An explosion from the adjoining room caused Britt to jerk upright.
Immediately, she heard shouting. Scuffling. Then gunfire.
Her heart rate bolted into a sprint. What had happened?
She levered her feet underneath her and pushed herself to standing.
Urgent male voices. More thudding.
Tom slid inside the room where she was being held and closed the door. He strode toward her, face grim.
Whatever was going down in the next room—it couldn’t be good for Tom. He might even have decided to free her to use her as a shield.
She had no intention of serving as his shield.
The second he released her, he’d doubtless try to grab her. Then what? Force her cooperation by pointing a gun at her?
The clamor in the next room continued as Tom lifted a pair of cutters to the restraint binding her wrists.
The instant her wrists sprang apart, Britt lunged away from him. She’d been assessing the rusty metal bar lying on the room’s floor since they’d caged her here. She lifted it now.
He came at her fast. She swung the bar with all her might. Hejerked out of its path and continued to advance. She swung again. Again. Without success. The heaviness of the metal sucked the strength from her arms. She gathered her energy and sliced the bar through the air—
He caught it in midair and attempted to yank it from her.
Her fingers clenched the bar, fighting to hold on.
Tom gave a mighty pull. Metal scraped her palms as Tom wrenched it from her and tossed it aside. It landed with a terrible clatter.
He made a swipe for her. She dodged just beyond his reach. Angrily, he thrust a hand inside his suit jacket—
The door banged open, and a SWAT officer filled the opening. His vision and his gun’s sight swerved past Britt before stopping on Tom. “Freeze.”
Time seemed to spin as Britt and the officer waited for Tom’s response.
“Hands where I can see them,” the officer said, approaching. A second officer followed him in. Then a third.
Gradually, Tom lifted his palms.
Two of the officers descended on him. The third made his way to Britt. “Ms. Bradford? Are you all right?”
He wore so much gear—helmet, loaded vest, arm guards—that he almost looked like RoboCop. However, his eyes were kind.
“I’m fine.” Her voice sounded sturdier than she felt. The visual evidence was telling her that she might be safe. But her adrenaline wasn’t buying it. Streams of it coursed through her, making her feel faint and like she could swim the English Channel and shaky and hyper alert all at the same time.
Through the door, she saw the debris of the exchange between Tom’s men and the officers. Overturned chairs. Strewn papers. A man’s arm, lying motionless against the floor at an unnatural angle—
Her attention skittered from that sight, rising to observe more SWAT team members entering the space.
“Right this way, Ms. Bradford,” the one with the kind eyes said.
He took a gentle hold of her elbow and steered her forward.
“Have you found the painting?” she asked.
The officer tapped the rectangular crate as they passed. “I believe this is it, right here.”
“You’ll ... make sure it’s in there?”
