“A quick look, then we’ll call.” She headed through the door at the end of the hall, bypassing the elevator as she started down the steps. “What’s wrong with you?”
Hell, there were a number of ways to answer that, he thought without humor, but he could see there was no stopping her. “What if whoever did this is still inside the building?”
“Then it can’t be my uncle, can it? We just left him at the hospital.”
“McKella—”
“Why would Paul stick around? He’s already got what he came for.” She entered the corridor. “We’ll just take a quick look, I promise.” She reached the lab, ducked under the police tape and entered the crime scene.
“What else do you keep in the vault?”
“Chemicals. Experiments. I don’t really know. It isn’t all that big.”
“Would a person fit inside?”
“Sure. There’s room for two or three people. Why?”
“Just a thought” A nasty one. No point in adding to her worries, but he couldn’t help thinking that a vault was a great place for a person to hide. “Who has access?”
“Just the people who work here. Six—no, seven, total.”
McKella came to a halt with a muttered imprecation. Greg didn’t have to ask why. In the beam of her light, they could clearly see the vault standing open before them.
“Greg, it was closed earlier,” she whispered.
Hairs lifted on the back of his scalp as she started forward. “McKella, don’t go in there.”
As he reached to push her aside, someone lunged at them from the inky blackness. The flashlight flew from McKella’s hand, crashing to the floor, plunging the room into complete darkness.
Hard fingers grasped his arm like a vise. Greg wrenched himself backward in an effort to break that bruising hold. He heard the pop as sudden pain swamped him, and his left arm suddenly dangled, useless. A blow landed across his back, catching his damaged shoulder. He collapsed to his knees, scraping his leg. Trying to block the pain, his right hand searched for something to use as a weapon.
There was the sound of another scuffle. McKella!
A flash of orange flame licked the darkness in a deafening roar of sound. Greg tried to get to his feet. McKella cried out and then the sounds abruptly stilled.
“Stay where you are or I’ll kill her,” a voice announced.
Greg froze in recognition. Where had the bastard gotten a gun? “Kill us, and who will you blame this time, Jason?” He baited the man in an effort to draw attention away from McKella. He couldn’t see a thing.
“Shut up!” Jason yelled.
But if Greg couldn’t see, then neither could his opponent. Another commotion began. Greg surged to his feet.
“Ow,” Jason yelled. McKella was fighting back.
The sound of a slap sent Greg lunging forward. The second gunshot seemed to reverberate in his head. He crashed into the two struggling bodies and his weak leg buckled without warning. He heard the gun clatter to the floor as his bad shoulder struck the frame of the heavy vault door. Waves of pain rolled over him.
McKella yelped. Greg tried to rise—and failed. She stumbled over him and went sprawling face down. He scrambled toward her, pain screaming through his body as he bumped against a shelf.
They were inside the vault.
He twisted around as the heavy door slammed shut against his shoulder. The pain was so intense, he closed his eyes, unable to move.
“Greg! Don’t you dare be dead!” McKella rushed to his side. Her arms tugged at him, adding to his pain.
Greg moaned. “Not dead,” he managed past gritted teeth. She’d lifted him so that he was half sitting, half lying, his head nestled against the softness of her breasts.
“Any…other time…I’d enjoy this,” he panted past the hurt. “You okay?”
A tear splashed against his cheek. McKella was crying. McKella never cried. She was strong. He’d kill her husband with his bare hands.
“You fool,” she sobbed brokenly. “You had to go and be a hero. Where did he shoot you?”
Greg tried to shake his head and found he couldn’t. Her hands pinned him in place, but pain kept him from appreciating the position.
“Need…your help,” he got out.
“Tell me what to do.”
“Shoulder.”
“He shot you in the shoulder?”
“No…dislocated again, damn it.” He sucked air past his gritted teeth. “You’ve got…to put it back.”
She pulled away, inadvertently jerking his entire body. “Are you crazy? I’m not a doctor. I barely passed CPR training.”
Greg used his right arm to lever himself all the way into a sitting position. The movement was sheer torture. “Heart’s fine,” he pushed out, “but…if you don’t want me to pass out…” Greg battled the rising nausea.
McKella reached for him. Her fingers traced a path down the side of his face and neck. They skimmed across his shoulder and stilled when they reached the socket. “Oh, my God, Greg.”
“Just…push it…back in place.”
“I can’t!” But her fingers continued to explore the injury with delicate care, tracing the joint and the damage.
He leaned his head against the metal door, thankful for the cool sensation as he summoned the effort to insist that she had no choice. Still protesting, McKella shifted positions and bumped his bad leg, once more jarring his body.
Greg groaned and sank into a well of pain.
“GREG! OH DAMN.” McKella bit down on her lip, tasting blood. She’d barely touched him. Dear God, how was she supposed to pull his shoulder back into its socket? She’d never be able to do this.
He uttered a sound of distress.
“Greg! Wake up. You have to tell me what to do.”
“Not…sleeping. Get…behind.”
She scooted around behind him, careful this time not to bump his body.
“Have to…feel your way. Pull down…then back up. Nurse…leaned me over a gurney…last time.”
