“You sure?” Suspicion narrowed his focus as she nodded, the weight of his attention pressurizing the air in her lungs. He hiked a thumb over his shoulder toward the front door. “In that case, I’ll check in to see how deep my boss wants to bury me for not filling the team in sooner.”
“Just give me a couple minutes.” Waylynn waited until he closed the door behind him, then headed into her bedroom with uneasy steps. Not even the bright turquoise and yellow decorations could hide the fact her apartment had been used as a crime scene. Twenty-four hours ago her room had been filled with police searching for evidence, but Anchorage PD hadn’t found the wall safe. She would’ve heard from her lawyer by now had that been the case.
Another flash of memory threatened to cement her feet in place as she glanced toward the closed bathroom door, but she kept moving. She couldn’t stop. Couldn’t think about what’d happened for fear she’d bolt out the front door. Turning her back on the epicenter of the crime scene, she hauled the print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night off its nail to reveal the safe she’d installed when she’d moved in. The small LED light turned green at the scan of her fingerprint. Passport, fifty thousand in cash, personal documents. She pushed them to the side and went for the object she’d wrapped in an old T-shirt at the back first, its physical weight nothing compared with the heaviness compressing her chest. She stuffed the rest into her bag. Just in case, but she wasn’t going anywhere until she uncovered who’d turned her world upside down.
Waylynn shut the wall safe and secured it before unearthing a weekend bag from her closet. Setting the gun at the bottom, she pulled clothing from hangers and shoved them inside. She changed out of the borrowed sweats from Officer Ramsey. She was a survivor. She always had been. Slinging the bag over one shoulder, she slipped into her most comfortable flats and closed the front door behind her for the last time.
This was the start of how it all ended.
And she sure as hell wasn’t going down without a fight.
Chapter Six
“Well, this crisis came sooner than expected.” Elliot hit the red button on his phone’s screen to end the call. Five in the morning. The sun had gotten a little bit brighter in the east and the Blackhawk Security team was all over him. Over twenty-four hours since he’d found Waylynn in her bathroom, soaked in water and blood with a dead woman beside her. Now he’d gotten the news the hard drive they’d taken from Alexis Jacobs’s apartment was encrypted. It would take their network security analyst, Elizabeth Dawson, over a day, maybe longer, to untangle the information the lab assistant had stored on the device. He’d witnessed the fear carved into Waylynn’s expression when he’d found her doubled over in the hallway a few minutes ago. A fear that’d burned through his whole body. They were no closer to uncovering who’d put that fear in her eyes than they were twelve hours ago.
“What crisis?” That voice. Her voice. Soft, sexy, alluring enough to pull him deeper into uncharted and dangerous waters with a mere word. Every nerve ending he owned shot into awareness. Always had. Waylynn moved into his peripheral vision, a brightly colored tote bag slung over one shoulder. She’d changed her clothes. The black leggings, black sweatshirt and flat shoes were perfect for her slight curves. He appreciated the pragmatism. The view wasn’t bad either. “I still hope we’re friends after I taser you for looking at me like that.”
A laugh rumbled through him. He never could slide one past her. “Get what you need?”
“Yes. Thank you. It’s nice to have my own stuff.” She smoothed her hand over the bag, the hollowness at her throat and shadowing her cheeks more apparent than a couple of hours ago. “Officer Ramsey’s sweats were fine. They just weren’t...mine. Having something familiar makes me feel a bit better about being a suspect in yet another murder. As does a toothbrush. So what’s the crisis?”
Elliot redirected his attention from the hard-edged outline at the bottom of her bag. Right. The investigation. “The drive we recovered from your assistant’s apartment is encrypted.”
“What does that mean for the investigation?” Waylynn folded her arms, accentuating strong, lean muscle down her biceps. She’d hit the gym at Genism every morning as long as he’d known her, and it showed. She was the most determined woman he’d ever met, stubborn, infuriating, compassionate, and... His control had cracked a little when he’d kissed her.
He’d done it to prove there’d been nothing between them, that they could work together without his emotions getting in the way, but, hell, he’d certainly been wrong about that. The second he’d set his mouth against hers, the molten lava that’d been building beneath his skin had erupted to the surface and destroyed everything in its path. Including his reasons for avoiding committed relationships. It’d taken everything in him not to sweep her into his arms and take her back to his cabin. Make her forget the investigation, the fact she’d been framed for murder. He’d have helped her forget her name given the chance.
