Page 26 of Flint’s Strike

The thin, plastic gloves are soaked in sweat. I can’t stand the sensation a minute longer. I drop the flashlight, then rip off both sets of gloves and rest my forehead against the door.

Think!

My dad’s multitool. I run my fingers over the metal plate around the door handle. Four screws. If I take them off, maybe I’ll be able to force the bolt free.

Tucking the flashlight under my arm, I pull the tool out of the small pouch strapped to my waist. Pain lances through my thigh as I drop to my knees, but I grit my teeth and snap the Phillips head into position.

The first screw loosens easily, but the second is stripped bare. I get the last two off, then use the tool’s pry bar to knock the metal plate askew. There’s barely enough room for me to wedge the bar into the lock assembly, but after a few prayers and a lot of cursing, I wrench the bolt free from the strike plate.

The door opens enough to let a hint of light into the room. Standing takes more effort than it should, but there isn’t a damn thing that’s gonna stop me from getting out of this damn building.

“Parker?” Nate and Eliot say, almost like they rehearsed it. The two men are only a dozen feet away, staring at me like I’m way more than a bubble off plumb.

Shit.

Chapter Ten

Eliot

Fuckin’ hell. Parker’s barely upright. No respirator, hard hat, or gloves in sight. And, shit… Is that blood soaking through the Tyvek at her thigh? What happened in that office?

Hardison and I exchange a single glance, and then we’re moving as one.

Her chin lifts slightly, like she’s about to argue, but as soon as I get my hand under her right arm, all the defiance fades away.

For a second, I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t prepared for Parker to lean on me.

Hardison meets my gaze over the top of her head. From the way his eyebrows lift, he’s as surprised as I am. But in the next breath, he takes her other arm. “We’ve got you.”

His words behind the respirator are rough and half-slurred from the Novocaine. Parker doesn’t react, not even a smirk, which tells me all I need to know. She’s in shock.

“Outside,” I manage over the lump clogging my throat. “The air in here ain’t doin’ her any favors.”

Her eyes are glassy, and the hitch in her gait worsens with every step. The shaking too, and though it’s a hundred degrees outside, her cheeks are pale.

Fuck. I gotta get her talking.

“Captain Collateral Damage?” Nate asks before I can come up with anything. “How does that sound?”

Parker’s boot catches on an uneven bit of concrete, but we don’t let her go down.

“I can be Captain No-vo-caine.” Nate tugs off his respirator the moment we’re out of the building and wipes the back of his free hand over his mouth. “Look at me. I’m drooling all over the damn place.”

“Captain…Root Canal,” she rasps.

Between one step and the next, the shaking in Parker’s limbs settles. The limp eases into what might be no more than a pulled muscle. By the time we reach the tape, she’s almost walking normally.

One of the uniforms lifts the tape enough she doesn’t need to duck to pass through, and the three of us beeline for my truck.

“First aid kit’s in the bed.” I shoulder a little more of Parker’s weight, and Hardison stares at me for a beat before he lets go and lowers the tailgate.

“I’m gonna help you, okay?” I wait until her eyes find mine before I wrap my hands around her waist and ease her up onto the truck bed.

Nate stays close, almost hovering, worry pinching his brows.

I grab the kit from the bed, crack it open, and find the shears. With two snips, I pull the Tyvek away from the wound.

“Only cutting what I need to see what’s goin’ on, okay?” I wait for her to nod, then widen the existing tear in her jeans enough to fold the edges back.