“We don’t have a gurney!”
Greg didn’t respond.
“Greg?”
All she could hear was the labored sound of his breathing. Had he passed out? Oh, God.
Crying, cursing, she propped the back of his head against her chest. A shelving unit dug into her back, but she welcomed the leverage.
Taking his injured shoulder in both hands, she inhaled deeply. Before she could change her mind, she forced the joint out and down, then back up, with a strength she hadn’t known she possessed. She cursed as he cried out, terrified that she was doing him irreparable harm. With a sudden snap the injured socket reconnected. Greg slumped against her chest, unmoving. McKella leaned her head back against the metal shelf and sobbed.
“McKella,” he whispered hoarsely after a while, “it’s all right. You did good.”
Though she heard his quiet words, she couldn’t stem the flow of tears. She cried for Greg, for her father, for the faces of the two dead women who would haunt her nightmares. She cried for herself and her gullibility—and her sense of utter helplessness.
Greg shifted and groaned. “McKella, sweetheart, you’ve got to stop crying. We need to get out of here.”
She wasn’t sure that she could take any more. This nightmare just went on and on. Wiping at the stream of tears with the back of one hand, her other hand traced the path of his shoulder.
“My shoulder’s fine, McKella, but I banged up my bad leg when I fell. I think it’s bleeding. Where’d he get a gun anyhow?”
“Uncle Larry had one in his safe.” Unable to see anything in the encompassing darkness, McKella felt her way down his body to check his leg.
“I wish you’d do that sometime when we’re not in the middle of a crisis,” he rasped in an obvious effort to tease her.
McKella hiccuped a laugh despite her tears. “Wait here,” she directed.
“What’s my other option?”
McKella swept the concrete floor with her hands
, moving away from him to widen the search.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking for the flashlight.”
“Are you sure it’s in here?”
“No.” Her fingers found something, but it wasn’t a flashlight. She released the object and continued, moving slowly, carefully.
“You sure do know how to reassure a man.”
“Being reassuring is your job. I’m supposed to be the helpless woman here.”
“Ha! A mama bear should be so helpless.”
She tried to match his banter, because talking held her terror at bay. “Are you commenting on my grouchiness now, Wyman?”
She heard him shift position, heard another indrawn hiss of air and prayed he wasn’t seriously hurt. She continued to sweep layers of dust from the floor with her bare hands.
“Wouldn’t think of it,” he told her. “And if I did, I sure as heck wouldn’t say so out loud.”
“Smart man.” Her fingers closed over the rubber haft of the flashlight. “Got it!” She fumbled for the switch. Nothing happened. “Work, you worthless piece of junk.” She cursed again and gave the object a harsh shake, knocking it against the floor. A beam of light flickered, then held steady, illuminating their tiny prison.
“Impressive,” Greg told her. “Whenever I curse like that, I fear lightning bolts. You get light.”
McKella swung the beam toward his face, and he shut his eyes. She immediately lowered the light, but not before seeing how pale and drawn his features were. She ran the beam down his body to his thigh. Blood soaked his jeans around a jagged tear that went straight across the outside edge.
“You cut yourself,” she told him.
“Yeah. It hurts.”
She tried for a light tone to cover her fear. “Don’t be a baby.”
“I’m a man, it’s my God-given right.”
McKella laughed out loud. Greg was incorrigible and outrageous, but he did know how to take the tension out of the situation.
“It had to be my bad leg,” Greg muttered.
“Well, you wouldn’t want two bad legs now, would you?”
“Good point. I’ll try to remember that in my agony.”
McKella chuckled again as she knew he’d meant her to do. She stood and looked at the door. “If you can move over a bit, I’ll get us out of here.”
“Nice trick if you can do it.”
“The vault only locks from the outside,” she assured him. “The purpose is to keep strangers out, not employees in,”
Greg shifted as she stepped around his injured leg and pulled the handle. Nothing happened. She yanked down once more, putting weight behind her movement. Still nothing.
“Problem?”
“It isn’t opening.”
“I can see that. Let me try.”
“Don’t stand up, you’ll do more damage to…”
Greg used his good hand on the shelving unit to climb to his feet, but the effort that action took was reflected in the sound of his harsh breathing. He applied his good shoulder against the door. The metal didn’t budge even when McKella added her weight.
“Heat from the fire may have jammed something,” he suggested. “Or else Jason set something heavy against the outside. Either way, I don’t think we’re going anywhere real soon.”
Greg turned his back to the door and slid back down. “I don’t suppose we have a roll of gauze and some tape in here anywhere?”
McKella directed the flashlight to the orderly shelves. “We’ve got packing tape. No gauze. If I had some scissors I could cut off the bottom of my jumpsuit.”
“That sounds promising. I’ll help.”
“You would.” She sat down next to him. “Don’t worry. Ralph will come looking for us soon.”
“You’re making the assumption that he’s in a condition to come looking,” he muttered.
The veiled suggestion that Paul might have harmed the friendly guard brought McKella’s feeling of horror rushing back.
“Hey, you okay?” Greg asked.
She focused on his face. “Peachy. How about you?”
