Page 4

A few steps before they reached the open door of the library, Haven felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, sending a tingling warning throughout her body.

She surveyed her surroundings carefully.

At the far end of the hallway, past the cigar bar, a tuxedoed man stood sentry, appearing as one of the guards stationed throughout the building.

Glancing behind her, Haven noticed two other men in formal wear approaching, but neither gave her the impression they were part of the staff.

No, they were guests—or were they? She hadn’t been able to stare without drawing attention to herself, but one of the men looked familiar, and, as she guided Reardon into the library, she wracked her brain to figure out where she knew the man from.

He had dark hair and a trimmed beard, which barely covered a scar on his left cheek.

Slender, he stood a little over six feet tall.

That’s all she’d been able to catalog in her mind without a second look.

“What’s wrong?” Kenny whispered. “You’re frowning.”

Haven was surprised he’d picked up on that considering she almost always had her game face on while undercover.

But something niggled her brain about that one man.

Keeping her eyes on the doorway, she leaned forward and gave Kenny a kiss near his ear.

“I think I recognized someone, but I don’t know where I know him from. I need a better look.”

“Vixen, repeat. Didn’t get that last transmission,” Sawyer said in a low voice through her earpiece.

Positioning herself and her date so she could observe the unknown man if he came into or passed by the room, Haven waited.

In the meantime, since two older couples were now nearby, she couldn’t respond to Sawyer directly, so she let him know she was stalling while it appeared she was answering a question Kenny had asked moments earlier.

“I’m not sure, honey. I’ll have to check my calendar when I get a chance. ”

Seconds ticked by. Just when she thought he must have turned around and gone back in the other direction, an ultra-bright light flashed a split second before a deafening roar filled the air.

The floor shook as books came flying off the shelves and the floor-to-ceiling windows blew out.

Haven, Reardon, and other people in the room were thrown off their feet by the compression blast, along with anything that wasn’t nailed down.

Oh, God! Not again!

Total chaos ensued. People were screaming or moaning, but Haven’s ears were ringing so loudly she couldn’t hear anything other than the blaring fire alarm.

Searing smoke permeated the room, setting off the sprinkler system, which seemed woefully inadequate for the circumstances while still soaking those standing underneath the spray heads.

The explosion hadn’t occurred in the library, but somewhere close by—a room or two further down the hall toward the cigar bar.

Pain shot through her left arm where there was a gash from something that had hit her.

She ignored it as she reached out—almost blindly as thousands of black, white, and gray dots danced before her eyes—trying to find Reardon among the debris.

Grabbing a leg, she was relieved when her blurry vision cleared enough to see it was the Deimos geek, and he was alive, although stunned.

Kicking off her shoes—they’d be difficult to run in—Haven rolled to her feet, and pulled her gun from its holster, not worried her thong-covered crotch was briefly exposed.

Her head was spinning as she scanned the room for any other threats.

“Get up!” she shouted to Reardon, unsure if he’d heard her since she could barely hear her own voice.

She brought her hand to her ear and found the listening device, that’d been hidden by her hair, had been knocked out.

Bending down, she yanked on Reardon’s arm, trying to get him to understand her and get moving.

He shook his head, as if trying to clear it, as he slowly got to his knees.

Glancing toward the door, Haven was horrified to see two men in respirator masks enter the room with guns in their hands.

Instinctively knowing things had just turned into a kill or be killed situation—there was no way they could have outfitted themselves so quickly against the smoke unless they’d known it was coming—she raised the weapon in her right hand and fired, striking the closest man in the chest. He fell to the floor, the bullet to his heart stopping it cold.

The second man reacted quickly by diving to his left when Haven shifted her aim.

Her shot hit the back of the sofa he’d disappeared behind.

With limited ammo, she couldn’t afford to waste any, she’d have to wait for him to pop up to fire another shot.

That didn’t mean she was just going to stand there as an open target, though.

Not knowing if they could get out through the hallway, Haven propelled Reardon toward one of the blown-out windows as soon as he got his feet under him.

It would be about an eight-foot drop. Ignoring the other injured people in the room, Haven kept her weapon aimed at the sofa as she pointed to the window.

“Jump!” she ordered her charge, grateful she’d been able to hear herself through all the other noise that time.

Obeying her was one thing she’d drilled into Reardon during the weeks leading up to the mission.

If she gave him a command, he was to follow it without hesitation; both their lives might depend on it.

Blood was flowing from a laceration to his head, but Reardon, thankfully, didn’t waste any time grabbing hold of the window frame, checking how far he had to fall, then leaping out.

Firing one more shot at the sofa, Haven grabbed the skirt of her dress, then stepped through the glassless frame and jumped.

Landing, she rolled as she hit the stone patio, letting her momentum absorb most of the impact.

Bits of broken glass ripped the soles of her feet and her bare arms. Paying no attention to them, she was moving forward before she was completely standing again, pushing Reardon in front of her to where the Trident boys would be waiting to cover and extract them. “Run to the trees!”

Each step was painful, but she shoved it from her mind—there’d be time to tend to her injuries later.

Zigzagging through all the guests, who’d already escaped from other rooms in a panic, Reardon and Haven hit the lawn running.

The crowd thinned out about halfway to the jungle.

Just when she thought they were going to make it, something slammed into her back, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Her feet flew out from under her as she fell forward, an involuntary scream caught in her throat.

Her back was on fire, agony ripping through every nerve.

Reflexively, her hands shot out to protect her from the fall, but she still landed hard.

Glancing over his shoulder, Reardon saw her go down, and he slid to a stop so fast he ended up on his ass.

Pushing against her hands, Haven struggle to get back up—there was only about fifty yards to go to the safety the jungle and armed operatives would provide—but she couldn’t make her feet and legs obey her brain’s commands.

What the fuck? It took a moment for it to register that she couldn’t move them.

Terror coursed through her as she tried to deny what she was quickly realizing—it’d been a bullet that had struck her, and her legs were now paralyzed. Oh, God, no!