She gasped, each breath a wet, rasping sound that turned his blood to ice. He pressed his palm hard against the wound, feeling the hot rush of blood between his fingers. Too much blood. It soaked through her shirt, coating his hands in slick crimson.
“El,” she whispered, her golden eyes finding his. “Get Keene. Don’t let him—” She broke off, teeth gritted against a wave of pain. When she spoke again, her voice was thin but firm. “Go. Stop him.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Her fingers closed around his wrist with surprising strength. “Yes, you are. Or this was all for nothing.” She forced a smile that was more grimace than grin. “I refuse to die as a fake fiancée, Wilde.”
“That’s not funny.” Over the top of the equipment, he could see Keene breaking away from the firefight, clutching his precious case as he disappeared down a side corridor.
Shit. If he reached the garage...
“Dom!” Elliot shouted. His brother’s head snapped toward him, eyes widening as he took in the blood. “Keene’s escaping and Rue’s hit!”
Noah appeared at his side. “What can I do?”
“Go get Irina.”
Noah nodded and sprinted toward the lab.
“Go,” Rue whispered again, her grip on his wrist loosening. “I’m not dying today. But a lot of people will if he gets away with that sample.”
Elliot looked down at her—at the woman who’d never backed down from a fight, who’d dragged herself up a hundred-foot ice chimney on a sprained ankle, who’d held him through the night like she was afraid he might disappear—and made his decision.
“I love you.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Don’t you dare die on me, Trouble.”
thirty-four
Elliot rose to his feet.His world narrowed to a single point: Keene, fleeing with death in a metal case.
For the first time in years, maybe ever, he didn’t run scenarios or weigh outcomes. He didn’t think three steps ahead.
He hunted.
Behind him, Dom was shouting orders, directing the WSW team to secure Rue and get her medical attention.
Rue was in good hands. Dom would move heaven and earth to keep her alive while he did what needed to be done.
The corridor Keene had fled down was long and poorly lit, the emergency lights casting alternating patches of shadow and sickly amber glow.
Elliot checked the borrowed rifle—half a magazine left. Not much, but it would have to do. He pressed forward, listening past the distant gunfire for the sound of footsteps, for the metallic clank of that case against a doorway, for anything that would tell him which way Keene had gone.
There—a door left ajar at the end of the hall, swinging slightly as if someone had just passed through. Elliot moved toward it, rifle raised, his finger hovering just outside the trigger guard. Hepaused at the door, listening. Nothing but the hum of machinery and the faint wail of alarms in the distance.
He eased the door open with the barrel of his rifle, revealing a service corridor that ran parallel to the main hallway. Smart. Keene was avoiding the main thoroughfares where he might encounter WSW forces. Elliot slipped through the door and closed it silently behind him.
The corridor was cramped, lined with pipes and electrical conduits. The ceiling was low enough that Elliot had to duck his head slightly to avoid the hanging bundles of cables.
Perfect.
This was exactly the kind of environment he could use to his advantage.
He spotted a junction box on the wall ahead, its panel slightly ajar. The station’s power grid would be running on emergency protocols after Dom’s explosive entrance. Elliot reached up and yanked down hard on the main breaker, plunging the service corridor into absolute darkness.
For three heartbeats, there was nothing but the sound of his own breathing, then?—
“Shit!” A clatter and thump from ahead, the sound of someone stumbling in the dark, followed by a metallic clang as something hit the floor.
The case. Keene had dropped the case.
