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  Crack! Sizzle!

  Pain burst through the side of his neck and his body jolted as shockwaves pulsed through it. The gun fell away from his fingers and he clapped his hand over his neck. His hostage bolted out of reach and Brock’s legs buckled beneath him.

  A woman’s round face and blonde hair filled his vision. Her lips morphed into a smile as she moved closer. The end of a Taser stung his neck again. His brain flickered and blackness exploded behind his lids until his body surrendered and fell down, down, down. One last thought dominated his mind as he fought the ominous arms of sleep.

  Dani.

  * * *

  Eighteen minutes. Dani’s throat burned with every exhale. She circled her wrists around and around for the hundredth time, keeping as much blood flow to her fingers as she could. When he burst in the door, she’d need to be ready to run. She lifted her lashes to the brusque movement of the second hand on the clock.

  Something’s wrong.

  Maybe just a minor delay? She shook that off. No. Brock wouldn’t waste a single second. She couldn’t just sit here. What if he needed help? The constant motion of her hands and wrists had added a bit of give to the ropes. She stretched her palms as far from each other as she could, making the ligaments in her forearms and tops of her hands scream. She released them and glued her arms together, then inched one of her hands from the bindings. The rough weaves scraped over her skin, stopping before her knuckles. Almost there. She curled her hand into a fist, pulling the rope again, wriggled her hand, then flattened it.

  Moisture coated her palms, making her hands swell. If she’d had time, she would have focused on bringing down her heart rate. No time. She gritted her teeth and pulled. Her hand, decorated in thick red scratches, popped through the restraint and she let out a long sigh of relief. Shaking her wrist, she quickly peeled off the remainder of the ropes and bent to her feet.

  The ropes on her feet were much easier to remove. She cast them aside and glared at the door.

  Romy had a gun. She had nothing.

  She scanned the room and made a face. The only viable weapon options were the overturned stool or the fire extinguisher behind the door.

  She stood and her legs shook. She needed to get her strength back and fast. Lifting the solid steel object from where it hung, she held it in front of her chest and pressed her back to the wall next to the door.

  Nausea singed against the raw lining of her stomach, which was threatening to spill its contents on the pristine floor at her feet. She closed her eyes and took several calming breaths. Dread churned beneath her ribcage.

  If she survived after this, it’d be a miracle.

  “Hey asshole!” she called, clamping her hands tightly around the fire extinguisher. “I need to pee!”

  The doorknob turned and he skulked into the room. His gaze landed on the empty chair and he fumbled for the gun at his chest. She leaped forward and swung the bottom of the fire extinguisher into his head. A sickening crack! echoed through the room. He teetered and grabbed his head. Blood poured between his fingers. Dani’s heart rocketed into her throat.

  “Fucking bitch!” he snarled. She heaved the weapon again, but he shot his arm up, blocking the blow. He dove for her. His shoulder connected with her midsection and her back banged against the wall. The wind whooshed from her lungs and her already foggy head swam. His rough hands reached for the backs of her knees to throw her off balance. If she landed on the ground, she’d have no advantage.

  She jerked her knee, catching him in the groin. His body sagged against hers, crushing her ribs, but a satisfying grunt of pain reached her ears. She raised the extinguisher again and brought the steel cannister down on his spine. His back buckled and a howl of agony sang from his lips. His hold loosened and he folded to his knees. Not missing a beat, she swung the extinguisher like a cricket bat.

  His head flopped to the side and he collapsed onto his back. Victory flooded through her, taking the edge off her frazzled nerves. She dropped the extinguisher to the ground, removed the weapon from around his neck, and set it carefully on the chair she’d vacated. Grabbing the ropes, she restrained his feet then positioned her hands under his side and pushed. He was deadweight. She shifted, jammed her arms under him, and hefted with all her might. His shoulder went first, and then the rest of his body followed a little more easily. Sweat rolled down her forehead and her muscles screamed with strain, but she quickly secured his wrists behind his back.

