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Chapter Seventeen

S he lifted her head slowly, blinked past the dizziness. Gingerly probing the back of her head, she found a goose egg the size of a golf ball.

She tried to focus on her surroundings, but there wasn’t much to see.

She was lying on her back on a cold cement floor, in total darkness.

Dankness. Forcing herself up into a sitting position, she closed her eyes against the new waves of dizziness washing over the beaches of her mind, carrying things like balance and depth perception away in their brutal undertow.

Okay, just take your time. Get your bearings.

Right. She had to stay calm and stay sharp. She was thinking clearly now.

She’d gotten to know Connor Romano very well in the past few days.

Probably better than she’d ever known anyone in her life.

He was too sharp not to figure out the truth.

He’d have to figure it out. Maybe he’d want to check in on her, or maybe when White never showed up to Connor’s planned ambush, it would dawn on him to find out why.

And once he realized his boss had been working for White all along, he’d know who had her, and he wouldn’t give up until he got her back … or died trying.

That was what she was afraid of. That he’d get himself killed trying to rescue her. Dammit, she couldn’t let that happen. She had to do everything she could to save herself before he did something desperate.

Rising, a little unsteadily at first, she moved forward until she felt a cool, rough wall against her palm. Then she ran her hands along the wall and explored the space.

She was in an eight-by-eight square concrete pit.

No windows. No doors. No stairs or steps or any possible way out, other than the way she’d come in.

She walked every inch of it, in search of anything she could use.

Her shins banged against a wooden crate that almost tripped her.

Her heart gave a rimshot, ba-dump-bump , then settled.

Not now, heart.

She sat down slowly and tried calming herself with mental reassurances, focused on taking deep, slow breaths, and willed her heart not to flip into tachycardia. If she could control her fear, she might be able to control the attack.

And eventually she did.

Then something furry brushed against her leg, and the SVT hit her full force.

There was something in Stryker’s eyes when he sidled up close to Romano, something that told him things were going seriously wrong. He sort of meandered as he talked, in a way that appeared aimless, but actually edged them further from the others.

Lexi’s half-sisters were watching like hawks.

“The formula’s a higher priority than the life of one woman,” Stryker said, glancing around to be sure it was safe to talk. “They think they’ve pinpointed the location—they’re gonna take it out.”

“No.”

“Drone strike. ETA is about an hour. I owe you, so …” Then he slammed his palm to Romano’s chest, shoved a piece of paper and a set of keys into his pocket, and yelled, “That’s it, Romano! I want you and these other civilians out of here! Now!”

“Fine, but this isn’t over!” Romano shouted back. Then he mouthed “thanks” and, turning, stomped away.

Every cop was looking at him as he went, so he kept up the infuriated routine. When he got close enough to Lexi’s family members, he spoke softly. “Get in your cars and follow me. Say nothing.”

Kira said, “The hell I’ll say nothing. Follow you where?”

“He’s taking us to Lexi,” Joey whispered. “And I think there’s a reason to hurry.”

Connor frowned, wondering how the hell she knew that. She couldn’t have overheard.

Kira said, “Michael and I will ride with you.”

They piled into two cars and took off. As he drove, Connor tugged the paper from his pocket. “This is the address. We have less than an hour to get her out of there.”

Kira took the paper from his hand, since she was closest, then took out her phone and started tapping. “Let’s see what we can learn from Google Earth.”

Connor nodded. He had to get Lexi out of this alive, no matter what it took. Even if it meant letting White walk away.

“I have two weapons,” he said. “There might be more in the car. It’s Stryker’s.”

Kira opened the glove compartment. “Make that four guns, and this.” She held up a small silver-trimmed crystal flask. Opening it, she sniffed. “Whiskey.”

“Yeah, I can modify that just a bit. Shame to pour out the whiskey but?—”

“No problem there.” Kira unscrewed the cap and took a gulp, then she passed it around.

