More screams.
He forced back nausea. He couldn’t help them. He had to focus on Portia.
What was left of the ceiling creaked and shuddered. Pieces rained down on them. A fist-sized piece hit his brow. “Fuck!” Warmth trickled down his temple. He ignored it and concentrated on getting a struggling Portia to safety.
The next chunk—a bigger one—pummeled his shoulder. Tightening his grip around Portia, Killian lifted her off her feet and surged forward, ignoring the gasps and screams around them. The ceiling creaked again, the terrible noise reaching ear-splitting levels.
Suddenly, silence filled the decimated space. A palpable air of terror hung over the ballroom. Killian looked around the room at the destruction and the crush of people still straining for the exit.Was it over?
Killian looked up at the neon lights flickering against the night sky. With an ominous thunder, the remaining ceiling shuddered and collapsed.
Everything went black.
Chapter3
“Hey,dispatch? Package delivered. I’m on my way home.”
“You get that bonus, Dizzie?” Dispatch’s question crackled over the comms.
“Hell yeah, I did.” Her gaze flicked to the account notice on her implant screen and she grinned like an idiot.
She tipped the valet—habit, even without the rich bonus—and smiled when his thanks and phone number appeared onscreen. Dizzie threw her leg over her bike and slipped on her helmet.
“Congrats. Enjoy your celebration.”
“Pfft, what celebration? I’ve got the early shift. I’ll drag Alice out tomorrow after shift to celebrate.”
“Roger that. Drive safe.” Dispatch dropped off the line, moving on to the next courier and the next delivery.
Job officially completed, Dizzie started her bike. Her system buzzed with energy and she itched to spend a few of those shiny new credits. Next time she got one of these late-night requests, she’d trade away her six a.m. shift.
Alice wasn’t going to believe how awesome her night had been. A fat stack of credits. The valet’s phone number. Fancy champagne. But her best friend was truly going to die of jealousy when Dizzie told her about the famous Killian St. John.
Slipping out of the hotel parking lot, she merged onto the main road. She wasn’t in a rush now, so she obeyed the speed limit and replayed her interaction with Killian. He’d looked cool and aloof in his black tux and crisp white shirt. Her pulse had fluttered and she’d practically had to fan herself when he looked at her.
She’d nearly fainted when he said hello. Years of practice and a standard script were the only reason she’d managed to maintain a professional façade.
Killian’s family had been a major investor in the Tremaine Corporation since the beginning. The St. Johns were Seattle royalty and she was a corporate courier. Killian had grown up in a fancy house with a fancy family, while Dizzie had grown up in a crèche, raised by the company. Whoever her family had been—the orphanage had no records of them—they obviously weren’t on the same level.
How she’d managed a wink when he’d caught her nabbing that glass of champagne, she’d never know.
The smile that had crossed his lips in response? No wonder he’d been named Seattle’s most eligible bachelor three years in a row.
Lost in that smile, she wasn’t paying attention to the traffic. The squeal of brakes in front of her broke the spell. She slowed down cautiously, muscle memory coming to the rescue before she was consciously aware of what was happening.
She pulled up alongside a stopped taxi and flipped up her visor to look around.
Everyone was stopped. Her lane. The one next to her. “What the hell?”
Dizzie activated the traffic view on her implant. Black lines indicated blocked traffic all around her area, while red police activity lights formed a constricting ring around the hotel.
She blinked away the screen and tried to make sense of the stopped traffic and the ominous red and black map. Something must have happened at the hotel. She scanned the area, but was too far away to tell what was happening at the hotel.
All around her, car doors swung open and people spilled out, their attention focused on the giant screens mounted on the sides of buildings.
Shit. That couldn’t be good.
Propelling her bike with her feet, she maneuvered until she was half on the sidewalk, half wedged between two parked cars. Whatever happened wasn’t worth sitting in the middle of the road like a target.