  She scooped up the assault rifle, placed the neckband over her head, and held the gun in front of her, her finger far away from the trigger. The last thing she needed was to get spooked and accidentally shoot Brock.

  Tiptoeing toward the hall, she paused at the door. The sharp ring of a cell phone froze her in place. Then she turned. The sound was coming from Romy’s phone. It could be Ubrigg calling with news on Brock. She bent down, took the phone from his back pocket, and read the name on the screen. Sure enough. Ubrigg.

  Without hesitating, she swiped to answer but didn’t say hello.

  “Romy! That bastard didn’t show. He’s probably on his way to the lab. Get her somewhere secure. Now.”

  Terror immobilized her. Her breath spiraled in her lungs, begging to be released.

  “Romy, are you there? Hello?”

  She hung up and got to her feet, grabbed her purse from Ubrigg’s desk, and draped it across her chest. She had to get somewhere safe. Ubrigg wasn’t stupid. Now that he knew something was up with his henchman, he’d probably send another guard to the lab. She placed her thumb on the phone’s screen to stop it from going into sleep mode. Returning to Romy’s unconscious form to unlock his phone with his thumb was something she wanted to avoid.

  She hovered at the door and scanned the hallway. She couldn’t leave the building until she spoke to Brock. He’d come here looking for her, and if Ubrigg found him before she did, he’d kill him. She charged for the hallway, her bare feet slapping against the cool tile. She found a custodian closet, slipped inside, and dialed Brock’s number. It rang and rang.

  “The number you’re trying to reach is unavailable.”

  No! She brought up the text message screen and typed. Shit. She couldn’t tell him where to meet her. Someone could have him—or his phone—in their possession. She had to give him some kind of message.

  I’m okay. Call this number when you get here.

  She hit Send and then stared at the screen until it went dark. Pressing her back to the wall, she slid down the drywall until her butt hit the floor.

  Brock, where are you?

  CHAPTER 20

  A loud humming dragged Brock out of the depths of unconsciousness. The hum turned into a dull buzz behind his ears, reminding him of the sizzling zap that had instantly debilitated him. He blinked his eyes open and stared at white ceiling tiles. His body lay flat and a bright light was directed at his face. He grunted, turned his head, and heaved his body forward to sit. He couldn’t move. His arms remained at his sides despite his pushing. What the hell? He blinked until his eyes adjusted to the white fluorescents and then brought his attention to his arms. Brown leather straps were coiled around his wrists and a larger one was strapped across his legs, restraining him to a medical examination bed.

  Fear jerked through him, and he yanked and bucked against the restraints.

  “Please, don’t waste your time.” The sharp click of high heels approached, and pale, slim fingers swung the light away from him. Brock studied the middle-aged face, and recognition fired through his still-muddled brain.

  The woman from the train.

  Her blonde hair skimmed her collarbone and her stony brown eyes moved over his bare chest.

  Who had taken off his shirt?

  “What the hell do you want?” he said through clenched teeth.

  She pursed her lips. A hint of a smile flared in her eyes then disappeared. “I have what I want.” She reached into the pocket of her white lab coat and held the flash drive between her thumb and forefinger. He lur
ched toward her. She didn’t flinch.

  “Thank you for delivering it. Even though you had to complicate things so much.”

  “Who are you working for?” he growled. “Giles Artis?”

  Some of the color left her cheeks. She broke eye contact, paced to a desk at the other side of the small room, and placed the flash drive on it. A younger woman, also wearing a lab coat, sat at a desk in front of a computer.

  The blonde snorted and picked up a clipboard. “No. Giles worked for me. He’s . . .” She tilted her chin thoughtfully. “No longer employed with us.”

  She killed him. Brock opened and closed his fists. “Who’s us?” He had a pretty good idea, but the need to keep her talking and delay whatever sick activity she had planned made him ask.

  “That’s enough questions.”

  Indignation singed the back of his neck. “What do you want with the formula?”

  She rolled her eyes and made an impatient sound. “I don’t want to have to gag you, so mind your tongue. Though I see I’m going to have to explain some things to you in order for you to cooperate.”