It took more than thirty minutes for Lexi’s heart to convert back to a normal rhythm.

She’d tried every trick in the book from carotid massage to bearing down to holding her breath.

None of it worked. In the end, she’d done what she constantly warned patients never ever to do; applied pressure to both the carotid and the jugular at the same time, restricting blood flow to and from her brain until she started seeing big fuzzy black spots before her eyes.

She was on the verge of passing out when she felt as if her heart was flipping like a pancake.

The painful “BA-DUMP-BUMP” sensation hurt like a heart attack, but wasn’t. It was just her ticker converting back to its normal rhythm.

Finally, exhausted, she sat on the floor, her back to the wall, pressing her fingers to her neck to feel her pulse, just to assure herself she was okay.

She was, but she was also weak, dizzy, exhausted, shaky, and her head hurt. Typical aftermath of a major episode.

There was no time to rest, though. She had to get herself out of this mess.

Like an answered prayer, lights came on from up above and streamed through the slats in the wooden hatch overhead.

It wasn’t nearly as distant as it had seemed when she’d been falling through darkness.

Which was a good thing, because it was also the only way out.

She got up, grabbed hold of the crate she’d found earlier and placed it in the center of the room. Standing on it, stretching her arms overhead, she could just reach the hatch door. She pushed it upward, testing.

To her surprise, it gave. No locks?

She had to jump and shove at the hatch at the same time to make it flip all the way open.

It banged, her crate cracked, and she cringed at both sounds.

But the crate didn’t break and no one from above reacted to the noise the hatch had made.

More light streamed in now that it was open, making her blink like a mole.

Was it morning, or had they rigged up some lighting up there?

She heard voices again, though not as close. She wasn’t up high enough to climb out, but she could hop enough to catch glimpses over the edge. She saw two pairs of booted feet moving through a square doorway big enough to drive a truck through. She hopped a few more times, but saw no one else.

The last time she hopped, the crate cracked a little more.

Swallowing hard she got off it and stood it up on its narrow end, making it taller than before.

It wobbled dangerously as she climbed onto it, first on her knees, then slowly straightening to her full height.

This time, her head poked halfway out. The voices were more distant now.

Too far away to understand. She could no longer see them. Good.

The crate cracked, all the way through this time.

She felt herself going down, and quickly pressed her hands to the edges of the hole to hold herself up.

No more crate for help. She pushed herself up and out.

It was a struggle, but she did it. Then she lowered the door carefully and ran to the nearest shadowy corner.

Hiding there, she listened, watched. The only sound was the rapid, but normal, beating of her own heart and no killers were in sight.

The building was big and empty. Its metal walls reached up high. Over her head, steel grid-like structures supported the roof. Here and there, long fluorescent tube lights gave the place a dull, artificial glow. Some flickered, obviously worn out. The result was eerie and surreal.

Her gaze came down again, locking in on the normal sized doorway in the wall that bisected the building.

With a quick glance to her left and right, she tiptoed across the spider web of cracks in the cement floor, gripped the doorknob, pressed her ear to the door.

No sounds came from inside. She twisted her hand, and the knob turned.

Her heart in her throat, she stepped into pitch darkness and closed the door behind her.

Her foot hit something soft. Startled, she reached behind her for the door again, pushing it open the merest crack.

Dim light spilled in, and she wished it hadn’t. Darren Wade lay on the floor, a neat round hole in the center of his forehead. Dark red streams had painted a bloody headband across his brow. And the whites of his open eyes gleamed in the light. For a second it seemed he was staring right at her.

She was about to lunge right back out of the little room, but she heard White’s voice and footsteps. He was coming this way. She spotted another door on the opposite side of the room.

Her decision was made. Silently, she closed the door behind her, then moved forward in the darkness, forced to feel for Darren’s body so she could step over it rather than trip and give herself away.

The footsteps came closer. She lifted her hands, palms out, and found the door on the opposite side, located the knob, tried to turn it.

Nothing. It must be locked.