Page 32 of Eyes in the Shadows

“Why wouldn’t you want anyone to know—”

I stop mid-sentence with a gasp and try to back up as far as I can as the guy steps close enough for me to see him through the steam. He’s fully clothed and his handsome face is covered in sweat. Oh, and he’s got a gun pointed at my chest.

My hands shoot up instantly as fear spikes through me, making them tremble. I’m trapped. He stands between me and the only door and—though it’s probably about six feet wide—the room feels too narrow for me to try to get around him.

“Oh my God,” I cry, hearing the terror in my tone.

“If you scream, I’ll shoot you. Got it?”

Definitely not a cop. My stomach lurches and I’m sure I’m going to throw up. “S-someone will come in—”

He shakes his head, a slow, nasty smile curving his lips. “Everyone’s evacuating. Didn’t you hear the fire alarm going off?” his taunting tone makes it clear he was responsible. “Oh, that’s right. I cut the line down here.”

I’m finding it very hard to look away from the black hole staring me down. I’d never seen a real gun in person up until a little while ago, and now I’ve seen two. This is the first one that’s ever been pointed at me, though, and the panic that’s welling in my chest is also clouding my mind. My body isn’t accustomed to this kind of rush of adrenaline, and it’s making my muscles feel all weird, like jelly. “W-what’s—”

“What happens next is up to you. You can either tell me what you know, or I’ll be escorting you out the emergency exit into the van waiting for us and we’ll go somewhere a lot more private for this chat. I can think of a few ways we can make you talk…” his eyes fall meaningfully down my body, resting on the bare skin of my chest and arms, then legs.

My breath stutters out. The threat of a second location, and whatever he’s implying they’ll do to me there, is almost more terrifying than the gun. I try not to look down at my phone, not wanting to draw attention to it, but I wonder if Mac is still there. If he’s listening. I know it’s a long shot… who knows where he is right now? And how could he know where I am?

“Is this about that guy in the picture? I swear, I don’t know anything about him!”

“Yeah, but you know something.”

I curse myself for being the world’s worst liar. I fan myself a little. “God, it’s so hot in here…” I breathe.

“Listen, lady. Rossi doesn’t fuck around, okay? So, you can either play nice or you’ll go down with that Russian fucker when we find him. Because we’re going to find him.”

“Rossi?” I repeat, baffled. “Like, Jay Rossi?”

“Are you fucking stupid or something?”

There’s a rush of cool air, which blows the steam around just enough for me to see the outline of another large person enter the room. O’Malley jerks his head around and manages to get out, “What—” before something wraps around his neck from behind.

In horror, I watch as the thug brings up both hands, clutching the thin line of what looks like wire around his throat with one and turning the weapon upside down to point it behind him with the other.

“Gun!” I shriek.

It’s wrenched out of O’Malley’s hand and I hear it clatter to the ground a second later. He’s struggling wildly, all jabbing elbows and twisting limbs. The sound of male grunts of effort and pain cuts through the noisy steam spigot, filling the echoing space. Their collective mass goes careening forward, and, runningpurely on instinct, I dive for the opposite corner of the room to keep out of the way.

I spy the gun through the steam and make a grab for it, just as the wood of the bench cracks and splinters under the weight of whatever fell onto it. My fingers close around the cool handle and I whirl, just in time to watch O’Malley’s eyes close in his beet-red face, and his whole body go limp.

With a forceful grunt, the man underneath O’Malley pushes him off and his body rolls away.

Of course it’s Mac.

“Are you okay?” he asks, getting to his feet with some effort, holding his arm like it’s injured. Blood is dripping out of his nose.

Then his eyes drop. And I realize that my towel is gone.

It’s like I’m completely frozen and time slows. His eyes widen, then follow a zigzagging path down my body, then up, stopping midway.

“Eleanor,” he says, his tone cautious and tight, “hand me the gun.”

It’s only then that I realize I’m shaking, and I have the gun pointed right at him.

12

Mac

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