Her hands shook when she reached into her purse and pulled the ribbon from between the pages of the book. He wasted no time shoving the Glock he’d taken from her purse into his waistband and running his fingers down the length of hot pink satin. He stopped about halfway down to investigate something that caught his attention.
“Filament tracker,” he murmured in his gravel road of a voice.
Her head swam sickly. “Oh my God, I’ve killed us.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
He snagged her purse and dropped the ribbon inside. “Is there anything you need from in here?” he asked.
“No. Nothing that—”
That’s all she got out before he reared back like he’d done with the Perrier bottle in the café.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Buying us some time!”
He chucked her purse with all his might, sending it sailing into the dark circus ring. She couldn’t see it hit one of the stadium seats, but she heard it and winced at the thought of the book inside. Treating a first edition with such disregard was a travesty. Then again, she’d douse the thing in gasoline and set it on fire if it meant staying alive.
“Come!” Angel grabbed her hand and jerked her into a run. “As quickly and quietly as you can.”
Quick and quiet were a problem when it came to kitten heels. Why was she always wearing the wrong shoes? Stepping out of them, she shivered as the cold, dusty tiles kissed the bottoms of her feet.
Angel took them halfway around the circus before stopping. They were now opposite the front door. He hopped over a long counter set near the wall. The clothing racks and hangers spread out behind the counter told her this was the old coat check, the spot patrons had come to leave their jackets and scarves and gloves. Then he turned to her, holding out his arms as if to say Jump over! I’ll catch you!
Seriously? His plan was to squirrel away beneath the counter? That felt a little too John Bender hiding under Claire’s desk in The Breakfast Club for her taste. Only it wasn’t vice principal Dick Vernon they needed to protect themselves from.
Still, she knew better than to question Angel. Hopping onto the counter, she didn’t protest when he caught her under the arms and dragged her over. Her bare feet hit the floor on the other side as a soft squeak met her ears. Whoever was outside had pulled back the sheet of plywood over the front door.
They were definitely in the Scheisse now. Blood pounded in her brain. Heaven help her, but her breath sawed from her lungs so loudly she thought for sure she’d give away their position the second Grafton’s goons made it inside. She tried holding her breath, but that made her vision tunnel.
Best not to pass out. That would only compound their problems.
Raking in a ragged breath through her nose, she watched Angel slide between two metal coatracks. He grabbed the handle on a narrow wooden door in the wall.
Huh. She hadn’t noticed that before. Wouldn’t have noticed it. Again, she thought how smart he’d been to spend time scouting their location before settling in. Maybe whatever sort of space was behind that door would be big enough to hide in until—
Until what? What was the plan, exactly? Wait for his friends to show up?
Angel pulled her cell phone from his back pocket, hid it inside his jacket to limit the glow of the screen, and typed something. Then he pocketed the phone and opened the door.
The yawning maw that materialized smelled of dry dust and tangy metal. She could say without a doubt she did not find it the least little bit inviting.
Angel stepped inside and disappeared completely, swallowed up by the blackness. His hand shot out of the inky gloom, two fingers beckoning her to follow. Careful not to jostle the coatracks and hangers, she allowed him to pull her into the space. He closed the door as a shush of sound met her ears. The front door sliding open.
Grafton’s thugs have entered the building, she thought a little hysterically.
Angel’s hand closed over her mouth. His breath was hot and humid in her ear when he leaned close and whispered so low he might have been only mouthing the words, “There are stairs behind us. They lead down to the engine room. I will use the light on your phone to give you a quick glimpse. Then we go down in darkness. Nod if you understand.”
Her nostrils flared. Her heart banged against her breastbone so loudly she was surprised he could talk over it. She nodded.
Slowly, with supreme care, he turned her around. Her bare feet told her she was no longer standing on tiles but on some sort of metal mesh. Dropping his hand from her mouth, he fished the phone from his pocket and thumbed on the screen to shine light into the darkness.
She had enough time to make out the metal staircase leading down to a large room housing a quartet of old, rusted turbines, a few broken stadium seats, and snakelike sections of disused ductwork. Then he clicked off the light source, and they were plunged back into inky blackness.
She had never been afraid of the dark. That said, she wasn’t sure she’d ever experienced darkness this complete. It was disconcerting not being able to see the hand she held up in front of her face.
She was grateful for Angel’s solid presence and his reassuring warmth as they carefully, quietly made their way down the steps. Once they’d reached the lower level, she gently probed the area in front of her with her feet before taking a step, careful to avoid the broken chairs and ductwork. Then, what felt like an eternity later, they made it to the far wall.