  He closed his mouth. This whole thing was useless. He needed to get to Dani before Ubrigg returned. He glanced around at the bare walls until he found a clock near the steel door: 1:22 a.m. He was half an hour late. By now, Dani would be frantic. Ubrigg would be back soon. He had to get the hell out of here. “We saw you on the train and at our hotel. How did you find us?”

  Her cheeks puffed with an impatient breath. “Danielle was very elusive, but once we secured a good image of her face from a street camera leaving Ubrigg Lichti’s building, we could follow her throughout the city, although it took a lot of time and effort keeping track of her.”

  His blood turned to ice. “The Interpol agent, Rudolph. He was working for you.” It was the only way she’d have access to that kind of technology other than an advanced hacker, but it explained Rudolph’s involvement and attempt on Dani’s life.

  “That will be enough.” The older woman’s eyes turned small. “How much do you know about the formula?”

  Her question made him shift his stare to her. He’d tell her everything she wanted to know if it got him out of here sooner. “I read through the formula and documents. I know Chrisolicom is a deadly virus that has no cure. I know Giles planned to release it on several major European cities to wipe out half the population.”

  She leaned back against the desk. Her assistant lifted her lashes and glared at him, deadpan, before returning her attention to the computer screen.

  “You’re not far off. Giles got a little ahead of himself, which is why he was . . .” She cleared her throat. “Terminated. I’m not stupid enough to release a deadly virus with no recourse. I have a family of my own, and we need a cure before this sees the light of day.”

  He worked his jaw back and forth and slid his gaze to the clock and then back to her.

  “Genevieve,” she said, gesturing to the younger woman, “has come up with a theory for an anecdote. The thing is, we don’t have a test subject.”

  A lead ball formed in Brock’s chest. His breath stilled in his lungs.

  “We have lab rats, of course, but for something of this magnitude we need a human host. And because of the nature of this disease, we can’t test on volunteers.”

  Ice prickled his skin. “Fuck you.”

  She cocked her head. “I know this isn’t ideal, but think about all the lives you’ll be saving. Dr. Lichti plans to sell this virus to the highest bidder. There’s a lot of organizations who’d like to see the population reduced. If we have the cure, we’ll—”

  “Be incredibly rich,” he said with a hiss. “You won’t get away with this. I’ve been working with the FBI and Interpol. They know who Giles is, and it won’t be long before they tie you and your whole team”—he nodded at Genevieve—“to him. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”

  She shoved her hands in her pockets and shrugged. “That’s a risk I have to take. Genevieve is going to ask you some questions about your medical history before she injects you with the virus. It will be in your best interest to answer honestly and accurately.” She strode to where the young woman sat and passed the clipboard to her. “Call me if he gives you any trouble.”

  Genevieve accepted the questionnaire and the older woman marched to the door, opened it, and slipped out. The sound of steel banging off the jamb echoed in the room. Genevieve rose from her seat. Keeping her gaze down at the clipboard and a pen poised in her hand, she approached. The ball of lead moved into his throat. He was going to die as a fucking lab rat.

  Out of all the reckless, dangerous events in his life, this was going to be the end of him? Strapped down and injected with some kind of twisted concoctions by a group of power-tripping sadists?

  Hell no.

  He couldn’t leave Dani waiting and wondering. He stared at the corners of Genevieve’s drawn-down mouth. Her brow puckered between her eyes, and she held herself perfectly erect.

  “How old are you, monsieur?”

  “Please, you don’t have to do this.”

  She didn’t look at him but scratched the pen on the paper.

  “Date of birth?”

  “I have a friend you can call. If you just tell him where I am, he’ll send—”

  “Do you have a heart condition?”

  “Dammit!”

  This time, her gaze snapped up and her lips made a small O.

  “For god’s sake. Please, don’t do this.”

  Her throat bobbed on a swallow. She went back to the desk, pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and turned around with a vial and sealed needle package in her grasp. “There’s a camera above the door,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She placed the items on a small metal table next to his bed. She picked up a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a cotton swab.

