Page 75 of Duty Compromised
The furnace continued its deadly countdown, the hum growing louder as it warmed up. I could hear something clicking inside it—the ignition system preparing to engage. My heart was beating so fast I felt light-headed, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision.
Ty pulled out the burner phone again, thumbs flying across the screen, texting Donovan.
Window stuck or locked from outside. Can’t get out. Need help. Now.
His face had gone pale, a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cold garage.
We would only get one chance at this.
Ty showed me his phone screen. A reply from Donovan.
Roger. 30 sec.
Thirty seconds for Donovan to get here. That was going to be so damned close.
Ty’s hand found mine, squeezing tight. His palm was slick with sweat, or maybe that was mine. I couldn’t tell anymore. Everything had narrowed to this moment, this window, this countdown we couldn’t stop.
I pressed against Ty, wanting to run out the front door, not caring who saw. Only his arm wrapped around me kept me steady.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, so quietly the surveillance teams couldn’t possibly hear. “Come on, brother.”
The furnace clicked again, louder this time. The heating element was engaging. We had less than forty seconds.
Then, through the window, I saw movement. A shadow against shadow. Donovan’s face appeared on the other side of the glass, his hands already working at something I couldn’t see. The external lock, maybe, or whatever mechanism was keeping us trapped.
The window popped free with a sound like a champagne cork.
Ty didn’t hesitate. He grabbed me around the waist and practically threw me up toward the opening. “Go!”
Donovan’s hands caught my arms, hauling me through the window with surprising strength. My hip scraped against the frame hard enough to tear fabric and skin, my ribs compressed painfully as I squeezed through the too-small space. I tumbled onto the ground outside, the frozen grass scratching my palms as I tried to break my fall.
Donovan was already pulling me to my feet, his grip iron on my upper arm.
“Let’s go, Doc!” he hissed, dragging me away from the building.
“Ty—” I tried to turn back, to see if he was following, but Donovan’s grip was unbreakable.
“He’s coming. Run!”
“But…”
Donovan cupped my cheeks, looking just like his brother in the darkness. “I promise you, he’s coming. I would not leave him if that weren’t the case. So let’s go.”
I ran, stumbling over the uneven ground in the darkness. My bruised hip screamed with each step. Behind us, I heard the window frame creak ominously, then footsteps pounding after us.
I didn’t look back, couldn’t look back, just focused on keeping my feet under me as Donovan pulled me through the trees. Branches whipped at my face, catching in my hair, tearing at my clothes. The cold air burned my lungs with each gasping breath.
Then Ty was there, his hand grabbing my other arm, and we were all running together through the predawn darkness. The trees whipped past in a blur of shadows. My feet caught on roots and rocks, but the two men kept me upright, kept me moving.
The explosion, when it came, shook the ground beneath our feet with a deep, thunderous roar.
Chapter 22
Ty
I wrapped my hands around the coffee mug, letting the heat seep into my palms. The ceramic was one of those thick diner-style mugs my mom collected, solid enough to survive whatever life threw at it. Unlike me, apparently.
Every muscle in my body screamed when I shifted position on the kitchen chair. The temple wound throbbed beneath the butterfly bandages Charlotte had applied back at the motel, a steady drumbeat of pain that pulsed with my heartbeat. My shoulder—the one that had taken a bullet two months ago—had joined the symphony of pain. My other cuts and bruises also made themselves known. Between the fight at Charlotte’s place and dragging myself out of that safe house window, I’d definitely set my recovery back.
