Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
For fuck’s sake. Brock hit the button for the parking garage and the elevator headed down, more slowly than he would have liked. He could take a cab to the laboratory, but getting out with Dani would be another story.
The metal door rolled open and he stalked through the second level of the concrete complex. Rows of shiny vehicles filled the garage. It had been damn near a decade since he stole a car, but the delinquencies of his youth were deeply stamped in his memory.
He didn’t have time to be picky. He moved through the columns of vehicles, flicking the driver’s side handle of each car. If he had more time and the correct equipment, he could unlock any one of these vehicles.
He lifted the handle of the tenth car and grunted in frustration.
Someone had to have left their car unlocked.
He did the same to a large black Ford Explorer and the interior light came on.
Satisfaction loosened some tension in his joints.
He rolled the seat back, climbed inside, and took out his cell phone.
After turning on his flashlight, he removed the plastic cover under the steering wheel that hid the electrical work.
He sought the wires, bit off the plastic tips, and touched the copper together. A tiny spark lit between his fingers and the engine purred to life. He adjusted the seat and started the GPS navigation on his phone. The valet paid him no mind as he drove past.
Pulling into the street, he saw the moon dangling high above the Eiffel Tower.
The Iron Lady glowed as if utter devastation hadn’t fallen at her feet hours before.
He hadn’t listened to the news yet, and right now the last thing he wanted to know was the body count.
He tightened his hands on the steering wheel as he drove along the Seine.
Pressure closed in on his chest. The image of Dani’s sparkling eyes overlooking Paris from the Eiffel Tower danced in his mind. If he lived to be a hundred years old, he’d never forget the awe shining on her perfectly sculpted jawline and the smile that had curved her mouth as he held her.
They’d kill her.
If he didn’t make it to her before Ubrigg realized something was up, they’d put a bullet in her head without a second thought.
By now, Ubrigg would be halfway to their meeting point.
It wouldn’t take long for him to figure out Brock wasn’t going to show.
Once Ubrigg called his guard, they were fucked.
Urgency knocked against his ribcage. He followed the next turn and glanced at his phone to see where he’d need to go next.
A small notification at the top-right corner of the screen alerted him to a missed call. How could he have missed a call? His ringer was on. He lifted the device and tapped the notification.
A San Diego area code caught Brock’s eye and he read the contact name: Rhett.
Finally.
According to the time of the missed call, Rhett had phoned while he was on the call with Dani and he’d been too anxious to notice.
The GPS chimed out another direction and Brock followed it, tapping Rhett’s number at the same time.
He hit the Speaker button and the call rang out in the spacious interior.
A couple more blocks and he’d be at the lab. He had two minutes tops to give Rhett a rundown. He approached an intersection as the light turned red. Brock pressed his foot to the gas and cursed. It was after 1:00 a.m. and the street was deserted. He could probably run the red light without—
Crash!
Glass pelted Brock’s face. He covered his eyes, but tiny fragments nicked his cheeks and hands. His mind raced as he assessed the threat. Black gloves and a mask-covered face lunged through the driver’s side window. Brock reached for the gun at his back, but a fist barrelled into his jaw.
Rage rushed through him with the force of a flash flood.
“Hello? Brock?” Rhett’s concerned voice barely penetrated Brock’s consciousness.
He pulled the door handle and then threw his weight into the door, sending the attacker flying backward. Another man quickly approached as he got out of the vehicle, but Brock jabbed his fist into the man’s throat. The first attacker trained a gun on him.
“Don’t fucking move!”
Adrenaline heated his veins. Fuck it. He had to get to Dani and he wouldn’t let these bastards get in his way. He jutted out his arm and caught the man’s throat still struggling to catch his breath.
He pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants and pressed it to the cocksucker’s head. “Take another step and I’ll blow his fucking head off.”
He didn’t have time for this shit. He backed away from the door, his gaze trained on the first man.
The second man didn’t fight him, but his bulky build slowed Brock’s backward retreat.
As soon as he rounded the vehicle, he’d fire off a couple shots and run.
He tensed as footsteps scuffled behind him.
Crack! Sizzle!
Pain burst through the side of his neck and his body jolted as shockwaves pulsed through it. The gun fell away from his fingers and he clapped his hand over his neck. His hostage bolted out of reach and Brock’s legs buckled beneath him.
A woman’s round face and blonde hair filled his vision.
Her lips morphed into a smile as she moved closer.
The end of a Taser stung his neck again.
His brain flickered and blackness exploded behind his lids until his body surrendered and fell down, down, down.
One last thought dominated his mind as he fought the ominous arms of sleep.
Dani.
Eighteen minutes. Dani’s throat burned with every exhale.
She circled her wrists around and around for the hundredth time, keeping as much blood flow to her fingers as she could.
When he burst in the door, she’d need to be ready to run.
She lifted her lashes to the brusque movement of the second hand on the clock.
Something’s wrong.
Maybe just a minor delay? She shook that off.
