Chapter 20 #2
“I’m going to loosen the strap on your right hand, monsieur.
That’s all I can do. You’ll need to strike me and make it look like an escape.
” She reached for the other plastic-covered needle—the one she’d stick into the vial holding Chrisolicom XII.
“Turn left down the hallway and take the stairs to the parking garage. My car keys are in my lab coat pocket, along with the flash drive.” The muscles in her throat contracted as she nodded down at her left pocket.
“Dr. Lafontaine has your cell phone so don’t bother looking for it.
Don’t let them catch you.” Her voice trembled and broke.
With her back to the camera and one hand holding the needle, she lowered her free hand to the belt at his wrist. She worked her index finger into the loop and freed the strap.
“Now,” she breathed.
At her sharp, whispered command, adrenaline burst through his veins.
He flung his wrist from the strap and shoved her aside.
She careened backward more dramatically than was warranted.
He freed his legs from the other strap, then grabbed the IV tube and yanked it from the top of his hand.
Blood squirted out but he didn’t flinch.
Without wasting a second he hovered over her and snagged the key from her pocket.
She grabbed his wrist and her eyes met his. “You need to hit me. It won’t look real otherwise.” Her voice shook on the plea. His urgency wavered. Christ, he’d never hit a woman in his life. “They’ll kill me if you don’t.”
Biting back a curse, he closed his hand around her throat, but didn’t squeeze. Her eyes bulged appropriately and her hand clawed at his arm. “I’ll be sure they pay for your friend’s death. What was her name?”
“Annette Gaston.”
He gave one nod and grimaced. “Thank you. I’m sorry.
” He pulled his elbow back and jabbed his fist into her temple.
Her head snapped back and she dropped to the floor.
Disgust filled his stomach and he stood.
The room spun and he grabbed the wall for support.
If he didn’t get the hell out of here it’d be too late for Dani.
With the keys in one hand, he deposited the flash drive in his pants pocket. He didn’t bother looking for his shirt.
He pried open the steel door, glanced down the empty hallway, and hung a left. The stairwell sign illuminated the end of the corridor and he took long strides until he reached the exit. Shoving it open, he entered the stairwell.
Screech! Screech! Screech!
Sirens blared in the concrete enclosure.
Fuck! She hadn’t told him about the alarm.
He gripped the keys tight in his palm and leaped down the stairs three at a time.
The constant circling of steps whizzed through his vision, throwing a wrench in his equilibrium.
He reached the parking-garage floor just as voices blared through the stairwell.
He pressed the Lock button on the key fob. Sharp honks sounded in the distance.
Where the hell was her car? He broke into a run going down the ramp, but the car’s horn grew more distant. Fuck it. The building would be on lockdown any minute. He’d have to go on foot. He took another ramp to ground-level parking, leaped over the open ledge, and landed in the grass.
Flashlights bobbed along the side of the building where he’d landed.
“Arrêtez!”
He wheeled around and charged through the bushes. His lungs burned in his chest. If he didn’t get to a vehicle or cab soon, he’d collapse. Getting tasered had had far worse effects than he’d ever imagined.
He rounded the corner and the street loomed before him. Stomping his feet into the grass, he sprinted for the road. A car parked at the side of the street in front of the building flashed its brights. He frowned and stared at the silver Malibu.
The horn blared and the vehicle rolled forward. The driver flung the passenger door open. “Get in, you crazy sonofabitch!” Rhett’s slicked-back brown hair and impatient jawline were illuminated in the interior light.
Disbelief slowed Brock’s pace, and his jaw loosened. “Rhett? What the hell are you doing here?”
Hearing shouts from the corner of the building, he leaped into the front seat, pulling the door closed behind him. He stared at his friend.
“Saving your sorry ass.” Rhett chuckled then winced. “You look like shit, dude.”
He grunted and buckled his seatbelt as Rhett peeled away from the hospital. “We don’t have much time. We need to get to Dani.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Yeah. I need a GPS though.”
Rhett handed him his phone and Brock typed in the address he’d committed to memory. It mapped their route. Ten miles. He sat back and dragged his hands over his face then scrubbed at the spot where he’d ripped out the IV.
“What happened?”
“They almost injected me with the virus. I’m surprised I’m alive at all.” He turned toward Rhett, still reeling to find him here, in Paris. “What are you doing here and how’d you find me?”
“I grabbed a plane last night. Given the severity of this case it was easy to convince my boss I’d be an asset to the investigation.
I answered the phone as you were being attacked.
I heard glass shattering and then someone shouting instructions about which hospital to take you to.
I just got here and there you were, streaking from the side of the building.
I didn’t even have to figure out how I’d get you out of there. ”
Relief loosened the strain in Brock’s body. Just knowing that he wasn’t alone, that someone was here, fighting with him—an FBI agent no less—gave him newfound hope they’d find Dani and all of them would survive this mess.
He clapped Rhett on the shoulder. “Pretty sure I owe you more than a drink right now.”
Rhett smirked. “How about a first-class ticket back to San Diego after we pick up Dani?”
“I might be able to swing that with my dirty money.”
Rhett scowled. “You’re going to say that every time I collect a debt, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “It’s more fun that way.”
“Sit back and catch your breath. I need to phone in some backup from the locals.” Rhett pulled out a different phone from his jacket pocket and barked orders into the mic.
Brock clutched the dash as they whizzed by the Eiffel Tower.
Only hours ago, Dani had been in his arms. Only hours ago, dozens of people had been gunned down and she’d been kidnapped.
He had help, but this was far from over.