“My head hurts, my back hurts, my shoulder hurts and my leg alternates between burning pain and cramped aching. I’d say I’m doing pretty good.”
“You’re hopeless.” McKella rose, flashlight in hand.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“To check the files we came in here for.”
“They won’t be there.”
Greg was right. The printed files were gone, as was the sample tray. “He’s going to sell Ben’s process, isn’t he?”
“He’s going to try.”
“I wish I had kicked him harder and higher.”
“Me, too. Pull up some concrete.”
McKella frowned. “How come you aren’t worried?”
“Don’t kid yourself. I’m plenty worried, but there isn’t a thing we can do right now.” His voice betrayed his strain. “Besides, here we are, all alone. I could have my wicked way with you.”
She plunked down beside him. “I detect a serious lack of menace here.”
“Hey,” he protested.
“One wrong move and I only need to aim for your leg or your shoulder for all your brave talk to be history.”
Greg heaved a theatrical sigh and winced in earnest. “I hate an intelligent woman.”
“Not so intelligent,” she argued morosely. “I married Paul.”
He reached for her hand. “But you saw through him. You never loved him.”
“I never loved him, but I didn’t see through him, Greg. I didn’t believe a word you said at first.”
“Seducing women is what he does for a living, McKella.”
Small comfort for her wounded pride. “If he seduced women for a living, then how come he couldn’t bear to—?” She bit back the words, but not soon enough.
“Couldn’t bear to what?”
“Nothing.”
“He couldn’t seduce you?”
McKella squirmed, searching for a topic to divert him. His fingers trailed up her arm, sending currents tingling through her.
“Don’t be embarrassed, McKella,” he said softly. “That just proves my point. He knew you could see through his act every time he touched you.”
Greg reached across her body, making her jump. She caught his knowing expression before he clicked off the flashlight. “Let’s save the batteries in case we need them later.”
“Greg—”
“Besides, it’s cozier this way. Reminds me of Bermuda—before the storm hit.”
The last thing she wanted to be reminded of was Bermuda. And she was already too aware of him for any degree of comfort. She wiggled a bit and he slid his good arm around her, pulling her closer.
“Greg—”
His hand stroked her arm.
“Greg, this isn’t wise,” she felt compelled to point out, but she didn’t move away from his soothing touch.
“I’m in no condition to do more than talk at the moment.”
“Good. Then you can answer questions I have a million of them.”
“I have a better idea.”
His hand moved to the nape of her neck, fingers sliding through her hair until he cupped the back of her head. The sensuality behind his action shocked her, even as his other hand held her face. In the utter darkness of the vault, she was unable to see his shape, let alone his expression, but she could feel the crisp whorls of hair on his hard chest.
“We’ll get to your questions…later,” he promised. The low timbre of his voice threaded the darkness, entwining them in intimacy. “I need to run an experiment, first.” Gently, he pulled her head towards him.
“But—”
“Hush.” His breath whispered across her cheek, brushing her skin, somehow circumventing her internal alarms. McKella shivered, pulling his head to hers.
“Your skin is so soft, ‘Kella,” he murmured against her lips. “Soft—” he nipped the lower lip ever so lightly with his teeth “—sweet�
�� he licked the spot he had just nipped “—tantalizing.” And then his lips were there, demanding a response that she found herself anxious to give.
His tongue invaded her mouth, stroking her to incredible passion. She moaned, undulating in an effort to get closer to the source of such pleasure. Her hands roamed his back, her straining nipples pressing against the thin materials that separated her from the hard wall of his chest.
So this was how it should be.
“What are you doing to me?” she whispered when his lips drew back.
Greg made a sound like a strangled chuckle. “If you don’t know, then he was a worse lover than I thought.”
Like ice water, the words doused her, shaking her from her sensual haze. “This can’t be happening.”
“It’s not anymore,” he said in resignation.
“That isn’t funny. Why did you kiss me?”
“I had the impression the kiss was a mutual undertaking.”
“No. I mean, it was, but it shouldn’t have been. I’m still married.”
“To the wrong man.”
His low voice was coated by rough edges, but it was his next words that sent tremors through her nerves.
“You can’t keep throwing that marriage in my face forever. When this is over, McKella, when your husband is no longer a barrier, we’ll finish what we just started.”
“I barely know you.” She cursed her voice for giving away her uncertainty.
“You know me,” he said quietly. “I’m the man who’s falling in love with you.”
Her stifled gasp hung in the silence. Emotions flowed through her, too quick to catalog. “You can’t love me.”
“I agree. It defies common sense. I should be running for safety. I plan to die a bachelor, you know.” The quaver in his voice belied the teasing tone.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “Your bachelorhood is safe from me, no matter what happens. Once I’m free of Paul, I intend to remain free. I wouldn’t marry again at gunpoint.”
“Fine, no shotguns.”
“I’m serious, Greg.”
He sighed. “Okay, we’ll just live together…until the children come.”
Images clashed with her resolve. She had wanted a child so badly. But having Greg’s baby was…unthinkable. This hollow yearning sensation must be born of fear, not desire.
Married In Haste Page 16