getting the call to say that I won’t be coming home. It’s better to stay free and easy.’
She broke off a square of chocolate while she considered that. ‘Do you all think that way?’
‘Some do,’ he acknowledged. ‘Getting involved with a client can be disastrous, especially for the client. In this game you need to think clearly all the time. Emotions cloud your judgement. Speaking of which, what’s going on with you and the big guy?’
Taken by surprise, Sinead coughed and had to set down her mug but she couldn’t prevent the scarlet flush that raced along her skin. ‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘That kind of nothing?’ Andy smirked. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’ll turn up.’
‘I am not worried about him.’ But her words sounded hollow, even to her own ears. She stared out the window. It was getting dark. Paris was lighting up and there was still no sign of Niall.
Please god, let him be safe.
Just then, the sound of a key in the lock startled them both. Andy was on his feet instantly, motioning her towards the bedroom. Sinead fled inside and closed the door. Her heart raced. It had to be him. Please make it be Niall. She opened the door a crack and peeked outside.
His clothing was stained and torn. A dark smear marked his cheek. He might have been a homeless person. She raced over and flung herself into his arms.
‘Easy, easy there,’ he murmured against her hair.
His clothing stank of oil and dirt but she didn’t care. She had never been so relieved to see anyone in her life. Sinead raised her head, a question on her lips, but the exhaustion on his face silenced her.
‘We can talk later. Right now, I’m shattered. I’ve spent hours in the underground wiring system, hiding from Hall’s people.’
She nodded. There would be time enough to hear the details. In the bedroom he dropped his filthy jacket onto the floor. His shirt, which had been pristine the previous afternoon, was caked with scarlet.
‘Andy,’ she screamed.
Andy came running and winced when he saw the blood-soaked shirt. ‘It’s dried in. Let’s get him into the shower.’ He took Niall’s arm and guided him into the bathroom.
It was then that she realized how unsteady Niall was on his feet. With the calmness of an ER doctor who had seen it all before, Andy untied the laces on his friend’s shoes and unbuckled his belt.
Sinead couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it. She hated blood, had always been terrified of the sight of it. Summer had teased her unmercifully about it when they were younger. A paper cut on her finger was almost enough to make her faint.
Niall swayed and braced his arm against the shower cubicle.
‘Sinead,’ Andy called. ‘I need you now.’
She hovered in the bathroom doorway, unsure what to do. ‘The b-b-blood,’ she stammered.
‘Jesus, get your act together, we don’t have time.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Get his pants and shoes off while I hold him up.’
She blinked. She could do this. It wasn’t the time to fall apart. Niall needed her. She focused on the buttons of his shirt. One, two, three. Each one accompanied by a shaky breath. The others were missing. What had happened to him? His pants were next. She unzipped them and then realized that she wouldn’t be able to get his shoes off. Sinead dropped to her knees and lifted his feet one by one, tossing the badly scuffed shoes into the corner. He wouldn’t be wearing them again.
‘Good … girl.’ Niall managed to get the words out.
While pulling down his pants a touch of black humour almost made her smile. She was kneeling before him, inches from his penis. On any other evening it would have been an erotic experience to be with him like that. Oh, you have it so bad. Focus.
She managed to get his pants off and reached for his boxers.
‘Leave them,’ Andy cautioned her.
‘Oh.’ The realization that they must be covered with blood, too, hit her like a mallet. She wanted to be sick.
‘Hold him steady while I fix the shower.’
Sinead planted herself, doing her best to hold him upright, but he was heavy.
Andy adjusted the temperature of the water to his satisfaction. He half carried Niall into the shower and helped him to sit, unwilling to take a chance that Niall would keel over. Soaked through, Andy hurried to the bathroom cabinet and rummaged until he found what he was looking for. He filled a glass of water and popped three pills into Niall’s mouth.
‘Do you want to kill him?’ Sinead said. ‘Those things are strong. You should take only one of them.’
‘He needs strong for what we have to do. We have to get that shirt off him. Fetch me a pair of scissors.’
Sinead swallowed. She wasn’t a field nurse but the evening was turning into a battlefield.
‘Sinead, now.’
She stood up automatically at the edge in Andy’s voice and ran to the kitchen. A search of the cutlery drawer produced a lethal-looking pair and she hurried back to the bathroom. The shower tray was awash with red as the dried blood mixed with the running water. Her stomach heaved. She couldn’t be sick. Not now.
Kneeling on the floor beside the shower, she handed the scissors to Andy.
Niall’s eyes were glazed and she wasn’t sure if it was from shock, or if whatever combination of pills Andy had given him was kicking in. Andy made deft work of the shirt. Cutting away the front and sleeves until only the back remained.
The red water turned pink and
finally clear. ‘This bit is going to hurt, bud.’
Niall clenched his teeth as Andy pulled the remains of the shirt away from his back.
Andy allowed the water to run for a little while before he turned it off. ‘Towels,’ he directed her. ‘Lots of them.’
She hurried to do his bidding and, between them, they managed to staunch the bleeding. They dried Niall off and helped him to his feet before staggering to the bedroom and easing him face down onto the bed. Only then did Sinead see the extent of the damage.
The livid bruises ran the length of his back. An array of red scrapes criss-crossed the spaces in between. ‘Jesus,’ she yelped. ‘You need a hospital!’
Niall groaned. ‘It’s nothing. Stop shouting.’
‘I am not –’ Then she realized that she was shouting and shut up. She wasn’t much of a nurse, but as long as he wasn’t bleeding, she could cope. While Andy went to get into dry clothing, she raided the medicine cabinet. Armed with an improvised medical kit, she returned to the bedroom.
Niall eyed her warily. ‘What do you think you’re doing with that? Can’t you leave a man in peace?’
Of all the idiot men. Did he think that she could leave him like that? Sinead rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be such a baby. What happened to you?’
‘An RER and I had a difference of opinion.’
‘And you lost.’ She found it difficult to keep the tremble out of her voice. This had happened to him because he tried to protect her. It was her fault.
‘No. I won. If I’d lost, I wouldn’t be here now.’
Sinead opened the kit and squeezed antiseptic cream onto her fingers. With soothing strokes and a few flinches from Niall, she covered the cuts on his back. Thankfully, none of them were too deep. Despite all the bleeding, he had somehow escaped any really serious injury. God, it turned out, had heard her prayers. She stroked his damp hair, raking her fingers between the tangled strands until they were smooth. Her touch seemed to soothe him. Gradually, the tight expression eased from his face and his eyes drifted closed.
Andy returned from cleaning up the bathroom. ‘Want me to sit with him?’