Page 6 of Lethal Game

To her amazement, she saw a man running toward them. He was young and athletic, wearing black pants and a dark windbreaker…and he had a gun.

She gasped at that fact, and her lack of focus allowed her attacker to pull her to her feet, using her as a shield in front of him. He had one arm wrapped around her neck, the other holding a gun pressed against her throbbing temple.

"Stop. I'll kill her," her attacker warned.

The man stopped, but he didn't lower his weapon. She had no idea who he was. He wasn't wearing a uniform. He wasn't hospital security. But he was here, and that was all that mattered.

"I said let her go," the man repeated. "You're not getting out of here."

The arm around her neck tightened as her attacker debated his options.

There were more footsteps coming from the other direction. A woman appeared. She was blonde and wearing gray slacks and a black jacket. She also pulled out a weapon.

"Drop the gun," she ordered. "There's nowhere for you to go."

"Do it," the other man said forcefully. "Now."

She wasn't sure her attacker was going to let her go. If he killed her, they'd kill him. That wouldn't be good for him, but it also wouldn't be good for her. She couldn't just stand by and let him decide for both of them.

His uncertainty allowed his grip on her to ease, and she saw her opening.

She jammed her elbow into his midsection and spun free of his grip.

His gun went off.

Then another blast rocked the air as she dropped to the ground, the glass from the car window next to her shattering all over her.

She covered her head with her hands.

Someone else was yelling in pain, someone besides her.

And then the man who had come to her rescue squatted down in front of her. "You're safe," he told her, putting his hand on her arm.

Alisa blinked, still in shock. Her head pounded, her body ached, and her mind struggled to catch up with what had just happened. She stared at him in confusion. His eyes were so blue, they were almost shocking. "Who—who are you?"

"Jason Colter, FBI."

"FBI?" she stuttered. "Why are you here?"

"We heard you scream."

She licked her lips, looking over her shoulder to see the blonde woman standing over her attacker, who was now facedown on the ground, his hands tied behind his back, blood coming from his shoulder. "Did you shoot him?"

"Yes. But he'll live." As he finished speaking, security guards and police flooded the garage.

"Your hand is bleeding," he said, his sharp blue gaze sweeping across her face and body.

"I cut it on the bumper," she said dully.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"My head. He hit me with his gun. He was trying to get me in the car. He got my keys. I don't understand why he didn't just take the car and go."

The same question moved through the agent's eyes as he glanced away from her toward her assailant. "We'll figure it out. Can you stand up?"

"I think so." He got to his feet, then held out his hand.

She put her uninjured hand in his as he helped her to her feet. She winced as more pain ran through her head, and she couldn't seem to let go of his hand. "Sorry, I'm a little shaky."