by Karin Story
The guard smiled, but even in the dimly lit hallway, Tom could see that it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, it seems I have. And to be honest, I'm surprised. I expected you to be a little more challenging than this."
A tingle of intuition spread through him. He needed to keep the man talking. "Well it's nice to know I can still throw out a few surprises now and then. Of course," he leaned against the wall, trying to be casual, "I was a little surprised to find you here, as well. What brings you slumming at the morgue? Seems pretty desperate for you to come here and poke around on our dead friend in there."
"Always a smooth one, aren't you? I'd heard that about you."
"Really? And what else have you heard?"
"That you like to play games. And that you're real good at talking your way out of anything uncomfortable. Except, you see…" the guard stepped closer, his hands steady on his gun, his eyes narrowed, "I'm on to your game." He flashed another smile, then motioned with the gun again. "Turn around. Now."
Bitterness surged through Tom, along with something dark and angry. But he held it in check. "I don't believe I care to turn around, thanks."
"I don't believe you have any fucking choice." The cold metal of the gun pressed against the base of his skull, just under his ear. He finally saw the guard's face. Handsome. Sophisticated. Thin lips. And blue eyes that had a death sentence written in them. "I said, turn around. Hands out. Slowly. Do it!" His last command echoed in the corridor.
Knowing he'd pushed his luck already, Tom turned.
A heavy booted foot kicked his legs apart.
He staggered from the blow, and pain shot through his injured leg, nearly causing his knees to buckle from the intensity.
"You sorry bastard. The game's up," a grating whisper sounded behind him.
The barrel of the gun moved off his neck, but before he could take a breath in relief, it was back. This time centered directly on the back of his head.
The anger inside him grew malignant, and he sucked in a deep, measured breath. Calm. He had to stay calm.
"Oh, thank God you're here!" came a high-pitched female voice from behind them."
Maris?
The guard froze. "What the hell?"
"I'm so glad you're here," she babbled, not sounding anything at all like herself. At least not from what Tom knew of her. "He kidnapped me from my house and made me come here with him."
"What?" the guard grunted.
Tom saw her out of his peripheral vision. Her eyes were wide, and she appeared to be trembling. What the hell was going on? She'd had a chance to stay safely hidden.
"Hold it right there, lady." The guard took a step backward, keeping them both in his line of site. He kept the gun trained on Tom, though.
But at least it wasn't pressed against his skull anymore. Tom turned slightly, to get a better view.
"Please, you have to help me," Maris said. "He made me come here with him. Then we got locked in. He threatened me. He told me that if I didn't come with him and do what he said, he'd kill me." Her voice sounded slightly hysterical now. She glanced at him, but her gaze flickered away quickly. Like she was guilty of something.
Guilty of what? A sick feeling began to grow in the pit of his stomach. It was followed by a rush of anger. What game was she playing?
"Please, help me," she said again to the guard, holding her hands out in supplication.
The guard frowned. Then he slowly raised the hand that wasn't holding the gun, and beckoned her toward him.
"Thank God," Maris breathed.
Damn her! In spite of his anger toward her, he couldn't take a chance that the guard might hurt her. He reached out and grabbed her as she passed, and jerked her up against his chest.
"Hold it right there!" the guard shouted. "Don't move! Let her go."
Tom turned so he was blocking the guard's view of her, trying to protect her. But she fought against him. "What the hell are your doing?" he hissed in her ear. "That guy is not what he seems."
She turned slightly and stared up at him, her eyes dark with a message he didn't quite understand. "Neither am I," she whispered.
A fist to his gut couldn't have hit him any harder. Ugly thoughts began cruising through his mind. Had she been leading him all the time? Had this whole thing been some kind of elaborate set-up to capture him, and she'd been in on it all along? Playing him for a fool?
"Let her go!" the guard demanded.
A part of Tom wanted to squeeze the truth out of her right here and now. Another part of him felt her betrayal in every breath he took.
"Let me go," she growled, as she fought to free herself from his grip.
Damn her. His chest squeezed from both hurt and fury. "Fine." He shoved her away.
Her brows drew together momentarily in what appeared to be sorrow. Then the expression was immediately gone and she turned to face the guard. She was a smooth operator.
"Get over here, lady." The guard motioned her toward him again.
Maris moved in that direction, with one last glance over her shoulder at him.
Then suddenly, she tripped, and before his eyes, she sailed directly into the guard.
A flicker of déjà vu rippled through him as the scene upstairs with the janitor came to his mind. But before the meaning of that thought could sort itself out, in that instant, like he was watching in slow motion, he saw Maris's knee come up and connect solidly with the guard's unsuspecting and unprotected groin. Then her booted foot was in the air, kicking at the guy's gun hand.
The gun sailed through the air and hit the concrete wall with a metallic thunk.
Reacting on instinct, before the guard could drop to the ground from Maris's brutal attack to his privates, Tom cold-cocked him.
The guard slumped to the floor in a heap.
Maris dragged in a deep, shaky breath and looked up at him. "Holy hell. That was close."
