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Her fingers curled into determined fists as they reached the eighteenth floor and she felt the first sign of fatigue and the beginnings of a burning sensation on the stitched wound on her side. Her ribs, which until now had not given her a single twinge of discomfort after the second day of taking it easy, suddenly made it known that they were in fact bruised and tender and that she was working them way too hard.
She would not slow them down. She would not be the reason for any delay. A delay that could prove fatal.
Gritting her teeth and mentally blocking the pain, she increased her pace, keeping her head bent so no one would be able to see her fatigue and distress. Thank God no one present was psychic and could pick up her thoughts or she’d be totally busted, though Beau did have an uncanny way of picking up on her slightest discomfort or worry.
Shit. The warm slide of blood registered but before she could hurriedly wipe it away with the back of her sleeve—thank God it was black—it dripped onto the step below her in a large circle. Worse, it dribbled in a line to the next step. She hastily wiped the blood and then used her cuff to do a more thorough clean so she didn’t miss a spot.
She should have known that Beau wouldn’t miss it. For once, could he just not be so damn observant? He should be focused on their objective. Not her.
But when he jumped a step so he was no longer behind her but on the same step, keeping pace with her, he reached over, jerking her head around even as they climbed, and stared hard at her features with eyes full of concern.
The only thing working in her favor was the strict need for silence and she could tell it was killing Beau to have to remain quiet and not reprimand her for not schooling her thoughts more. But it was hard when her mind was a veritable beehive of activity. Terror—not only confined to her parents—occupied and consumed her every thought. Particularly when they were sneaking up to her apartment, not knowing if they’d be ambushed at any time. Or what awaited them in her apartment.
Finally they reached her floor and not a moment too soon because Ari was ready to wilt. She was grateful that Dane directed them all to flatten themselves against the wall on the same side as the door and she was granted a short reprieve to catch her breath and try to block the pain.
Dane and Eliza took point, Eliza carefully sliding the keycard into the slot to open her door while Dane stood directly to the right of the door. He would be the first in, Zack directly on his heels and Eliza on his. It was a coordinated entrance with each of them clearing separate areas so there was no possibility of being caught off guard.
When and only when Dane gave the all-clear would Beau come in with Ari. Since the lovies were, fortunately, in her living room on a shelf containing photos and other memorabilia, it meant not having to chance going beyond that room. It would be a quick in and out and then they’d haul ass down the stairs as fast as possible.
Eliza was directly in the middle, in the sight path of Beau, but not Ari, since he had her securely behind him, one arm behind him, wrapped around her slight body, anchoring her to his. His other hand held a wicked-looking handgun and it was up and his entire body was rigid against her, a sign he was at full attention.
When she felt him begin to move forward, still holding her securely to his body, she assumed they’d been giving the all-clear. He stopped inside the door only long enough to put Ari in front of him instead of behind him since there was no longer a chance of danger coming from in front of them, but behind was still a possibility.
“Go get the stuffed animals,” Beau whispered. “Be quick. We’re remaining at attention and you’ll be covered so don’t worry about looking around you. Just get the items and then we’re getting the hell out of here.”
She all but ran across the room to where the large shelving unit was anchored to the wall, and she snatched the two lovies from their places of honor and held them close to her chest, knowing that as silly as it sounded, these two beloved stuffed animals could very well be the key to finding her mother and father.
TWENTY-FIVE
“I don’t like this,” Zack muttered as they drove back to Beau’s home.
Dane was driving, as before, but Eliza was riding shotgun, and Ari was in the middle row seat, Beau and Zack on either side of her.
Maybe it was because from the beginning, Zack had been there. And he’d been kind to her when her welcome by others hadn’t been the warmest of introductions. But she felt completely safe and secure with Zack on one side and Beau on the other, although she was more on Beau’s side instead of the true “middle,” because she was leaned into him, his arm wrapped solidly around her, and her head rested comfortably on his shoulder.
When retrieving the lovies had been met with no obstacles, no barriers, no danger, she’d been elated. As soon as they were back in the vehicle driving away, she’d wanted to do an honest-to-God fist pump. Hope, excitement, a sense of victory . . . faith. Complete and utter faith in these men—and Ramie, especially Ramie—that they would find her parents and bring them home.
She wanted them to meet Beau. As rigid and hard to please as her father was, she knew Beau would pass muster with him. When he looked at Beau, he’d see a kindred spirit and more important—to her father—he would see a man who would protect Ari with his life, protect her every bit as fiercely as he had.
But Zack’s words quickly jolted her back to the grim reality of her situation.
“What’s bothering you?” Dane asked, not sounding at all skeptical. His question was calm and it reflected his trust in Zack’s instincts.