Chapter 9 #2
Jesus. Sam knew exactly what a bullet through the head looked like. He had to exercise all his self-control not to visualize Nicole, red mist where her head used to be, collapsing to the floor.
Time. She needed time. He held his hands up. Look, no weapons. Christ, it was true. Not even a fucking knife. “Sam Reston,” he said.
“Reston, huh.” He shook Nicole a little. “Stay still, bitch.” The man’s dark gaze sharpened. “The guy with the office across the way?”
Sam nodded, eyes never leaving his. Nicole was fixed on him, eyes pleading, but Sam didn’t dare even look at her. Every cell in his body was focused on the man, watching his every movement. All Sam needed was the barest chance, even a second’s drop in attention.
But this guy was good. He moved carefully, completely unmindful of the fact that he held a desperately wriggling woman in his arms. He was circling toward the door, dragging Nicole.
Her chest was bellowing in a useless attempt to pull in air. Her lips were turning blue.
“You’re choking her.” Sam kept his voice low and even, watching the man’s eyes. “Ease up a little.”
The man didn’t even answer. He jerked his head toward the back wall. “Get over there behind the desk. Sit down and put your hands on the desk.”
Sam hesitated. Nicole’s eyes were starting to roll up in her head.
Maybe he should just launch himself at the fucker, see what happened.
Nicole was going to be dead in a few minutes, anyway, if he continued choking her.
Maybe the fuckhead would switch the gun to the big guy rushing him and away from the woman.
If he didn’t get off a head shot, maybe Sam could take the bullet and live long enough to snap the fucker’s neck…
“Now!”
Except maybe the intruder would go for a head shot. The guy could drop him in a second and then Nicole would be at his mercy. As long as Sam was alive, she had a chance. He moved to the chair and sat.
“Hands on the desk. Palms down, fingers spread.”
Jesus. Sam didn’t even have a knife. He was good with a knife, almost better than with a gun.
He could have his K-bar through this guy’s eye and into his cortex in a half second, dropping him dead so fast that the instruction to his trigger finger to fire a bullet into Nicole’s head would never make it past the first synapse.
But he was weaponless. His hands and feet were weapons but he had to get to the man first and right now, that was impossible.
The intruder was moving toward the door, dragging Nicole with him.
Her wheezes sounded painfully loud in the silence of the room.
Her feet scrabbled for purchase, heels drumming against the guy’s ankles.
He didn’t even flinch. Sam dropped his eyes to the man’s feet.
He was wearing combat boots. Nicole was trying to kick him, hurt him, and he wasn’t even feeling it.
Nice try, honey. She was nearly passed out from lack of oxygen and she was still fighting.
The two had reached the door. The guy was going to try to escape with Nicole, but he wasn’t going to get far, dragging a woman kicking and screaming. Sam would catch up with him soon enough, it would be…
Sam was mentally reviewing his options, none of them good, when the man loosened his arm from around Nicole’s throat, picked her up bodily and hurled her across the room, straight at the big plate-glass windows of her office on the ninth floor.
“Honey, honey, stay awake. Don’t go away again, that’s a good girl. Look at me now. That’s right, open those beautiful blue eyes.”
Strong fingers, tapping at her cheek. Annoying. It was really annoying, when all she wanted to do was sleep. Some small memory in the back of her head told her she’d been drifting in and out of consciousness.
She was on her back, head in someone’s lap. Someone she knew…
Another tap and her eyes opened. Strong features, face drawn, deep brackets around his mouth.
“Sam?” Her voice came out a raw whisper. It hurt to talk. Hurt to swallow, she discovered.
“Yeah.” Sam’s own voice was harsh, hoarse. “Yeah, it’s Sam.”
“What—” Nicole brought a hand to her throat. God, it hurt. “What happened?”
Sam’s face above her was grim, nostrils pinched with stress. He looked pale, stressed. Ten years older.
“Someone was waiting for you in your office, honey. He was hurting you. When I came in he was holding a gun to your head. He tossed you across the room.” His jaw muscles worked. “You nearly went out the window. Of the ninth floor.” His eyes closed. “Just about gave me a fucking heart attack.”
Flashes of memory blossomed in her mind, like scenes under strobe lights.
A gun muzzle, tightly held against her temple.
A strong, unyielding arm around her throat, cruelly tight, cutting off air.
Sam, still and dangerous-looking, ignoring her, carefully watching the man holding her like a cat watches a mouse.
