Page 47

Ty Hughes

Four months & three days after Corazón…

“Doc.” I leaned against the lab’s doorframe, watching Charlotte’s hands fly across the keyboard. “You realize you’ve been talking to that computer for the past twenty minutes?”

She jumped, spinning in her chair so fast her elbow knocked over a rack of test tubes. My hand shot out, catching them before they hit the floor. Four months post-Corazón, and my shoulder only protested a little at the sudden movement. Progress.

“I wasn’t talking to the computer.” Pink crept up her neck as she adjusted her lab coat. “I was...verbally processing data parameters.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” I set the test tubes back in their rack, closer than strictly necessary. She backed up until her chair hit the desk. “Because from where I stood, it sounded like you were sweet-talking that antiviral compound.”

“That’s not—I don’t sweet-talk—” She pushed her glasses up her nose, a tell I’d noticed meant she was flustered. “The Phoenix Protocol antidote requires precise temperature control during synthesis. It’s basic thermodynamics.”

“Mmm-hmm.” I reached past her for the coffee mug on her desk, letting my arm brush hers. She went rigid. “This coffee’s cold, Charlotte. When’s the last time you took a break?”

“Breaks reduce productivity by 23.7 percent when working with time-sensitive compounds.”

“Eating?”

“I had a protein bar.” She gestured vaguely at her trash can. “Yesterday. Or maybe Tuesday. What day is it?”

“Thursday.” I set the mug down, frowning. “And knowing the day is exactly why Ethan pays me the big bucks. Come on, we’re getting real food.”

“I can’t leave. The centrifuge cycle completes in—” she checked her watch “—seventeen minutes, and then I need to analyze the separation gradient before the proteins denature.”

“Seventeen minutes.” I pulled out my phone. “Perfect. I’ll have Jace hack the building’s fire alarm system. Nothing says ‘lunch break’ like a mandatory evacuation.”

Her eyes went wide behind her glasses. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” I waggled the phone. “Logan’s still recovering from his Guatemala run, which means I’m bored. And when I’m bored, I make questionable decisions. Ask anyone at Citadel.”

“That’s... That’s blackmail.”

“That’s negotiation. Fifteen minutes for food, then you can come back and whisper sweet nothings to your test tubes.”

She bit her lip, and I tried not to find it distracting.

Failed miserably. Two weeks of protection detail, and Dr. Charlotte Gifford had gotten under my skin in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

The way she forgot to eat when absorbed in her work.

How she unconsciously sang Broadway tunes when she thought she was alone.

The fact that she could recite chemical formulas like poetry but couldn’t order coffee without stammering.

“Ten minutes,” she countered. “And we eat in the cafeteria.”

“Deal.” I stepped back, giving her space. “But I’m buying, and you’re getting something that isn’t beige.”

She stood, smoothing her lab coat. “Beige foods are typically high in essential carbohydrates.”

“Doc, one of these days I’m going to introduce you to the food pyramid that doesn’t involve molecular structures.”

We made it three steps into the hallway before the lights went out.

Emergency lighting kicked in a second later, bathing everything in an eerie red glow. Charlotte grabbed my arm, her nails digging in through my shirt.

“Power fluctuation?” Her voice pitched higher. “The backup generators should?—”

The explosion cut her off.

Not close—maybe two floors down—but close enough to shake the building. My body moved on instinct, shoving Charlotte against the wall and covering her as ceiling tiles rained down. My shoulder screamed at the impact, but I ignored it. Some things were more important than old wounds.

“Tyler?” Her breath came fast against my chest. “What’s?—”

“Shh.” I pressed closer, listening. No secondary explosion. No gunfire. But voices carried up the stairwell—harsh, commanding. Not English.

Not security.

I eased back enough to meet her eyes. Even in the red emergency lighting, I could see her pupils dilated with fear. But there was something else there too. Trust.

“Remember that fire evacuation I mentioned?” I kept my voice low, calm. “Change of plans.”

She nodded, those brilliant eyes locked on mine.

I pulled my Glock from my shoulder holster, checking the chamber by feel. “We need to move. Now.”

“The antidote—” She tried to turn back toward the lab. “The samples?—”

“Are worthless if you’re dead.” I caught her wrist, tugging her toward the opposite stairwell. “The formula’s in your head, right?”

“Yes, but the synthesized compounds represent three weeks of?—”

Another explosion, closer this time. The building groaned. Somewhere below us, men shouted in what sounded like Russian.

“Charlotte.” I gripped her shoulders, making her look at me. “I know this isn’t your world. But right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

She swallowed hard. “The statistical probability of survival increases by 82 percent when following expert guidance in crisis situations.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I couldn’t help the half-smile. Even terrified, she thought in equations. “Stay close. Move when I move. Stop when I stop. And whatever happens?—”

The stairwell door exploded inward.

I shoved Charlotte behind me, raising my weapon as three men in tactical gear poured through. The first one dropped before he fully cleared the doorway. The second dove left, firing wild. I felt the heat of a round pass my ear as I tracked him, double-tapped center mass.

The third had his weapon trained on Charlotte.

Time slowed. I saw his finger tighten on the trigger. Saw Charlotte frozen, her back against the wall. Saw the trajectory that would end her life and destroy any hope of stopping the Phoenix Protocol.

I moved.