He stared at her as anger collided with fear inside him. "What in Christ's name is going on?"
Her eyes widened and she took a step backward. "He could have killed you. He was going to kill you, I thought. So I, uh…distracted him."
"You what?" His voice was little more than a growl.
Her face tightened and a dark flush spread up her cheeks. "Did you expect me to cower over there in the stairwell and watch him kill you? I distracted him. And it damn well worked, didn't it?"
Confusion, followed by a wave of lightheadedness hit him. He leaned a hand against the wall to steady himself. "Are you out of your mind? You distracted him? This guy," he nudged the man with his boot, "is no security guard. He could have killed you!"
"Well, he could have killed you first." She glared at him, one hand on her hip. "You know what your problem is? You can't stand the thought that I didn't stay hidden away like some kind of fainting female, can you? I damn well probably just saved your life, but can you thank me for helping? No. All you can do is stand there growling because you didn't get your way."
He felt his eyes narrow. "Baby, your actions tonight could have gotten us both killed. Still might, because your friend here is very likely a government agent. And when he wakes up and finds out his prey has escaped, there's going to be hell to pay."
Maris faltered. "Agent?"
"Yeah." He knelt down and methodically searched all the man's pockets. And found exactly nothing. Empty wallet. No keys. No identification except the access ID badge similar to the janitor's. Except this one had obviously been made instead of borrowed. It had the man's picture on it. But nothing else.
"What do you mean, agent?"
"I mean he's probably working undercover for one of the government agencies. FBI, ATF, DEA. He's got no identification on him, no jewelry, no distinguishing evidence of any type. No undercover agent will allow himself to be identified if he's caught."
As he rose to his feet he saw the wary, raised eyebrow look on her face.
"And just how would you know that?"
Tom paused and frowned. Good question. A question that dist
urbed him more than he was willing to admit. "It's common knowledge."
"Really? Wonder how come I didn't know it then." Her voice was soft. Taunting.
He ignored it. "Go see if you can find something to tie him up with. We need to get the hell out of here. We can use his badge."
Her look was enough to singe the hair off his head. She didn't move.
Then he sighed. "Please. Will you please see if you can find something to tie him up with?"
"Certainly. I'd be glad to." She turned on her heel and stalked away.
Tom snatched the guard's gun off the floor and turned it over in his hand. Nothing remarkable about it, nothing to identify its owner. It was your basic Sig Sauer 9mm. He popped out the clip, saw that it was full, and pressed it back into place. It would do. He tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
Maris returned with a couple of bed sheets she'd scrounged from somewhere. "This is all I could find. But we can cut them up." She dropped one on the floor, and clutched the other in one hand while she dug into the pocket of her jeans with her other hand.
"That'll work," he grunted, still more than a little pissed at her interference. He might have been able to get some information out of this guy, but now that was shot to hell.
As he studied the man, he heard a click, then the sharp tearing noise of fabric.
He glanced up and watched as Maris ripped another section of sheet, then stabbed a metal blade into the fabric to start another.
He rose to his feet, grabbed her wrist, and stared at the vicious-looking knife in her hand. A cold shiver of unease swept up his spine at the sight. The wicked, serrated-edged blade was roughly four inches long. Long enough to do some serious damage if someone knew how to wield it. "What's this?"
She jerked away from him like his touch burned her, and snapped the knife shut. "What?"
Before she could put it in her pocket, he latched onto her wrist again. He brought her resisting hand up within inches of her face. "This."
"What's wrong with you? I was cutting up the sheet, getting you something to tie him up with, just like you said." Her eyes glittered with irritation.
A loud thud on the floor above them brought both their gazes to the ceiling.
Then they heard the distinct sound of footsteps. Running footsteps. Of more than one person.
"The son of a bitch probably called for backup when he was in the morgue. Quick, tie him up," he ordered.
She dropped to her knees, rolled the guard to his side, and yanked his hands together behind his back. Tom set to work wrapping the torn sheet around the guard's ankles. He swore silently when once again he was confronted with not being able to use his left hand.
The guard groaned softly.
"He's coming around." Maris's hands worked faster, winding the sheet round and round, then tying it into several knots. She scrambled down to where he was, pushed his hands aside, and quickly cinched the sheet into knots there, as well.
The footsteps above sounded louder, accompanied by more thuds, like someone was slamming doors open.
"They're looking for someone."
"Us?" Maris whispered, her eyes wide.
"It's a damn good probability. Let's move it."
They dragged the guard into the closest alcove and propped him against the wall. When he moaned again and started to open his eyes, Tom slammed a fist into his face. The guard's head lolled to the side once more.
He saw Maris wince.
"Would you rather have him call out for help and let the whole world know we're here?" he snapped. "Grab his access badge." He gripped her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Come on."
A commotion at the top of the main steps at the other end of the hallway spurred them into motion. They ran up the steps to the back entrance.
Maris slid the ID badge through the card reader.
Tom held his breath for the half second that seemed like forever…then let it out in a huff when the light turned green.
"Hallelujah," Maris breathed.
