“You couldn’t stop me after the crash. You can’t stop me now, Dunham.” He knew Elliot’s name? Of course he did. He knew everything about them it seemed. Her name, where she worked, knew Elliot. A sharp hiss escaped the lighter as the attacker who’d run them off the road ignited the flame. No. No, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. “Dr. Hargraves isn’t walking out of this building alive. Nothing personal.”
It sure seemed personal to her.
Her kidnapper dropped the lighter.
“No!” Elliot launched forward.
She screamed through the tape as her captor bolted for the lab’s side door. Flames ignited all around her, the heat instantly too much to take. Fists clenched, she pulled at the tape around her wrists, but where there’d been leeway before, she couldn’t break the binding. Elliot pulled up short outside the ring of flames. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. He couldn’t get through. Couldn’t get to her without getting burned. Black smoke climbed toward the ceiling as one of the nearby desks caught fire. The sprinklers would put out the flames before they reached her. Everything would be okay.
“Waylynn!” Elliot holstered his weapon, then covered his face as the fire lashed out at him.
She wedged her toes against the floor and tried to push away from the flames. In vain. Her abductor had sandwiched her between a lab desk and the ring of fire. There was no way out. Why hadn’t the emergency system responded? No alarms. No sprinklers. A sob broke through the panic and she closed her eyes. No. She couldn’t die like this. Blue-based flames inched their way toward her as the linoleum beneath the alcohol melted from the heat.
“Hang on, Doc.” Elliot covered his mouth and backed up a few feet. “I’ll get you out of here.”
He was going to jump through the fire to try to save her. He’d burn right in front of her and there was nothing she could do to help him. No. He needed to get out of here. Needed to go after the shooter who’d put a bullet in his shoulder. Waylynn shook her head, pressing herself back into the chair. She flexed her jaw, worked at the tape around her mouth. Heated air burned down her esophagus and she couldn’t yell for him to stop. An acrid smell dived deep into her lungs as the edge of the office chair singed. Sweat beaded along her hairline and at the nape of her neck. Her feet had been taped too high off the ground. She couldn’t move. She shook her head again.
Elliot jumped.
The tape kept her scream at bay. Blood rushed to her head, too fast, too hard. The small amount of air she’d been holding pressurized in her lungs, but faster than she thought possible, rough hands were tugging at her wrists. She pulled at the duct tape again, trying to get it off as fast as possible.
“I always thought you were smoking hot, but this is a bit much, don’t you think?” Elliot cut the tape from her wrists with a small blade in his hand, then crouched in front of her to get to her ankles.
She doubled over to work at the other side, then pulled the tape from her mouth. Standing, she shoved him. “What were you thinking? You could’ve died, and I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”
He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her into him. The flames threatening to consume the entire lab—chemicals and everything—were nothing compared with the heat in his eyes at that moment. “I protect what’s mine.”
Waylynn sucked down a lungful of tainted oxygen. His? The growing heat around them battled with the tingling at the base of her spine. There was nowhere to go. The fire had spread too fast, but he’d protect her. She fisted his jacket, holding on to him with everything she had. “We’re trapped.”
“Climb up on the desk.” Calluses scraped against her oversensitized skin as Elliot helped her onto the office chair she’d been bound to, then onto the desk. He followed after her, shedding his jacket in the process. Blood had spread across his white T-shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice. “The smoke is getting thicker. Cover your mouth with this and follow my lead.”
Dried blood flaked against her fingers as she held the jacket up to her face. Her eyes stung, smoke filling every square inch of the room. Where were they supposed to go? The exits had been blocked by the flames. More sections of the floor were melting. Fire ate oxygen. They’d suffocate from smoke inhalation if they didn’t get out of here soon. Waylynn clung to the wall of muscle somehow keeping her calm in the middle of a burning building.
Elliot spun her into him, the whites of his eyes reddening. Sweat dripped down into his beard. “Do you trust me?”
