Midnight Hero (7 page)

“Wait!” She jerked upright. “We can! What about the fire alarm?”

“The crooks disabled the electricity, phone and computer systems. Thus the earlier ‘malfunction' announcement.”

“But they might not know the alarms and sprinklers are on an independent, protected circuit…with battery backup. I saw the schematics when I chose the layout for the bookstore's electrical fixtures during the remodeling.”

“That photographic memory of yours comes in mighty handy at times.” He tugged a bright curl that had fallen over her shoulder. “So, we start a contained blaze, and summon the trucks. Then we have to signal the firefighters without putting their lives in danger.” He pursed his lips. “It could work.”

“The third-story windows on the sky bridge facing south are visible from the parking lot. What if we get a sheet, write SOS on it and hang it in the window?”

“Great idea.” He grinned, steady and sure, his feet again on solid ground. “Only we'll write the police code for armed robbery in progress, with hostages involved. And add my badge number.”

She surged shakily to her feet. “Let's go!”

“Not so fast, slugger.” He rose and flexed his cramped muscles. “First, we train.”

“But we have to hurry!”

“When you hurry, people die. We do this by the book.” He glanced around the murky store and grabbed his pack and the baseball bat he'd snatched from the sports outlet upstairs. “Let's change locations.”

“Okay.” She picked up her pack and baseball bat. “How come?”

“Not smart to stay in one place when you're being hunted.”

She froze with her pack dangling from one shoulder. “Are we being hunted?”

“Odds are good. The bookstore's deposit bag wasn't on the floor outside the bank. The robbers must have found it.”

“I'm sorry, Con.” Her delicate red-gold brows scrunched together in an anxious frown. “It's all my fault.”

“It is
not
your fault. I grabbed you and scared you. Besides, we have an advantage. The bad guys don't know about me. They think they're after a terrified bookstore clerk. They'll search the
other end of the mall first.” He left out the fact that the criminals who were after them seemed as disciplined and heavily armed as any SWAT team. Professionals with the precise teamwork of ex-military men.

Con welcomed the sharp slap of adrenaline in his bloodstream as he shrugged into his pack. He'd need every ounce of strength, courage and wits he possessed. Every moment of training. He and Bailey were in for the fight of their lives.

 

Bailey followed Con to the doorway. He motioned her to a stop and then sidled out.

An instant later, he returned. “We're headed for the Bedroom Furniture Emporium at the far end, across the way. We'll move independently, in stages. I'll watch your back, you watch mine. Stay low and close to the wall.”

Relief trickled through her. He was back to normal. When his composure had fractured, she'd wondered if he would recover. Or if shock and pain would send him hurtling into a suicide mission. His evaluation report again appeared in her mind's eye.
Maintains emotional control.
Con's CO knew him better than she did. However, she was learning more by the second. And the more she discovered about Con's true character, the more she admired him. The more she trusted him. The more she loved him. The more bewildered she felt. After tonight's events, would she still be able to walk away from him? Did she want to?

“Go!” His whisper mobilized her, and she crept into the oppressive silence. Confusion churned inside her as quickly and quietly, they took turns scuttling toward their goal. She hurried past the import store. The security gate had lowered all the way down there and at Harry's Cigars next door. More had randomly lowered at this end of the mall.

Bedroom Furniture Emporium was open, and she ducked inside, followed by Con.

Darkness shrouded the store. She studied the spooky space, filled with towering silhouettes. Odd how everyday objects like dressers and beds looked menacing in the dark. Amber security lights broke the gloom toward the back, by the sales counter.

Con nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Lots of heavy cover.”

They rearranged the sturdy furniture until a maze of barricades led to the mall opening. That way, they wouldn't get trapped inside. Con then taught her basic hand signals so they could communicate across distances or without speaking. He showed the same qualities as a teacher she suspected he would exhibit as a lover—focused, patient and extremely thorough.

Though he didn't say so, she realized he was also equipping her to communicate with the SWAT team in case something happened to him. At the thought of him hurt, or worse, a giant fist squeezed her heart. She shoved the horrible image aside.
Focus on the task at hand.

