lobby.”
“What if they catch you?”
“They won’t. It’s not the first tight spot I’ve been in in my life, Isabelle. I know what to do. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re still recovering.”
“I only have to make it to the elevators. It’s a very short sprint.”
She looked like she was going to argue with him, but in the end, she didn’t.
“Be safe,” she told him, then ran for it, keys in one hand, the other resting protectively over her belly.
He sprung up at the same time, drawing attention to himself.
A third of the way there.
A shot rang out, the bullet hitting the tailgate of the pickup in front of him.
Halfway there.
The next bullet hit the cement at his feet.
Almost there.
But before his finger reached the call button, the third bullet mercilessly slammed into him, knocking him to the ground, searing his body with pain.
Chapter Seven
Amir was hit.
Isabelle saw him jerk as his body absorbed the impact of the bullet. Then she could no longer see him as he fell. The shooter knew he had him and stepped out into the open, moving in for the kill.
“Stop!” She yanked her black mini-umbrella from her purse and angled her body to keep her shaky hands in the shadow, hoping like hell she looked armed and dangerous.
She had no idea what on earth she was doing. All she knew was that she couldn’t let Amir die here.
“Stop right there, or I’ll shoot,” she ordered in her toughest tone, the one she normally reserved for dressing down unruly residents at the hospital. Or patients she caught eating double cheeseburgers the night before surgery.
Then two things happened at the same time: the man turned his back to Amir and moved toward her, and a car entered the parking lot, its headlights hitting the umbrella, ending the illusion that she was holding a gun.
Blazing buzzards.
The attacker was closer to her than to Amir. In a few steps he was by her side, swearing, yanking her between two minivans and out of sight of the approaching car.
A rough-palmed hand clamped over her mouth before she could call out for help. In seconds they were at the black van parked in the back; then the side door opened and hands reached out of the darkness, pulled her up and in.
She kept her hands around her belly to protect the baby. Two men were in the back, at least one up front, driving. She could see only shapes, very little light filtering through the small window that was the only connection between the back of the van and the cab.
The men stayed silent while the vehicle sped out of the parking garage, tires squealing. She stayed down and remained still, giving them no reason whatsoever to get rough with her. Amir was her only thought. Let him be all right. Let him find her.
Then she realized that she still had her key ring hooked around her thumb. Without her car, Amir couldn’t follow the van, even if he wasn’t seriously injured. And if he was? She had to get back to him.
Whatever cool and calm she’d been faking fled in an instant. Panic set in. Shivering fear.
“Please let me go. Please. I’m going to have a baby soon—”
One man taped her hands together in front of her; another taped her mouth shut, effectively ending her begging.
A MIR RAN AFTER the van for as long as he could. Not nearly long enough. He gasped for air, ignoring the spasms in his side, the muscle pain in his legs, the pain of the bullet in his shoulder. He cursed the weak physical condition he was in after lying in bed for a month. But he kept moving even as he did that. Pushed around the bend. Jumped to the side when he was almost hit by a pickup. He didn’t bother to stop for the honking driver. He kept running up the parking ramp to street level.
“Isabelle!”
When he knew without a doubt that he wasn’t going to catch up with them, when he lost sight of the van down the boulevard, he dragged his wheezing self back to the hospital. He grabbed a soiled hospital gown from a temporarily abandoned cart by the
“What if they catch you?”
“They won’t. It’s not the first tight spot I’ve been in in my life, Isabelle. I know what to do. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re still recovering.”
“I only have to make it to the elevators. It’s a very short sprint.”
She looked like she was going to argue with him, but in the end, she didn’t.
“Be safe,” she told him, then ran for it, keys in one hand, the other resting protectively over her belly.
He sprung up at the same time, drawing attention to himself.
A third of the way there.
A shot rang out, the bullet hitting the tailgate of the pickup in front of him.
Halfway there.
The next bullet hit the cement at his feet.
Almost there.
But before his finger reached the call button, the third bullet mercilessly slammed into him, knocking him to the ground, searing his body with pain.
Chapter Seven
Amir was hit.
Isabelle saw him jerk as his body absorbed the impact of the bullet. Then she could no longer see him as he fell. The shooter knew he had him and stepped out into the open, moving in for the kill.
“Stop!” She yanked her black mini-umbrella from her purse and angled her body to keep her shaky hands in the shadow, hoping like hell she looked armed and dangerous.
She had no idea what on earth she was doing. All she knew was that she couldn’t let Amir die here.
“Stop right there, or I’ll shoot,” she ordered in her toughest tone, the one she normally reserved for dressing down unruly residents at the hospital. Or patients she caught eating double cheeseburgers the night before surgery.
Then two things happened at the same time: the man turned his back to Amir and moved toward her, and a car entered the parking lot, its headlights hitting the umbrella, ending the illusion that she was holding a gun.
Blazing buzzards.
The attacker was closer to her than to Amir. In a few steps he was by her side, swearing, yanking her between two minivans and out of sight of the approaching car.
A rough-palmed hand clamped over her mouth before she could call out for help. In seconds they were at the black van parked in the back; then the side door opened and hands reached out of the darkness, pulled her up and in.
She kept her hands around her belly to protect the baby. Two men were in the back, at least one up front, driving. She could see only shapes, very little light filtering through the small window that was the only connection between the back of the van and the cab.
The men stayed silent while the vehicle sped out of the parking garage, tires squealing. She stayed down and remained still, giving them no reason whatsoever to get rough with her. Amir was her only thought. Let him be all right. Let him find her.
Then she realized that she still had her key ring hooked around her thumb. Without her car, Amir couldn’t follow the van, even if he wasn’t seriously injured. And if he was? She had to get back to him.
Whatever cool and calm she’d been faking fled in an instant. Panic set in. Shivering fear.
“Please let me go. Please. I’m going to have a baby soon—”
One man taped her hands together in front of her; another taped her mouth shut, effectively ending her begging.
A MIR RAN AFTER the van for as long as he could. Not nearly long enough. He gasped for air, ignoring the spasms in his side, the muscle pain in his legs, the pain of the bullet in his shoulder. He cursed the weak physical condition he was in after lying in bed for a month. But he kept moving even as he did that. Pushed around the bend. Jumped to the side when he was almost hit by a pickup. He didn’t bother to stop for the honking driver. He kept running up the parking ramp to street level.
“Isabelle!”
When he knew without a doubt that he wasn’t going to catch up with them, when he lost sight of the van down the boulevard, he dragged his wheezing self back to the hospital. He grabbed a soiled hospital gown from a temporarily abandoned cart by the
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