Trust him? He’d saved her life twice in the span of twenty-four hours. He was the only person in this world she could count on, the only man she’d let close. The only man she’d considered a friend. She nodded. “Yes.”
“Then I need you to get up into the vent above us.” Elliot crouched on top of the desk, then gazed up at her. “I’ll give you a boost. Get as far from the fire as you can, get in the SUV and call my team.”
Waylynn craned her neck to spot the vent through the thickening smoke. Okay. She could make it to the opening with a boost. Locking her gaze on him, she dropped the jacket beside her. She placed one foot in his cupped palms and latched on to him. Tiles fell from the ceiling a few feet away and she turned away from the embers flying through the air, nearly losing her balance. Strong arms pulled her back into him. Heat blistered along her back, the fire getting closer every second they wasted talking, but his words finally registered. She would get as far from the fire as she could. She would get to the SUV. She would call his team. “What about you? How will you get up?”
“I’ll be right behind you.” He glanced up at the vent again. “Come on. This desk isn’t going to hold both of us for much longer.”
But Waylynn didn’t move. “For a recovering con man, you’re not very good at lying.”
“Maybe you’re just the one person who can see through me.” His hands feathered over her arms, only a hint of his clean, masculine scent surviving the hotter-than-hell temperatures. Putting his life in danger with the moose, taking a bullet for her back at the crash scene, now this. Elliot intertwined his fingers through hers and brought her palm to his mouth. His beard bristled along the skin there and a different kind of warmth trickled down her spine despite the encroaching flames. He closed his eyes for a split second and an understanding passed between them. He’d told her before: he’d do anything to keep her safe. Without warning, he crouched, wrapped his arms around her legs and hefted her above him.
“Elliot, no!” She pushed off the ceiling with one hand, clinging to him for balance with the other. “I’m not leaving you. I can’t do this without you.”
“Yes, you can, Waylynn.” A groan escaped up his throat as he pushed her higher with his injured shoulder. He never called her Waylynn. Which meant... “Get in and don’t look back. Do not come back for me.”
No. She pulled at the metal seam of the vent, flinching as the crash of steel on wood reverberated through her ears. Scrambling straight up into the duct, she exhaled hard at the burn of metal against her skin. Pitch-black darkness greeted her on either side. With some maneuvering, she leveraged one hand on the edge of the opening and reached back through to him. “Grab my hand. I can pull you up.”
“Get out of here, Doc. That vent can’t support us both.” Elliot protected his face as one corner of the desk they’d stood on together caught fire. They were running out of time. Any minute now, their island of safety would burn right out from underneath him. He gathered the jacket from the table and covered his mouth and nose. “I’ll find another way out.”
“There is no other way out. Elliot, grab my hand!” She’d thought she’d lost him once. She couldn’t do it again. Screw the investigation. Screw being framed for murder. Screw her research. Elliot Dunham was the only person in this world who mattered, the only person who was more important than breathing. More important than food or water or her apartment. He’d risk all that? Smoke dived deep into her lungs, burned her
eyes, and she moved to cover her mouth with her arm. She couldn’t last up here much longer. The smoke was pooling inside the vent system, but she wouldn’t leave him behind. Never. “How are you supposed to protect me if you’re dead?”
“I’ve survived this long, haven’t I? Get out of the building, Waylynn. I’ll find you.” He shifted closer to one edge of the desk without looking up at her.
And jumped.
Aluminum cut into her palms as she gripped the vent opening. “Elliot!”
Chapter Eight
Son of a bitch. When would people stop trying to set him on fire?
Waylynn’s scream died as the fire roared loud in his ears and he hoped like hell she was getting as far from this building as possible. He would’ve climbed into that vent right after her if he’d believed the airshaft would take both of their weight. Alas, that was not the case.