But when she started to open the door, he pressed her aside and stepped in front of her, drawing the guard's gun. "Wait, they might be out there."
She nodded, and he said a brief prayer of thanks that she wasn't going to try to be Wonder Woman again. Then he said another quick one that they'd get out of here in one piece.
The racket behind them grew louder.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and peered around it.
The hall was dark and empty. It looked as if they'd come up near the loading dock exit.
"To the door. Move it."
Maris didn't balk. She darted across the hall. He followed, keeping his eyes fastened down the corridor where lights shone.
They burst out of the building and stumbled down the steps, then flattened themselves against an outer wall. It was drizzling, and he flipped up the collar of his jacket against the damp cold night air. Maris pulled her hood back over her head.
Shouts came from inside the building.
"We're going to have to make a run for it. See that clump of trees across the parking lot, the ones about fifty yards away?"
She nodded.
"That's our goal. Go!"
She took off, once again on fleet feet, and was halfway to the destination before he ever moved.
Pain shot up his leg as he ran, sending jolts of pure fire through his nerve endings. His chest ached as every breath he drew in expanded his injured ribs.
Maris beckoned to him from behind the trees. In the yellow glare from the streetlight, he could see the concern on her face.
When he drew up next to her, he was gasping for air, and hating himself for being so weak. He turned to look back at the brick building, and saw a light bobbing in one of the upstairs windows. But the door where they'd come out remained closed.
"Looks like they haven't figured out we're gone yet," he gasped. He tucked the gun away again, and bent over to try to relieve the piercing stab in his chest.
Just then the exit door banged open. A lone figure emerged, a tall, commanding presence, and swept a flashlight beam in an arc around the building and parking lot.
Shit.
"Don't move," he whispered, drawing Maris up against him, and pressing his back against the tree trunk.
He watched as the light dipped and swayed, coming only a few feet from their hiding place at one point. At long last, he heard the metal door clank shut, and he dared a peek to make sure it wasn't a trap.
All was silent.
He felt Maris's hand on his, her amazingly warm fingers wrapping through his. He stared down into her eyes, and in spite of his anger and misgivings about her earlier, there was something in those mysterious green depths that caused a deep-down longing inside him.
"You okay?" she whispered.
"I'll live."
Then they heard police sirens in the distance, growing louder with each passing second.
"Damn. We're just not going to get a break here tonight, are we?" he muttered.
"Come on," she said, tugging at his hand. "Let's make a run for my Jeep before they get here."
He pulled her back. "You're going to have to go to the Jeep on your own. There's no way I can make it ten blocks. You're safer without me anyway. Go. Run. I'll cover you."
Her eyes flared with that same annoyance he'd seen more than once, but before she could protest, he put a finger against her lips. "Listen to me, I barely made it here. I'm not going to be responsible for slowing you down and take a chance on them catching you. You go for the Jeep. I'll cover you, then find a place around here somewhere to hide until things quiet down."
Maris shoved his hand away and her annoyance turned into an out-and-out glare. "No. I'm not leaving without you."
The sirens screamed louder, and he could see the flash of blue and red reflected off the dark, rainy sky. A flame of fury sprang up in his gut. This woman was beyond impossible. She was a damned shrew.
But they didn't have time to stand here and argue. "Fine,
let's go," he growled, and hoped like hell his leg would cooperate for a little longer.
Before they'd gone another fifty yards, he knew he wasn't going to make it. "Go, Maris. Please, just go," he gasped out of his scalding lungs. Even talking caused sharp, stabbing pains to radiate through his chest. And his leg ached mercilessly.
She wrapped an arm through his. "We're going to make it to the street corner, okay? You can do it. I know you can." Her voice was calm, encouraging. Not shrew-like at all. And he wondered for a moment if maybe all his injuries were starting to make him lightheaded and he couldn't think straight.
He still heard sirens behind them, but Maris maintained a course in the shadows of the buildings they passed, and it didn't sound like anyone was in pursuit. Yet.
Suddenly, headlights loomed in front of them. She pulled them up against the stoop of a darkened brownstone.
But the headlights didn't pass by. Instead the car slowed as it neared them.
"Oh, my God," came Maris's surprised response. "I don't believe it."
The vehicle, a black Range Rover, pulled up to the curb directly beside them. The back door opened.
Maris started toward it.
"No!" He jerked her back.
She turned toward him with a smile that wrenched him inside out. "It's okay. It's the cavalry."
Tom stared at her, wondering if she'd lost her mind. Or maybe he had.
"Please," she said, standing on tiptoe and pressing an unexpected, gentle kiss to his mouth. "Trust me."
"Son of a bitch," he whispered, his lips burning, and his damn groin tightening.
Cursing himself a thousand times over for being a fool and for thinking with his dick, he followed her to the Range Rover.
Chapter 8
* * *
Maris nudged him into the backseat of the vehicle and slid in beside him. "We're in. Go!" she huffed, slamming the door.
The Range Rover smoothly powered into motion.
In the dim glow of the street lights, Tom got a view of the driver.
A woman.