There was no way in hell her little scalpel was going to win out over two armed men. But at least she was trying.
“All right,” Marshall acquiesced. “Where is it.”
“Over there,” she pointed toward an instrument tray near the adjacent table. “In the jar of astringent.”
There was a slight emphasis on the last word, and Seth’s beleaguered mind pulled forth a night a few months ago when he’d interrupted her in her lab, coming straight there from his latest assignment. They’d almost made love right there on one of the tables. But when he’d knocked a jar of something onto the floor, she’d pulled away, quickly explaining that it had held a strong cleaning solution of bleach, powerful enough to eat through the finish on the floor.
It had killed the mood. At least until they’d made it back to her apartment. But right at the moment he’d be happy to bathe in the stuff. If only it wouldn’t burn the crap out of his skin.
Marshall reached out to pick up the jar, and Seth sent a quick prayer off to whomever might be listening. Please let him give her the whole goddamned thing. With a sharp exhale of frustration, Marshall handed the container to Tracy. “So get to it.”
She nodded, and started to bend over the body, her forehead creased as if considering the task, the jar of bleach still in her right hand. Marshall leaned in for a closer look.
Directly above him, Seth could see the edge of an iPad. The internet might be down, but the the little computer would pack a hell of a punch. That is, if he could get there before Henry had a chance to react.
Sucking in a breath, his muscles bunching in anticipation, Seth watched as Tracy strung out the drama, waiting for Marshall to lean even closer, and then he saw her shoulders tighten as she lifted her right arm.
Tracy threw the contents of the jar in Marshall’s face, spinning away as the man screamed in agony, dropping his gun and covering his face. Henry, unnerved, spun around, and Seth pushed to his feet reaching for the iPad, but he was two seconds too late, diving for the floor as Henry fired, the shot ricocheting off the wall.
“Run,” Seth screamed at Tracy.
Marshall was still clutching his eyes as he struggled against the pain. Henry lifted the gun for a second shot, but Tracy grabbed a rib spreader, and swung with the ferocity of a Yankee at the World Series. The man howled in pain, and another shot dug into the wall.
On his feet now, Seth crossed the room and grabbed Tracy by the hand. Together they sprinted for the door, keeping low, as bullets strafed the floor.
“Stop them,” Marshall yelled, his voice strangled by pain.
“Nicely done,” Seth said through gritted teeth as they ran into the hall, Henry lumbering behind them, still firing his gun. “Are you okay?”
“As much as I can be, considering the circumstances.” As if to emphasize the point, another bullet whizzed past her shoulder.
Ahead of them the elevator to Tracy’s apartment loomed, the doors tantalizingly open. “Better to go with the sure thing,” Seth called, as they ducked inside the relative safety of the metal box.
Tracy slapped her palm against the button to her floor. “If we make it up there, we’ll have a phone and my gun.”
“I’ll settle for the latter. Anything to even the odds between us and that bastard behind us.”
The doors began to close just as Henry’s face appeared in the opening. He snarled, lifting his gun, but before he could discharge it, the elevator lurched upwards, the doors firmly closed.
“Son of a bitch.” Seth breathed on a sigh. “That was close. Have I ever told you, you’d make a great FBI agent?”
Tracy gave him a quick smile, then wiped her hair out of her eyes, blood streaking across her face with the motion.
“You’re bleeding,” Seth said, his heart in his throat. “Are you shot?”
Tracy shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She
“All right,” Marshall acquiesced. “Where is it.”
“Over there,” she pointed toward an instrument tray near the adjacent table. “In the jar of astringent.”
There was a slight emphasis on the last word, and Seth’s beleaguered mind pulled forth a night a few months ago when he’d interrupted her in her lab, coming straight there from his latest assignment. They’d almost made love right there on one of the tables. But when he’d knocked a jar of something onto the floor, she’d pulled away, quickly explaining that it had held a strong cleaning solution of bleach, powerful enough to eat through the finish on the floor.
It had killed the mood. At least until they’d made it back to her apartment. But right at the moment he’d be happy to bathe in the stuff. If only it wouldn’t burn the crap out of his skin.
Marshall reached out to pick up the jar, and Seth sent a quick prayer off to whomever might be listening. Please let him give her the whole goddamned thing. With a sharp exhale of frustration, Marshall handed the container to Tracy. “So get to it.”
She nodded, and started to bend over the body, her forehead creased as if considering the task, the jar of bleach still in her right hand. Marshall leaned in for a closer look.
Directly above him, Seth could see the edge of an iPad. The internet might be down, but the the little computer would pack a hell of a punch. That is, if he could get there before Henry had a chance to react.
Sucking in a breath, his muscles bunching in anticipation, Seth watched as Tracy strung out the drama, waiting for Marshall to lean even closer, and then he saw her shoulders tighten as she lifted her right arm.
Tracy threw the contents of the jar in Marshall’s face, spinning away as the man screamed in agony, dropping his gun and covering his face. Henry, unnerved, spun around, and Seth pushed to his feet reaching for the iPad, but he was two seconds too late, diving for the floor as Henry fired, the shot ricocheting off the wall.
“Run,” Seth screamed at Tracy.
Marshall was still clutching his eyes as he struggled against the pain. Henry lifted the gun for a second shot, but Tracy grabbed a rib spreader, and swung with the ferocity of a Yankee at the World Series. The man howled in pain, and another shot dug into the wall.
On his feet now, Seth crossed the room and grabbed Tracy by the hand. Together they sprinted for the door, keeping low, as bullets strafed the floor.
“Stop them,” Marshall yelled, his voice strangled by pain.
“Nicely done,” Seth said through gritted teeth as they ran into the hall, Henry lumbering behind them, still firing his gun. “Are you okay?”
“As much as I can be, considering the circumstances.” As if to emphasize the point, another bullet whizzed past her shoulder.
Ahead of them the elevator to Tracy’s apartment loomed, the doors tantalizingly open. “Better to go with the sure thing,” Seth called, as they ducked inside the relative safety of the metal box.
Tracy slapped her palm against the button to her floor. “If we make it up there, we’ll have a phone and my gun.”
“I’ll settle for the latter. Anything to even the odds between us and that bastard behind us.”
The doors began to close just as Henry’s face appeared in the opening. He snarled, lifting his gun, but before he could discharge it, the elevator lurched upwards, the doors firmly closed.
“Son of a bitch.” Seth breathed on a sigh. “That was close. Have I ever told you, you’d make a great FBI agent?”
Tracy gave him a quick smile, then wiped her hair out of her eyes, blood streaking across her face with the motion.
“You’re bleeding,” Seth said, his heart in his throat. “Are you shot?”
Tracy shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She
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