  Every muscle in his body turned rigid. The tendons in his hands squeezed, ready to catapult him off the table with the slightest give from the belts. He heaved against the restraints, lifting his knees in an effort to get at least one leg free. That’s all he’d need to knock her out. One solid kick to the head.

  “I have—had—a friend. She worked here. Giles and Dr. Lafontaine did to her what they want me to do to you. She died last week.” Her dark green eyes flicked over his hands. She squirted the rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad and swiped it over his wrist before wheeling an IV rack from the corner. She checked the bag of fluid then opened a separate package of plastic hose and connected it to the IV drip.

  Confusion raced through his brain. Her words, terse and calculated, contradicted her actions. He rolled his lips together and jerked again when she brought the IV to his skin.

  “Just saline,” she whispered. She dug the IV into his vein and taped the tube to the top of his hand. “I’m going to go over some side effects you’ll expect to experience from Chrisolicom XII.” Her voice came out strong, louder than necessary. “Mild side effects are dizziness, dry mouth, bloodshot eyes, nausea, and vomiting. The effects will come hard and suddenly, as the disease takes over your nervous system. More serious side effects are convulsions, seizures, blindness, loss of hearing, paralysis, and heart failure.”

  He bared his teeth and curled his hands into fists. He’d kill them. All of them. “Thanks for the fucking warning.”

  She glanced at the IV bag and her mouth tensed. “Mild side effects will occur within the first twelve hours. The serious ones will hit you after that. My team and I will work around the clock for an anecdote and hope you won’t have to see the serious side effects.”

  “Oh, and I suppose Ms. Kevorkian will let me walk out of here after that?”

  She leaned toward the IV in his arm as if checking it. “I have to make this look legitimate. They’ll kill me if they know I helped you.” She spoke so softly the sound barely reached his ears.

  Hope erupted in his chest, but doubt dug in its heels. “Why are you working for her?”

  She lowered her gaze and bli
nked several times, as if dashing away tears. “I don’t have a choice. I know too much now. Are you ready?”

  He gave one sharp nod and she continued.

  “I’m going to loosen the strap on your right hand, monsieur. That’s all I can do. You’ll need to strike me and make it look like an escape.” She reached for the other plastic-covered needle—the one she’d stick into the vial holding Chrisolicom XII. “Turn left down the hallway and take the stairs to the parking garage. My car keys are in my lab coat pocket, along with the flash drive.” The muscles in her throat contracted as she nodded down at her left pocket. “Dr. Lafontaine has your cell phone so don’t bother looking for it. Don’t let them catch you.” Her voice trembled and broke.

  With her back to the camera and one hand holding the needle, she lowered her free hand to the belt at his wrist. She worked her index finger into the loop and freed the strap.

  “Now,” she breathed.

  At her sharp, whispered command, adrenaline burst through his veins. He flung his wrist from the strap and shoved her aside. She careened backward more dramatically than was warranted. He freed his legs from the other strap, then grabbed the IV tube and yanked it from the top of his hand. Blood squirted out but he didn’t flinch. Without wasting a second he hovered over her and snagged the key from her pocket.

  She grabbed his wrist and her eyes met his. “You need to hit me. It won’t look real otherwise.” Her voice shook on the plea. His urgency wavered. Christ, he’d never hit a woman in his life. “They’ll kill me if you don’t.”

  Biting back a curse, he closed his hand around her throat, but didn’t squeeze. Her eyes bulged appropriately and her hand clawed at his arm. “I’ll be sure they pay for your friend’s death. What was her name?”

  “Annette Gaston.”

  He gave one nod and grimaced. “Thank you. I’m sorry.” He pulled his elbow back and jabbed his fist into her temple. Her head snapped back and she dropped to the floor. Disgust filled his stomach and he stood. The room spun and he grabbed the wall for support. If he didn’t get the hell out of here it’d be too late for Dani. With the keys in one hand, he deposited the flash drive in his pants pocket. He didn’t bother looking for his shirt.