The things he had to do.
“Are we almost there?” she asked breathlessly.
He looked. Not even halfway. “Nearly,” he lied. “Keep moving.”
“I wish he wasn’t dead so I could kill him.”
“Who? Alan?”
“And my father.”
This was a new one, but now wasn’t exactly the time to point out she’d been less than forthcoming with certain vital information.
From in his back pocket, his cell phone vibrated. He had no doubt it was someone at Sky High Air with more demands that he come home now. And it made perfect sense, except for one thing. For the first time in far too long, he felt…alive.
That was when the bullet pinged right past his ear.
Chapter 9
Shit, someone was really shooting at them. Noah hated that; he hated that it was starting to snow like a mother. He hated that he couldn’t enjoy his view of Mrs. Sinclair’s world-class ass, and he hated today.
He really, really hated today.
“Was that-”
“Yeah,” he said, his heart racing, his breath coming hard and fast. That had been close, waaaay too close for comfort.
Another shot ricocheted past his nose, and Bailey screamed loud enough to blister his ears. Hell. Wrapping an arm around her hips, he yanked, sliding her down into the protection of his body. Ignoring the fact that she fit against him as if she’d been made for the spot, he took a look over his shoulder. Eight feet to the balcony of the fifth floor. Or was it the fourth?
Wincing, because this was going to hurt like hell, he held onto his bundle of woman and leapt toward the balcony.
Bailey screamed again, but Noah was too busy hitting the deck, then having the air sucker punched out of his lungs when she landed square on top of him, to tell her to shut up again.
Honest to God, she was the noisiest woman he’d ever been shot at with.
Oh, wait. She was the only woman he’d ever been shot at with. One more whizzing bullet and his heart nearly lurched to a complete stop, starting up again on a staccato beat when Bailey covered her own mouth with her hand to keep in the next scream.
“Good girl,” he wanted to say. But with a groan, he rolled over in the snow, finding one hand full of soft breast. Christ. Yanking his hand back, he went up to his knees, keeping her tucked in front of him as he quickly crawled toward the balcony door, not an easy feat with the few inches of slippery snow. Pulling her up, he sandwiched her against the wall. “Wait here,” he said in her ear. “Don’t move, don’t breathe, and for God’s sake, don’t scream.”
“But-”
He put a hand over her mouth. “Princess, goddamnit, for once, just do it, no discussion.”
Only when she gave him a jerky nod did he run back to the fire escape ladder, where he slid down one more floor. Once there, he braced himself and kicked in the sliding glass door.
Glass shattered, and he toed out the rest, making sure to walk through and traipse as much snow inside as possible. With his penlight, he rushed through the opulent, ridiculously large, empty condo and opened the front door into the dark hallway. There. Follow that lead, assholes. Then he whipped back through the condo, back through the broken glass door, where he shimmied up the fire escape to the deck where he’d left Bailey, thinking, Please still be there, please don’t have done something stupid.
She was a mere shadow squishing herself back against the wall as close as she could get in the falling snow, practically hugging the plaster, hair wild around her face, which was as pale as the wall behind her.
When he loomed close, her eyes went wide, her hands flat on the wall on either side of her as she gasped, looking as though she expected him to rape and pillage.
It brought home the very sobering realization that he really had no idea what she’d been through, but whatever it’d been, it had been bad.
And he’d been flinging her around, pushing, shoving, pushing some more… Feeling like the biggest jerk on the planet, he lifted his hands. “Just me,” he said very softly.
Some of the terror left her eyes but not all, and she straightened. “I know that.”
He moved in close, stealing a precious few seconds to look her over, assuring himself she really was all right.
“Are you okay?” she asked, shaking like a leaf as she got a good hold of his shirt.
That she could even ask told him a lot about her. “That was my question to you,” he said, still holding onto her, needing to hold on to her.
“I’m fine.”
“I set up a detour.” Hopefully. “It’ll give us a few extra minutes. Come on.”
She tripped on her heels, then caught herself, doing her best to keep up, and he slipped an arm around her, trying to help.
The door to this level was locked, too, no surprise. But there’d be no glass breaking, not this time. The last thing he wanted to do was attract more gunshots. He fiddled with the lock on the slider. Yeah, he could pick this one. He’d seen several bobby pins in Bailey’s hair, and turning to her, he slipped his fingers through the silky strands. Silky, frozen strands.
“What are you-”
Jackpot. He yanked out a pin and dropped to his knees. “Remember the no-talking part?”
She held her silence for all of three seconds. “I don’t think those locks are going to be pickable-” She broke off when he shot her a dry look, and she tightened her mouth as if to say, Done talking.
Yeah, right.
Turning his attention back to the lock, he put his tongue between his teeth and concentrated.
“Noah,” she whispered.
Ignoring her, he set his ear against the wood to listen for the lock tumbling into place-
“Noah.”
Jesus. Tipping his head back, he went to give her a long, frustrated, shut-the-hell-up look, but she seemed so small and wet and miserable, not to mention off-the-charts freaked out, he just sighed. “Almost got it.”
“Yes, but those are state-of-the-art locks-”
It clicked open.
“Oh,” she murmured in surprise, a sound that turned into a gasp as he yanked her inside with him, carefully shutting and relocking the door behind them.
“Hurry,” he said.
“But I thought you sidetracked them.”
“They won’t stay that way if we don’t get out of sight and out of hearing range.” The condo was pitch-black, but he didn’t turn on his penlight, not yet. Not when the bad guys had guns and were on a scavenger hunt.
Not when he didn’t know what the fuck was going on. From the scent, he could tell the place had been dry walled, probably textured, but not painted.
Just like the condo above.
It meant no furniture. He knew they had to be in a living room, so he strode forward, one hand out in front of him, the other gripping Bailey, which proved unnecessary because she hadn’t let go of him since he’d found her against the wall.
She hadn’t spoken again, which he appreciated, but she was breathing like a misused race horse, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she hyperventilated herself right into a faint. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll take them a few minutes to figure out which floor we’re on.”