Every instinct screamed to hurry. Get the SWAT team on site fast. “How much time do we have? Shouldn't we go upstairs?”

He rolled his wrist to consult his watch. “We're okay. Breaching the vault door is gonna take a while.”

“How many white sheets do you want?” Tamping down her apprehension, she headed for the shelves on the back wall. Con had experience and training. He wouldn't put the hostages in danger.

He carried their knapsacks to the open floor space in the rear of the store. “Two should do it.”

Amongst the rainbow of patterns and colors, plain white cotton was as rare as a missionary in a brothel. But she finally located some. She ripped open packages, unfolded the linens and shook them out, then knelt on the oak parquet floor beside Con.

He extracted the markers and passed her a red one. “Glad you picked these up. Make the letters and numbers as big as possible.”

He outlined his sign with a black marker. She knelt and logged the bedding's cost in her notebook. That done, she wrote
10-23, code 2
on her bedsheet, and then began to fill in the spaces.

His warm butterscotch voice broke her concentration. “What kind of sheets do you have on your bed, darlin'?”

Startled, she glanced up and met his speculative gaze. He'd never been in her bedroom, nor she in his. She wanted commitment before investing her body, heart and soul in a physical relationship. He'd respected her wishes and hadn't pushed.
Resisting temptation hadn't been easy, however. Their sexual appetites were well matched, each ravenous for the other.

“Mauve satin with cream lace.” A bewitching picture shimmered into her mind. Con, naked in her bed, his hard-muscled body tantalizingly draped in satin sheets. Warmth tingled over her skin.

A slow, lazy smile slid over his mouth, and the warmth blossomed into heat. “Ah, my girl is a sensualist. No surprise.”

Jeez, his killer smile should definitely be a felony. She swallowed hard, struggling to formulate a coherent sentence. “What about you? What kind of sheets are on your bed?”

“Dark green cotton jersey. It's like sleeping on a favorite T-shirt.” His gaze darkened, grew intense. Desire smoldered in the rich brown depths. She read his thoughts as clearly as her own. Obviously, he had no trouble picturing her in his bed, either.

Her abdominal muscles clenched and heaviness pooled low in her belly. Had not making love been a mistake? They were fighting for their lives. If they didn't escape, she'd never know the wonder of being in his arms, the joy of belonging to him.

No.
She again squelched her worry. Negativity devoured precious resources. She needed energy, focus and every smidgen of creativity to help them escape.

Bailey gave herself a mental shake and put renewed effort into the banner. Forming each letter carefully and precisely, she recalled a recent Scrabble match. She'd concentrated on beating Con, not an easy task, and hadn't realized what he was up to until well into the game. Until she'd really looked at what his tiles spelled. Passion. Desire. Arousal. Caress. Kiss.

When she'd glanced up, he'd arched a teasing brow. She'd lunged and kissed him soundly. They'd ended up locked in an embrace, rolling across the board and scattering tiles. How did he electrify her without uttering a sound? Without a touch?
Like now.

Awareness hummed between them. His heat, his scent beckoned her. Her senses responded to every shift of his lithe body, every movement. Her tension escalated with his every quiet breath.

When the sign was nearly finished, she hesitated, the marker hovering over white cotton. “Con?”

“Yeah?” His husky reply had her stomach jumping again.

“Is it…? I'm…um…” Unable to meet his gaze, she swallowed again. “Is it normal to be sort of…turned on in the middle of a dangerous situation?”

Chuckling, he stretched, set down his marker, and then settled cross-legged on the floor. “Feeling a bit wired, are you?”

“Yes. Am I a pervert?”

He barked out a laugh. “No, sweetheart.” He tugged her into his lap. “Adrenaline sings through your veins, doesn't it?”

“You can say that again.”

“Every sense sharpens to hypersensitive. Colors look brighter, objects more clearly focused.” He feathered his fingertips over her eyelids and she caught her breath.

“Every nerve ending quivers at the slightest touch.” He cupped her face in his hands. His soft, moist lips grazed her jawline and she shivered.

“Your hearing grows keener,” he murmured into her ear, his warm, moist breath prickling goose bumps along her skin.