A rafter splintered above him, cracks in the exposed wood a bright, glowing orange. He’d run out of time. The isopropyl alcohol Waylynn’s abductor had emptied onto the floor wasn’t the only chemical the lab kept on hand. This entire building was a Molotov cocktail waiting to explode. “Right. Exit plan.”
Going out the window wasn’t an option. The bookcases, desks and chairs had already been consumed by the flames. Another foot toward the flames was too much for his exposed skin to take. Elliot squinted into the brightening fury closing in on him. Smoke clouded his airway and he jumped to the floor. Memories of a downtown apartment, a stalker, a crowbar to the head and Sullivan Bishop throwing him over his shoulder rushed to the front of his mind. He and his boss had been working Jane Reise’s case a few months ago and the suspect they’d been tracking hadn’t been too happy about their coming into his personal space. Well, at least no one had knocked him unconscious this time. If he played his cards right, he could make it through the small line of tile that hadn’t been affected by the fire yet. “I’m going to regret this.”
He protected his face and ran straight to the nearest door through the narrow untouched space. Testing the handle with his jacket around his hand, he slammed his uninjured shoulder into the thick steel. The damn thing wouldn’t budge. The lab’s biohazard procedures must’ve locked down the entire room. But then why hadn’t the sprinklers come on? He rammed his shoulder into the door one more time, a heavy thud barely registering over the crackling of fire. The bastard who’d started the fire must’ve turned them off. The room would’ve gone into quarantine at the sign of a fire or biohazard leak, but the sprinklers and other precautionary measures were useless now. Elliot spun to go back the way he’d come, but the clear path that’d been there a minute ago was gone. “Huh. Mom was right. I really am going to burn in hell.”
Well, then at least he’d have the chance to see her again. A burst of nervous laughter escaped but died as the seriousness of the situation took hold. He was going to die in this room. His family could take care of themselves. They always had. His team might mourn him, but they’d move on. But Waylynn? She didn’t have anyone else. No family. No friends other than her colleagues and her work to keep her company. Even that had been destroyed. Elliot curled his fingers into his palms. He’d spent the last year telling himself nothing could happen between them after everything he’d been through, that his freedom, his happiness, took priority.
But, hell, Waylynn made him happy.
That smile when she spotted him with a beer when she came home after a long day of work, the fact humming “Gangsta’s Paradise” brought out her infectious laugh every time, her determination to move on with her life despite her past. Everything about her made him want to be the man she deserved, made him want to be more than a con man. More than a private investigator. More than a friend.
Sweat slid down his face beneath his T-shirt. No. This wasn’t how he was going out. Elliot reached for the gun in his shoulder. He’d shoot his way out if he had to. But came up empty. He searched the floor, spotting his gun a few feet from the desk he and Waylynn had used for a brief moment of safety. No way he could get to it now. New plan. Wrapping his jacket around his arm, he hiked his elbow into the pane of glass in the door. Two times. Three. He pushed the last remnants of his draining energy into the next three strikes, but the glass didn’t so much as crack. The glass was meant to withstand an explosion in the lab, sealed to keep toxins in, in case of a biohazard lockdown. He wasn’t getting through it without something heavier. He stepped back. He needed a microscope, a chair—anything—to punch through.
Without warning, the butt of a fire extinguisher crashed through the glass. Shards fell from the frame onto the floor. Those ocean-blue eyes settled on him. Ash streaked Waylynn’s face, darkened the bruise across her cheek. Pieces of her long blond hair had singed ends. “You are not getting away from me that easily.”
“What are you doing here?” A blend of fury and admiration flooded through him. He didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her or hike her over his shoulder and run for putting herself back in harm’s way. Black smoke broke free through the broken glass. Escape first. Decide later. “I told you to get as far from this building as possible.”
“I’m saving your life.” She set the fire extinguisher on the floor and reached through the opening for him, fisting his T-shirt with skinned and bloody fingers. “But, sure, let’s take the time we don’t have to argue about it some more.”
