Chapter Three
Hagan sprinted up another flight of stairs.
His muscles burned as he concentrated on the endless slap of his running shoes.
Sweat poured down his neck as he climbed the closed-for-renovations skyscraper.
His vision tunneled. This wasn’t just another workout.
It was a regimen capable of clearing his mind days after the conversation with the woman in Lebanon.
He still couldn’t shake the sadness. Damn, he missed his brother.
Hagan growled and gulped for oxygen, pushing his body until darkness shadowed over memories of his death. Hagan re-focused on running. He could do another flight. “Push.” Push through the pain and aging memories. Push until he couldn’t do anything except breathe.
He powered onto the next stairwell landing.
Lungs burning, light-headed, and depleted, he didn’t have the strength to stop his momentum.
Hagan slammed into the cinder block wall like a runaway bulldozer.
His pulse pounded in his ears. His forehead pressed to the gritty coarseness, and he rolled his head back and forth against it like it was an icepack.
For a blissfully delirious moment, he couldn’t recall what had started him up the tower stairs. He basked in the endorphins that pummeled through his veins, furiously releasing their high and leaving every thought from the past in the distance. “Thank God.”
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. Finally, Hagan wiped the sweat from his forehead, straightened, and rolled his shoulders. Lactic acid would knot in his muscles if he didn’t move soon. With his breathing semi-controlled, he descended the first flight of many.
The hollow, metallic click of a stairwell door opening preceded a boom as it shut.
Hagan froze, sure he’d been the only person in the unfinished tower.
The construction crew had left hours ago.
His teammates had no reason to be in this building.
Hagan listened for Boss Man’s hefty steps, but instead of the footfalls from a military muscle hound, Hagan detected a light, smooth gait rushing from above.
Curious, he backed to the wall and peered up. “Hello?”
The unknown person stopped, not answering.
Well, hell. His curiosity upgraded to suspicion.
He climbed another flight and moved into a corner for a different angle, but he couldn’t get a bead on the other person.
He crept up another flight and kept to the corners—still no sight or sound from above.
The rogue trespasser was a problem, and he was unarmed and unable to call for backup. Hagan had no choice but to investigate.
He edged up the stairs, forcing himself to move cautiously. He ignored the lactic acid coiling in his muscles and the dizzying need for water and calories. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Hagan slapped his hand over the exercise watch and muffled the notification announcing his heart rate had returned to a normal range. The gift from his sister, Roxana, had lit up his location like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Finally, the notification stopped, but the damage was done. He remained still and listened. The intruder had the same wait-and-listen plan. Hagan shifted to keep his muscles from locking when he heard the unmistakable sound of a round entering a chamber followed by quiet steps.
Anticipation prickled down his neck. Hagan pressed against the wall and positioned for a better spot at the same moment that he registered a woman with a gun trained at his center mass. He pulled back.
“Stay where you are,” the woman called. “Don’t move.”
Damn. Unlike the nanny in Lebanon, this woman’s voice didn’t hold a thread of uncertainty. With his location blown, no weapon or backup, and an inability to run away in his own damn house, Hagan didn’t have many options. “I’m unarmed.”
She moved into his line of sight, weapon still up, then eyed his clothing. “Why are you creeping in the stairwell?”
He scowled. “I wasn’t creeping any more than you were.” Her weapon didn’t waver from its target. He extended his palms slowly in a show of good faith. “I could ask you the same question.”
“Don’t bother. Why are you dressed like that?”
He dropped his hands and pulled at the shirt sticking to his chest. “The local gym doesn’t do it for me.”
“Do not move,” she ordered like she owned the place as much as he did.
Hagan clamped his molars and tried to recall mention of a new teammate. Surely, he would’ve remembered hearing about a woman on their team. Especially a woman with dark hair and stealthy eyes that would’ve made any man take a second look. “Look, lady, I think this is a misunderstanding.”
“Fine.” She lifted her chin to dismiss him. “Leave.”
His jaw sawed. “Like hell.”
“Excuse me?”
He smirked. “If you were me—”
“I’m not,” she snapped. “You crept up here. If this is a misunderstanding, go away.”
A small part of him realized that he wasn’t paying enough attention to her gun. “Say you were me, and you came across a beautiful woman—”
“Give me a break.”
“With a gun,” Hagan continued, “demanding that I leave my—”
Her brows furrowed. “Stop! I don’t want to know anything about you.”
Interesting. His curiosity returned. “If you were me, would you try for a conversation?”
She arched a single, disbelieving eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?”
Fuck yes. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know why you’ve done a single thing since I met you.”
“That’d make two of us.” Her training was evident, yet he didn’t see that hard edge recognizable in almost any operative in his line of work. “Who are you?”
Her nostrils flared. “You should leave.”
Intrigued and apparently stupid, he didn’t move from the woman with the gun. “Maybe you’re the one who should go, Annie Oakley.” Now, both of the dark eyebrows twitched. He held out a hand, willing her to lower the weapon, and make introductions. “I’m—”
“Stop,” she demanded. “Leave. Go. I don’t want to know anything about you.”
His ego found the wrong moment for a stubborn streak. Hagan wondered if it would be as much fun to get her to laugh as it was to make her eyebrows dance. He stepped closer. “Lower your weapon.”
“Fat chance.”
He took another step. “I promise, it’ll make for nicer introductions.”
“I can’t meet you.”
A desperate bent in her voice made him take a harder look. Something inside him jumped. Something beyond a reaction to the gun or her looks. He couldn’t place that faraway feeling of familiarity. “Have we met?”
“No.”
He didn’t believe her but came up empty when he tried to place her face. “I think we have.”
She scowled. “Trust me. You’re wrong.”
He studied her delicate features. She didn’t look like any of the renovation workers he’d seen roaming, and there wasn’t an overabundance of sexy women with steady trigger fingers in his building. Even if there were, he would have recalled Annie Oakley.
Stiffening muscles brought him back to reality—charmed or not, the lady still hadn’t lowered her weapon, something he needed to take more seriously. Hagan licked his bottom lip and tried again. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”
Her nostrils flared.
“Do you work around here? Maybe Parker should look into name badges.” Hagan didn’t wait for her to respond. He’d already jumped into the deep end of a questionable flirting situation and might as well start swimming. “I could show you around.”
As though he’d said the magic words, she lowered her weapon.
“You want a tour?”
“You know Parker Black?” she said.
“So, no tour.” But he was making progress. “Though points for dropping Parker’s name?”
She gave a microscopic nod.
Hagan couldn’t help it and grinned. “Now, does that make us friends?”
“I don’t have friends.”
“Sounds like you live a small, sad existence.” He nodded to the gun. “Though you gotta wonder if it has something to do with first impressions.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why are you still here?”
“Hell if I know,” he admitted, laughing, “but I’m coming up to introduce myself. Don’t shoot me.”
“No promises.”