The bullet meant for her caught me in the vest as I spun, putting myself between them. The impact drove the air from my lungs, but I kept turning, bringing my Glock around. The shooter’s eyes widened behind his balaclava as I put two in his chest and one in his head.

He dropped.

So did I, to one knee, gasping.

“Tyler!” Charlotte’s hands were on me, checking for blood. “You’re hit. Oh God, you’re?—”

“Vest.” I wheezed. “Just... knocked the wind out.”

More voices echoed up the stairwell. Too many. I forced myself up, grabbing Charlotte’s hand.

“Run.”

We made it ten feet before the fourth man appeared from the lab’s connecting hallway. Charlotte saw him first, shoving me sideways as his weapon came up.

The world exploded into motion and noise.

I hit the wall hard, my already bruised ribs protesting. Charlotte’s push had saved us both from the initial burst, but we were pinned. I raised my Glock, but the angle was wrong, and the shooter had cover.

That’s when Charlotte surprised me.

She grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and hurled it at the shooter’s head. He ducked, his aim wavering.

It was all the opening I needed.

The Glock barked twice. The shooter crumpled.

“Nice throw, Doc.” I grabbed her hand again. “Now we really need to?—”

“Tyler Hughes.” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing through the building’s PA system. Female. Accented. Familiar in a way that made my skin crawl. “We have the building surrounded. Surrender Dr. Gifford, and we’ll let you walk away.”

Charlotte’s fingers tightened in mine. “They know your name.”

Yeah. That was a problem.

“Mr. Hughes,” the voice continued, almost conversational. “You have quite the reputation at Citadel Solutions. Ethan Cross speaks highly of you. As does Logan Kane. It would be a shame if something happened to their protégé.”

My blood ran cold. Whoever this was, they’d done their homework.

“Sixty seconds,” the voice said. “Then we come in shooting. The good doctor’s formula isn’t worth dying for.”

I looked at Charlotte. Her face was pale, but her jaw was set with the same determination I’d seen when she worked through impossible problems in the lab.

“They need me alive,” she whispered. “You could?—”

“No.”

“The probability of your survival increases exponentially if?—”

“I said no.” I checked my magazine. Eight rounds left. Not nearly enough. “We stick together.”

“That’s mathematically inadvisable.”

“Good thing I was never great at math.” I spotted an access panel in the ceiling. “But I’m excellent at improvisation. How do you feel about air ducts?”

“I... what?”

“Thirty seconds,” the voice warned.

I holstered the Glock and cupped my hands. “Climb.”

Charlotte stared at me like I’d suggested she solve an equation in ancient Sumerian. “You want me to?—”

“Twenty seconds.”

“Charlotte. Trust me.”

She placed her foot in my hands, and I boosted her up. She pushed at the panel, her movements clumsy with panic.

“It’s stuck!”

“Hit it harder.”

“I’m a scientist, not a—” The panel gave way with a crash. “Oh.”

“Ten seconds.”

I practically threw her up into the opening, then jumped, catching the edge. My shoulder screamed bloody murder, but I hauled myself up just as boots thundered into the hallway below.

“Tyler Hughes!” The voice had lost its conversational tone. “You’re making a mistake.”

I pulled the panel back into place, plunging us into darkness. Charlotte’s breathing was rapid, scared.

“Hey.” I found her hand in the dark. “You did good.”

“Where are we going?”

Good question. I oriented myself, mental map of the building overlaying with what I knew about standard HVAC design. “These should connect to the maintenance shaft near the east stairwell. From there?—”

The panel below us exploded upward in a spray of automatic weapons fire.

Charlotte screamed. I shoved her forward. “Move! Move!”

We crawled through the darkness, bullets punching through the thin metal beneath us. Left turn. Right turn. Another left. The shooting stopped, but I could hear them below, tracking our movement.

“Here.” I found another access panel, this one opening into a utility closet. I dropped down first, weapon ready. Clear. “Come on.”

Charlotte lowered herself down, and I caught her, trying to ignore how perfectly she fit against me. Not the time, Hughes.

“Now what?” she whispered.

I cracked the door. The hallway beyond was empty, but that wouldn’t last. We were three floors up, multiple hostiles in the building, and Charlotte had the only working Phoenix Protocol antidote in her head.

My phone buzzed. Jace: 911 - Your location compromised. Evac now.

Yeah, thanks for the heads up.

“Doc.” I turned to Charlotte. “Remember what I said about trusting me?”

She nodded.

“Good. Because this next part’s going to require a leap of faith.” I pulled her close, whispering the plan in her ear. Her eyes widened with each word.

“That’s insane.”

“That’s Tuesday at Citadel Solutions.” I checked the hallway again. Still clear. “Ready?”

“The statistical probability of this working is?—”

I kissed her. Quick, hard, and completely inappropriate given the circumstances. When I pulled back, her glasses were fogged and her mouth hung open.

“Stop thinking,” I said. “Start running.”

We burst into the hallway just as the elevator dinged.

···

Keep reading Ty and Charlotte’s story in DUTY COMPROMISED .

She's a genius with test tubes, not running from terrorists.

He's trained for warfare, not falling for the woman he's protecting.

···

And, if you’re looking for some more thrilling romantic suspense, be sure to check out the Resting Warrior Ranch books from Dominic’s creative partner, Josie Jade.

They may no longer be active duty, but these Navy SEALs are still heroes... fighting all danger to protect the women they love.

Passionate romantic suspense series ready to binge. Start with MONTANA SANCTUARY .