Chapter 21 #2
I was trying not to vomit. We’d been through exactly what I was supposed to do. Get to the window, get it open, get out.
Easy.
I positioned myself by the window. My hands were shaking as I reached up and pushed on the window latch.
It wouldn’t budge.
I tried again, putting more force behind it, using both hands now. Nothing. The window was locked from the outside, sealed tight. Painted over, maybe, or deliberately secured. We couldn’t get out this way.
But Ty had already flipped the furnace switch. The countdown was already going. We had one minute and thirty-eight seconds.
He jogged over to where I stood frozen by the window. I pointed at the latch, trying to convey the problem without words. The surveillance teams were still listening. We couldn’t let them know we were aware of their trap.
Ty reached up, muscles straining as he tried to force the window. His jaw clenched with effort, biceps bulging as he put his full strength into it. The frame didn’t even creak. It might as well have been welded shut.
I caught his eye and mouthed silently, Other exit?
He shook his head minutely, then gestured toward the doors with his chin. I understood. Both exits—the front door and the side door to the garage—would put us directly in view of the surveillance teams. The moment we ran out in obvious panic, they’d know we’d discovered the bomb.
The whole plan would be blown, no pun intended. They’d know we were onto them, and the next attempt on my life wouldn’t be subtle. It would be a bullet, quick and efficient.
But dying in an explosion wasn’t exactly a better option.
Ty’s hands moved in quick, sharp gestures. Military hand signals, maybe, though I didn’t know what they meant. But his message was clear enough—we try the window again, together.
We both reached up, our hands overlapping on the frame. I could feel the tendons in his arms straining, the heat of his body as we fought against the sealed window. It was like trying to move a mountain. My fingernails bent backward with the effort, sending sharp pain up my fingers.
Nothing.
My mind was keeping track of the seconds without my even trying to get it to. One minute, seventeen seconds.
The furnace continued its deadly countdown, the hum growing louder as it warmed up. I could hear something clicking inside it—the ignition system preparing to engage. My heart was beating so fast I felt light-headed, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision.
Ty pulled out the burner phone again, thumbs flying across the screen, texting Donovan.
Window stuck or locked from outside. Can’t get out. Need help. Now.
His face had gone pale, a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cold garage.
We would only get one chance at this.
Ty showed me his phone screen. A reply from Donovan.
Roger. 30 sec.
Thirty seconds for Donovan to get here. That was going to be so damned close.
Ty’s hand found mine, squeezing tight. His palm was slick with sweat, or maybe that was mine. I couldn’t tell anymore. Everything had narrowed to this moment, this window, this countdown we couldn’t stop.
I pressed against Ty, wanting to run out the front door, not caring who saw. Only his arm wrapped around me kept me steady.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, so quietly the surveillance teams couldn’t possibly hear. “Come on, brother.”
The furnace clicked again, louder this time. The heating element was engaging. We had less than forty seconds.
Then, through the window, I saw movement. A shadow against shadow. Donovan’s face appeared on the other side of the glass, his hands already working at something I couldn’t see. The external lock, maybe, or whatever mechanism was keeping us trapped.
The window popped free with a sound like a champagne cork.
Ty didn’t hesitate. He grabbed me around the waist and practically threw me up toward the opening. “Go!”
Donovan’s hands caught my arms, hauling me through the window with surprising strength.
My hip scraped against the frame hard enough to tear fabric and skin, my ribs compressed painfully as I squeezed through the too-small space.
I tumbled onto the ground outside, the frozen grass scratching my palms as I tried to break my fall.
Donovan was already pulling me to my feet, his grip iron on my upper arm.
“Let’s go, Doc!” he hissed, dragging me away from the building.
“Ty—” I tried to turn back, to see if he was following, but Donovan’s grip was unbreakable.
“He’s coming. Run!”
“But…”
Donovan cupped my cheeks, looking just like his brother in the darkness. “I promise you, he’s coming. I would not leave him if that weren’t the case. So let’s go.”
I ran, stumbling over the uneven ground in the darkness. My bruised hip screamed with each step. Behind us, I heard the window frame creak ominously, then footsteps pounding after us.
I didn’t look back, couldn’t look back, just focused on keeping my feet under me as Donovan pulled me through the trees. Branches whipped at my face, catching in my hair, tearing at my clothes. The cold air burned my lungs with each gasping breath.
Then Ty was there, his hand grabbing my other arm, and we were all running together through the predawn darkness. The trees whipped past in a blur of shadows. My feet caught on roots and rocks, but the two men kept me upright, kept me moving.
The explosion, when it came, shook the ground beneath our feet with a deep, thunderous roar.