Being picked up, flying through the air, limbs flailing, caught at the last minute by Sam…
“Where—” Nicole raised a hand to her head. The blood at her temple had dried. “Where did the man go? Did you catch him?”
“No.” Sam ground his teeth, hard. She could actually hear the enamel grating. “I was too busy catching you. Your windows aren’t bulletproof. They’re just simple glass. Nine stories is a hell of a long way to fall. Luckily, we didn’t find out what a nine-story fall looks like.”
Nicole stirred in his arms, groaning. She seemed to be one big sore muscle. She might not have fallen out of the window, but she’d definitely banged against some furniture.
“Shhh.” Sam held her more tightly. “Don’t move. The EMTs are on their way and so are the police. They should be here any minute.”
Nicole’s hand sought, and found, Sam’s. “That’s nice,” she said drowsily, eyelids drooping. She ached all over and was so tired. “I think I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment.”
The next time Nicole felt that annoying tapping against her cheek, her office was filled with light and people and noise. She sat up, Sam’s hand to her back helping her up. It took her a second to realize her head wasn’t swimming.
“Ma’am?” A young face thrust itself in front of hers. Thin, short hair, clever eyes. He shot a glance at Sam. “Sir, you’re going to have to give me some space here or I can’t do my job.”
With visible reluctance, Sam let her go.
The medic shined a light in her eyes, took her pulse.
“Shouldn’t she be strapped to a stretcher?” Sam asked. He hadn’t gone far, crouched on his haunches next to her.
The medic shot him an ironical glance. “She was sitting upright when I got to her. If she has a spinal injury, it’s too late.”
Sam closed his eyes and winced. “Jesus, I didn’t think of that.”
Nicole reached out and closed her hand around his. “That’s okay, Sam. I don’t have any serious injuries, I promise.”
Sam’s eyes met the medic’s. “She was tossed across a room. Didn’t go out the window by a miracle, but she hit the bookcase. God knows what kind of internal injuries she has.”
The miracle was Sam. He’d caught her just before she’d have gone crashing through the window to her death nine stories below. She shuddered at the thought.
Nicole took a quick internal check, as the medic took her pulse and shined a light in her eyes. Did she have internal injuries?
Most of the momentum of her flight toward the windows had been blocked by Sam’s body.
Her shoulder and back had slammed into the bookcase and she’d had the wind knocked out of her, like the time she’d fallen out of the swings when she was ten.
She still remembered that horrible feeling as she lay on her back, staring at the bright blue Greek sky, unable to move and unable to draw a breath.
It had been terrifying, but a minute later, she was on her feet again, and ten minutes later, she was back with her friends on the swings, the incident totally forgotten, until now.
She’d had the wind knocked out of her, badly. Her shoulder hurt and, knowing how delicate her skin was, she’d be badly bruised. In the next couple of days, there would be a rainbow of colors on her shoulder, the palette dominated by black and green.
But that was it. She took in a deep breath and felt no pain at all.
She felt shaken, a man had broken into her office and threatened her with a gun to the head.
Feeling deeply rattled was only natural.
And she was tired, because she was now going on thirty-six hours without sleep.
But there was nothing broken inside her.
Another man entered the room, crouched next to her, a familiar face. Mike the cop.
Sam frowned at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Word travels, bro. Cop shop jungle drums. Harry’s here, too.”
Sam swiveled his head. Behind Mike was a tall man with lines of suffering on his face, on crutches. He was an unhealthy pale color, big-boned but painfully thin, the emaciation of illness or injury. Nicole recognized it immediately.
The medic stood. “Okay. Vital signs are good, but we’re taking you in for observation, ma’am. It would probably be a good idea to stay overnight, just so we can be sure you’re not concussed.”
“No,” Nicole said calmly.
The medic had been beckoning to someone at the door, but he turned around at her tone. “No?” It was as if he’d never heard the word before.
“No. No question. I’m not going to the hospital.” Nicole had spent two months accompanying her father to the hospital for radiotherapy, every single day. Just walking through hospital doors and inhaling the smell of formalin and alcohol made her nauseous.
She didn’t need the hospital. She was shaken and scared but not hurt, not seriously. Staying in a hospital was not going to make her feel better. “I know myself. I had the wind knocked out of me, that’s all. I’m a little bruised, but there’s nothing broken inside. I’m just fine.”
Sam’s jaw muscles jumped. He was literally biting down on words. “You could be concussed.” Each word sounded pulled out of him by red-hot pincers.