“Means we have time for you to get some beauty sleep and put something other than peanut-butter-frosted cookies in you.” He headed down the stairs toward the parked SUV.
Space. He needed space. A few feet, a couple of minutes. Anything to clear her scent from his system and break the gravitational effect she seemed to have on him.
Her flats slapped against the cement stairs as she followed on his heels. “You’d be surprised how long I can live off chocolate and peanut butter.”
“I have no doubt.” Wrenching open the SUV’s passenger door, Elliot motioned her inside. He rounded to the driver’s side and climbed behind the wheel. Less than a minute later, he pulled out of the parking lot and a low ringing reached his ears.
She pulled the phone from her bag. “It’s Dr. Stover again. Probably wondering when I’m coming back to work.”
“Put it on speaker.” The muscles in his neck ticked at the tension straining her voice. She’d been through hell the last two days. It’d take a lot more than thirty hours to get back some semblance of normal. Elliot headed south, back to the Seward Highway on-ramp.
She tapped the speaker button on the screen. “This is Dr. Hargraves.”
“Waylynn, I’m glad you picked up. Listen, I know you’ve been through a lot the past couple days, but I couldn’t stop them.” Static reached through Matt Stover’s end of the line. “I wanted to be the one to call to tell you the news myself.”
“Stop who? What are you talking about?” The heaviness tinting Waylynn’s question pressurized the air in Elliot’s lungs. Three distinct lines deepened between her eyebrows. This wasn’t good.
Elliot glanced down at her phone, the screen counting the length of the call. Nothing out of the ordinary. The timer came standard with that model, but the phone in Waylynn’s hand didn’t have her signature cracked screen in the top right-hand corner. One night after coming home from work, she’d dropped her phone on the stairs and damaged that corner. He’d caught her before she fell, but her phone hadn’t been so lucky. That’d been six months ago. She’d replaced either the screen or the phone recently. Why wait that long? “Is that a company phone?”
“Who’s with you?” Dr. Stover asked.
“It’s my frien—next-door neighbor. He was helping me get some of my things from my apartment.” Waylynn swiped the stray hair coming out of her ponytail away from her face. “Matt, tell me what’s going on.”
“The board had an emergency meeting.” The growl of a car engine overwhelmed Dr. Stover’s voice. “In the wake of everything that’s happened, you’re being let go.”
Elliot’s attention snapped to her as they sped toward the highway. Oh, hell.
“On what grounds?” Waylynn shook her head, resting her elbow against the passenger side door. Her voice rose with each word out of her mouth. “Genism has profited off my research for ten years. They can’t fire me.”
It was five o’clock in the morning. Why would her boss—former boss—call Waylynn
that early unless he knew she wasn’t asleep? His instincts screamed warning as he wrenched the wheel to the left, turning them around. “Hang up the phone.”
“What?” Those ocean-blue eyes widened with confusion. She planted her free hand against the dashboard to keep her balance as they turned back the way they’d come. “What’s wrong?”
“Waylynn?” Matt Stover asked. “What’s going on?”
Elliot grabbed for the phone and tossed it out the window.
Waylynn spun in her seat to track the phone’s landing out the back window. “What are you doing?”
“Your assistant broke corporate policy to store company information on that drive we recovered. Which means whoever killed her had to have known she’d taken it in the first place.” Elliot pressed the accelerator to the floor, glancing into the rearview mirror for a tail. Damn it, he should’ve noticed the phone before now.
“Okay, so it had to be someone in Genism. That doesn’t explain why you threw my phone out the window.” Her voice hollowed as she straightened in her seat. “I got a new phone a few weeks ago after Matt noticed I’d broken the screen on the last one.”
“I knew I never liked that guy.” Elliot shook his head, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “The bastard has been tracking you through your company phone. Probably listening to all of your conversations.”
“Matt wouldn’t do that. We’ve worked together for years. We’re friends,” she said. “Where’re we going? Your cabin is in the other direction.”