“Fine.” Elliot hiked one leg through the broken windowpane, then fell onto the tile on the other side of the door. He couldn’t suppress the groan working up his throat as pain spread through his shoulder and down his spine. His lungs spasmed with the rush of clean oxygen. He closed his eyes to relieve the sting, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. The fire would spread to this room—and every room—now that Waylynn had shattered the window. They had to get out of there. And find the bastard who’d tried to kill them. “Tasered. Shot. Nearly burned alive. What else could go wrong today?”
“Elliot.” His name on her lips—almost breath-like—raised his awareness of her to all all-time high. Something was wrong.
Elliot cracked his eyes. His shoulder protested as he hiked himself to his feet, but pain was nothing compared with the fire burning through his veins at the sight of that masked SOB pointing a gun to Waylynn’s head. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”
“Move and she’s dead, Mr. Dunham,” the arsonist said.
Waylynn flinched as her captor’s grip on the tendon between her neck and shoulder visibly tightened.
“I don’t think you want her dead. Otherwise you would’ve killed her already. You had opportunity. Motive is still a mystery, though.” He might not be able to read the bastard’s expression through that damn mask, but Elliot had already started putting the pieces together. Reading people was what he did. Everything he needed to know about a person was in their routine, in their actions. In the choices they made. All he had to do was solve the puzzle. It was how he’d conned so many people out of their money until a few years ago. And how he’d ended up in an Iraqi prison. “You started by framing her for murder, but when she hired a private investigator to clear her name, you destroyed her research, hoping that would bruise her enough to stop looking deeper. It didn’t work so you had to try kidnapping, and the arson gave her enough time to get free. Even now, I can tell the safety on your gun is on. Either you don’t want Waylynn dead or you’re the worst killer I’ve ever seen.”
The arsonist’s gloved hand twitched alongside the gun as he shifted his weight between his feet. One second. Two. He turned the gun on Elliot and clicked off the safety. “You think you have me figured out, but I’ve done my research, too, Mr. Dunham. I know everything there is to know about you. How many people you’ve hurt, how much money you’ve stolen, where your family lives.”
“You don’t know anything about me if you think a threat like that is going to make me react.” If anything, it was the shooter’s hold on Waylynn that heated his blood now. Th
at, and the fire threatening to kill them all. He glanced at her, at the slight movement she made with her eyes to the right. Without making it obvious, Elliot spotted the fire extinguisher beside him. Wouldn’t survive against another bullet, but it was better than nothing. He nodded enough for her to notice.
“Put down the gun and let Waylynn go or I’m going to make you bleed. You don’t want her dead, which means you need her for something.” Sweat built down his spine as flames licked up the sides of the opening at his back. Shock slammed into him with the force of a knife to the gut. “Or you know her.”
Waylynn stiffened.
“Funny how you think you know someone. How you think you can trust them.” The bastard pointed the gun at her again and a rush of fury exploded behind Elliot’s sternum. Her attacker wrenched her hair back, exposing her neck, and traced the column of her throat with the barrel. A thin scratch appeared in the path. “Then you discover what kind of monster they are. You know her secret, don’t you, Dunham? You know what she’s capable of.”
Elliot lunged. Catching the shooter by surprise, he wrapped his hand around the gun’s barrel with one hand and pushed Waylynn to the floor with the other, out of the way. A hard right hook ignited white streaks behind his eyelids. He went down on one knee. Slamming his elbow into her abductor’s knee, he brought the arsonist down, too. But not for long. Another hit landed Elliot on his back and before he had a chance to dodge, the masked assailant was on top of him. One strike wrenched his head back into the white tile. A second darkened the edges of his vision.
His attacker dug his thumb into Elliot’s bullet wound and a scream ripped from him like nothing before. A black haze descended over his vision, but he fought to stay conscious. He’d promised to protect her. He wouldn’t fail her again. Pulling back his elbow, he gripped the masked assailant’s shirt and launched his fist into the bastard’s face.
Rules in Defiance Page 9