No. Brock wouldn’t waste a single second.
She couldn’t just sit here. What if he needed help?
The constant motion of her hands and wrists had added a bit of give to the ropes.
She stretched her palms as far from each other as she could, making the ligaments in her forearms and tops of her hands scream.
She released them and glued her arms together, then inched one of her hands from the bindings.
The rough weaves scraped over her skin, stopping before her knuckles.
Almost there. She curled her hand into a fist, pulling the rope again, wriggled her hand, then flattened it.
Moisture coated her palms, making her hands swell.
If she’d had time, she would have focused on bringing down her heart rate.
No time. She gritted her teeth and pulled.
Her hand, decorated in thick red scratches, popped through the restraint and she let out a long sigh of relief.
Shaking her wrist, she quickly peeled off the remainder of the ropes and bent to her feet.
The ropes on her feet were much easier to remove. She cast them aside and glared at the door.
Romy had a gun. She had nothing.
She scanned the room and made a face. The only viable weapon options were the overturned stool or the fire extinguisher behind the door.
She stood and her legs shook. She needed to get her strength back and fast. Lifting the solid steel object from where it hung, she held it in front of her chest and pressed her back to the wall next to the door.
Nausea singed against the raw lining of her stomach, which was threatening to spill its contents on the pristine floor at her feet. She closed her eyes and took several calming breaths. Dread churned beneath her ribcage.
If she survived after this, it’d be a miracle.
“Hey asshole!” she called, clamping her hands tightly around the fire extinguisher. “I need to pee!”
The doorknob turned and he skulked into the room.
His gaze landed on the empty chair and he fumbled for the gun at his chest. She leaped forward and swung the bottom of the fire extinguisher into his head.
A sickening crack! echoed through the room.
He teetered and grabbed his head. Blood poured between his fingers. Dani’s heart rocketed into her throat.
“Fucking bitch!” he snarled. She heaved the weapon again, but he shot his arm up, blocking the blow.
He dove for her. His shoulder connected with her midsection and her back banged against the wall.
The wind whooshed from her lungs and her already foggy head swam.
His rough hands reached for the backs of her knees to throw her off balance.
If she landed on the ground, she’d have no advantage.
She jerked her knee, catching him in the groin.
His body sagged against hers, crushing her ribs, but a satisfying grunt of pain reached her ears.
She raised the extinguisher again and brought the steel cannister down on his spine.
His back buckled and a howl of agony sang from his lips.
His hold loosened and he folded to his knees.
Not missing a beat, she swung the extinguisher like a cricket bat.
His head flopped to the side and he collapsed onto his back.
Victory flooded through her, taking the edge off her frazzled nerves.
She dropped the extinguisher to the ground, removed the weapon from around his neck, and set it carefully on the chair she’d vacated.
Grabbing the ropes, she restrained his feet then positioned her hands under his side and pushed.
He was deadweight. She shifted, jammed her arms under him, and hefted with all her might.
His shoulder went first, and then the rest of his body followed a little more easily.
Sweat rolled down her forehead and her muscles screamed with strain, but she quickly secured his wrists behind his back.
She scooped up the assault rifle, placed the neckband over her head, and held the gun in front of her, her finger far away from the trigger. The last thing she needed was to get spooked and accidentally shoot Brock.
Tiptoeing toward the hall, she paused at the door.
The sharp ring of a cell phone froze her in place.
Then she turned. The sound was coming from Romy’s phone.
It could be Ubrigg calling with news on Brock.
She bent down, took the phone from his back pocket, and read the name on the screen. Sure enough. Ubrigg.
Without hesitating, she swiped to answer but didn’t say hello.
“Romy! That bastard didn’t show. He’s probably on his way to the lab. Get her somewhere secure. Now.”
Terror immobilized her. Her breath spiraled in her lungs, begging to be released.
“Romy, are you there? Hello?”
She hung up and got to her feet, grabbed her purse from Ubrigg’s desk, and draped it across her chest. She had to get somewhere safe.
Ubrigg wasn’t stupid. Now that he knew something was up with his henchman, he’d probably send another guard to the lab.
She placed her thumb on the phone’s screen to stop it from going into sleep mode.
Returning to Romy’s unconscious form to unlock his phone with his thumb was something she wanted to avoid.
She hovered at the door and scanned the hallway.
She couldn’t leave the building until she spoke to Brock.
He’d come here looking for her, and if Ubrigg found him before she did, he’d kill him.
She charged for the hallway, her bare feet slapping against the cool tile.
She found a custodian closet, slipped inside, and dialed Brock’s number. It rang and rang.
“The number you’re trying to reach is unavailable.”
No! She brought up the text message screen and typed. Shit. She couldn’t tell him where to meet her. Someone could have him—or his phone—in their possession. She had to give him some kind of message.
I’m okay. Call this number when you get here.
She hit Send and then stared at the screen until it went dark. Pressing her back to the wall, she slid down the drywall until her butt hit the floor.
Brock, where are you?