“Smells become dizzyingly acute.” His mouth a whisper from hers, he held her gaze. His scent—aroused male, tangy soap and cinnamon—wove an enticing spell, and she breathed him in.

Passion flared in his eyes. “Flavors flood your palate, are more vivid, more delectable.”

She turned her body into his, and his lips touched hers. Rising on her knees, she tangled her fingers in his hair. Her lips parted and his tongue drove deep, kissing her hard. His taste jolted her system. Intense, hot, spicy. If she lived to be a thousand, she would never get enough of him.

He'd kissed her before with tender seduction. Undisguised hunger. Even nerve-jangling desire. But nothing had ever sent her pulse hurtling into a gallop, made her limbs tremble like this rapid-fire assault on her senses. The air punched out of her lungs. Her brain puddled.

Pounding heartbeat against pounding heartbeat, the fiery, shocking clash of lips, tongues, teeth flashed through her body. The heady, erotic explosion ignited her blood. Emotions blitzed her heart and lodged in her soul. Need. Love.

Possession.

Con was hers, and she would never give him up.

Someone moaned, deep and throaty. She didn't know if it was him or her.

She jerked back, breaking the kiss. “This is a bad idea.”

“Probably, yeah.” Panting, he rested his forehead against hers. He blinked, and then shook his head. “What was I talking about? Oh. Adrenaline. Razor-sharp awareness is a survival mechanism. You need an edge in a crisis.”

Stunned moments passed before her jellied brain could process thought. She inhaled much-needed oxygen. Stress must have sent her around the bend. She was living her worst nightmare. An up-close-and-personal look at the reason she'd broken off with him. Getting physical would only worsen the untenable situation. How could she still want him so much when their basic life philosophies were in total conflict? “That doesn't explain the outrageous desire.”

He smiled. “Sure it does, when you factor in the primal instinct to mate in the face of death. To create life and preserve the species. A biological imperative hardwired into our genes since caveman days. One hundred percent normal, darlin'.”

She eased backward, putting distance between them. A moment ago, she would have followed the kiss anywhere it led. Now, she was questioning her sanity. “Biological imperative or not, I wouldn't have felt…um…wired if I were trapped with Aidan, or even gorgeous, wild-man Hunter.”

His smile widened. “Glad to hear it. I'd hate to have to pound my brother or teammate.” He stroked a finger down her nose. “Our feelings are exploding because we're emotionally connected. Crisis is forging our existing bond into a stronger link.”

She wasn't so sure. Was bonding supposed to be so scary? So painful?

He consulted his watch again. “C'mon, sweetheart. Time to go upstairs.”

Ashamed of herself, she wrenched her attention back to the current dilemma. “How could we waste time kissing when the hostages are depending on us?”

“Don't beat yourself up over it.” In one smooth movement, he stood and lifted her to her feet. “During an incident, timing is everything. Acting at exactly the right moment can mean the difference between live hostages and dead ones.” He glanced around the store. “I've got the situation under control. Now, we need to find something to start a fire.”

Her shame faded. She may have momentarily forgotten the hostages, but he hadn't. Obviously, he could compartmentalize. A perfect complement to her photographic memory. The two of them were becoming a formidable team. If they could only work out their differences, they'd be unbeatable. “Other than the one we just ignited, you mean? I'm surprised we didn't set off the sprinklers.”

“Too bad, because the cage on Harry's Cigars lowered completely, and we can't commandeer a lighter. I recall from my Boy Scout days rubbing two sticks together takes a damnably long time to get results.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “This is a furniture store, they must have tung or linseed oil around.”

They found several cans of linseed oil in the storeroom. She grinned at Con. “Great! This stuff will burn like crazy.”

“We still need a source of ignition.”

“Static electricity.” She grabbed a metal trash can and headed to the linen section. “We need a polyester thermal blanket. Ah, like this one.” She opened the package. “Watch and learn.” She vigorously rubbed two halves of the blanket together until they stuck, then rapidly separated them. Sparks crackled in the darkened showroom. “If nothing else, this will do in a pinch.”