Chapter 2 #2
These men were ruthless, but she knew secrecy trumped everything else.
Leaving a trail of dead bodies behind—ones that would be missed, unlike her.
That would involve the police. Maybe the feds.
Even if they took the corpses with them, normal people got reported missing.
And she knew that wasn’t the kind of heat their organization would encourage.
The men had already screwed up in letting her escape.
Escalating it by killing civilians—possibly getting caught on video—might get them shot once they’d returned to base.
At least, she hoped that was the case, because she couldn’t wait for the police to casually drop by.
Or a security company to investigate the alarm.
She needed a person. Someone who would see the blood on her shirt—the obvious wounds—and call in the cavalry.
She could figure out how to escape from the hospital, later.
After they’d treated the worst of her wounds.
Or hell, just given her a few pints of blood.
Twenty-four hours. That’s all she needed.
A moment to breathe. To recoup. Some pain killers to keep her moving.
Unlike the agonizingly slow pace she was suddenly traveling.
As if her entire body was encased in wet cement.
Ellis wasn’t sure when the fatigue, the blood loss, had hit her.
Only that somewhere between darting up a street, and racing down an alley, she’d faded.
Gone from running to stumbling. Bracing her hand along the walls in the hopes of staying on her feet.
Had she heard tires squealing behind her? She looked over her shoulder. Was that a glimpse of black amidst the buildings? A Suburban passing in and out of view as it raced along a parallel track? Quickly zoning in on her location?
The blood. Damn. It was still dripping—still leaving a tangible trace of her movements.
Sure, they couldn’t follow her path exactly—not without going on foot, and she knew they’d stay in the car.
Not chance having someone see them—that they’d get picked up on a security or traffic cam—but they could anticipate her direction.
Circle in on her until they could pull alongside—grab her without stopping.
Which meant she needed to disappear. Now. Before the black dots hovering at the edge of her vision ate away what was left—submersed her in darkness. Before she put herself back in their hands.
A light. There. It was on the upper floor.
Maybe a loft apartment. A couple of shadows passed in front of the window, which meant there was definitely someone home.
Too far away to make out. But it didn’t matter.
Anyone would do. All Ellis needed was for them to open the door—let her in. The rest would fall into place.
More black spots—sliding in from the sides. Making the scenery look pitted. She took a few steps. Tripped to one knee. A bloody handprint smearing the asphalt beside her. Two breaths. That’s all she had time for before she needed to stand—find a way to cover the last of the distance.
Damn, those tires, again. Fishtailing around a corner.
Closer than before. Another few minutes, and they’d be on top of her.
Narrowing in on her location. If she wasn’t inside—gone—before they spotted her, they might risk making a scene.
She didn’t think so, but…she hadn’t thought she’d get abducted by her own people, either.
And she had no doubts, now, that they were with the Agency.
The details were still murky, but with each passing minute, the truth rang clearer.
The one she’d been suppressing because thinking her boss had ordered this—wanted her dead…
Thoughts for later. For after she made it through the night alive and free.
A wash of blood down her side as she gained her feet. It puddled on the gray pavement, turning it dark. More black looking than red. Or was that just her vision dulling further? Losing colors along with light?
It was bad news, either way. Meant she was close to passing out. To being beyond fixing. Even if she managed to get inside, she’d likely bleed out before an ambulance would arrive. Before they’d get her to the hospital.
The realization had her moving. Staggering toward the glass door. There was a name. Wayward something. The words blurred together. Seemed to fade in and out as she tried to read the block lettering. But she was still able to focus on the handle. To try turning it.
Locked.
The hum of an engine. Gaining on her position. She could picture it. The black vehicle barreling down the road she’d been running along. They’d have a guy pointing to the trail of blood. Shouting out directions. Another couple of corners, and they’d be there. Staring her down.
Ellis pounded on the glass. She tried to call for help, but it took all her strength just to stay awake. To keep hitting the door. Something slid above her. A voice saying they were closed.
She kept knocking. Kept slamming her shoulder against the surface with everything she had, when tires skidded behind her. She looked into the glass—saw the Suburban’s reflection. One guy leaning out the window. He had his arm extended, something dark in his hand.
Too late. Even if she’d had the energy to move—to run—her margin of time had slipped away. Nowhere to go, and nothing left to do but continue pounding on the door. Maybe if she put more of her weight behind it, she could break it down. Get inside.
It opened. Just like that. Closed one second, then she was falling inward.
Her hand leaving a bloody smear across the window, tracking her forward motion.
She had the eerie sensation of accelerating toward the ground before someone caught her.
Strong hands cupping her elbows then pulling her against a thick, muscular chest.
The guy grunted, muttering something she couldn’t make out. The words sounded distant. Hollow. Like an old recording coming through a shitty speaker. Disembodied.
Did she recognize his voice? The tone? The pitch? The familiar gravelly reverb that vibrated through her chest?
She blinked, blacked out, then startled back when a series of pops filled the air.
Gun shots. The assholes chasing her were actually shooting.
Trying to kill the poor bastard who’d helped her.
Had he fired back? Or had she only imagined feeling the recoil in his arm?
She looked up, only there were two people, now.
Two men. Big. Brawny. With thick arms and barrel chests. Muscles bulging beneath white tees.
The bigger of the two had a gun in his hand, was returning fire—quick shots that didn’t even make his arm twitch from the force.
As if this was a daily occurrence. Hell, maybe it was.
Maybe wounded strangers knocked on his door every day.
Had armed men chasing them. Maybe this was just a regular Sunday night for the guy.
He pressed his back into the wall then looked at her. Ellis inhaled. She knew him. The copper glint of his eyes. The insanely huge frame. Not to mention the ever-present aura of death that clung to him like a damn mist. Though, it was more muted than she remembered. Less intimidating.
He’d been the unit leader of her boyfriend’s squad.
Brett’s squad. The guy she’d planned on spending the rest of her life with before that life had been taken—burned to ashes and buried in the desert.
The other man had been a friend by extension—the renowned brotherhood between soldiers.
The guy who’d promised her he’d personally keep Brett’s ass in one piece. See he made it back to her alive. Safe.
Cannon. His nickname was Cannon, though, she couldn’t recall his real name. Did it start with an R?
Cannon’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursing into a thin line. He said something. Her name, maybe. But the sound got hijacked. Lost in the echo of her slowing heartbeat in her head. The peel of tires across the road.
The guy holding her gave her a shake. It took a few moments to move her head—lift it to meet his gaze. Those eyes. Deep blue with flecks of gold around the pupils. A mass of blond hair framing an oval face. The man’s features nothing short of beautiful.
Brett Sievers. The only man she’d ever loved, and her one true regret.
A laugh bubbled free.
She was dying. That was the only explanation. She hadn’t stumbled upon the one guy she longed to see. To touch and hold. This was her brain slowly shutting down. Playing out her deepest desires as the wiring crossed—sent signals out in every direction.
But damn, what a way to go. Staring up into Brett’s eyes. Feeling his fingers gripping her arms—holding her tight. She managed to lift one hand—place a bloody palm on his cheek. It was warm. Stubbled. Utterly perfect.
“Ellis?”
It even sounded like him. Like heaven.
She smiled, no longer fighting the pull of darkness around her. “Brett.”