“Blackhawk Security.” The light turned green up ahead and he pushed the SUV harder. Downtown Anchorage passed in a rush out the side windows. Theories as to why Genism would be tracking Waylynn crossed his mind, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He forced himself to focus. Get her to safety. Then track down the SOB who’d dared come after her. “You’re officially in protective custody.” He used the controls on the steering wheel to call the team.
“I just got off the phone with you.” Blackhawk’s founder and CEO’s voice filled the interior of the car. Sullivan Bishop didn’t wait for an answer. “Please tell me you haven’t already dug yourself a deeper—”
“Mango.” His boss would know what the code word meant. Elliot checked the rearview mirror again. No movement.
“ETA?” The former SEAL’s tone dipped into dangerous territory. Sullivan had formed the team to protect those whom the police and other law enforcement agencies couldn’t or wouldn’t bother with. Waylynn Hargraves qualified. His boss—and the entire Blackhawk Security team—would do what was necessary to keep her safe.
“Two minutes.” He studied Waylynn. The tension tightening her grip on the edge of the seat was enough to lock his jaw. He should’ve noticed her phone earlier. They could’ve gotten ahead of this thing for once. “One civilian.”
“We’re ready.” Sullivan ended the call, but Elliot couldn’t relax yet.
The front of the SUV crossed into the intersection. Two more minutes and she’d be safe. She’d—
Headlights brightened through his window a split second before the crash. Rubber on asphalt screeched in his ears as Waylynn’s side of the vehicle slammed into the light post. Glass shattered around them, metal screaming against metal.
Momentum rocked Elliot sideways in his seat, smashing his head against the window as air bags deployed. The smell of burned rubber and gasoline filled his system. Son of a bitch. He hadn’t seen that coming. A wave of dizziness and pain darkened the edges of his vision and he rubbed the base of his palm into his eye. One breath. Two. Headlights from the vehicle that’d T-boned them flickered. Copper and salt filled his mouth. Blood. He squinted away from the blinding light, searching for her in the passenger seat among the air bags in his way. She’d been wearing a seat belt, right? He couldn’t remember, the pounding at the crown of his head overwhelming. Reaching out, he brushed his hand against her arm as glass crunched outside the vehicle. Footsteps. Elliot disengaged his seat belt, his vision clearing in slow increments. “Waylynn.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t move.
“Waylynn.” He pushed every ounce of energy he had into her name. Dread curdled in his gut. He slid his hand along the side of her face and turned her toward him. Planting his fingers at her throat, he exhaled hard in relief. Strong pulse. She was alive. There was no way they’d be able to get out of the SUV through either of the doors with what looked like another SUV on his side and the streetlamp on hers. Elliot compressed the button to her seat belt. They’d have to go out the back. He shook his head to clear the high-pitched keen ringing in his ears. The mission hadn’t changed, only the circumstances: get her to safety. “Come on, Doc. We gotta get out of here.”
He climbed over the seat into the back row, his boots sliding against broken glass on the floor, and pulled a lockbox from under the hidden compartment beneath the floor mat. Thumbing in the combination, Elliot pocketed the gun’s extra magazine and ammunition and tucked the small handgun down the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. No sirens. Blackhawk Security SUVs came loaded with trackers. The team would find the vehicle in the next few minutes, but his instincts said they didn’t have that long. Genism had been tracking Waylynn for weeks. No telling whom they’d sent after her, but a company with that many resources and that much power wouldn’t hire an amateur. He leveraged his weight into the back of the seats and kicked the rear window as hard as he could. The bulletproof glass dislodged in one piece, crashing to the ground.
Movement registered off to his right, beyond the vehicle that’d smashed into them. The driver? Had they made it out okay? Rough breathing reached his ears over the shuffling of broken glass. “Help.” The man’s voice rocketed Elliot’s blood pressure higher. “I need help!”
“Hang on, buddy. I’m coming.” Elliot didn’t hesitate. He climbed from the back of the SUV, but an earth-shattering wave of pain from the crash shot down his spine and unbalanced him. He landed on top of the bulletproof glass, a groan working up his throat. He was going to feel that in a couple of hours. His head pounded loud behind his ears, but the ringing had stopped. “I’m okay.”
The streetlamp reflected off a classic pair of dark oxford shoes as he rolled to his side. Two Taser nodes latched on to his shirt, but before he could reach for them twelve hundred volts of electricity shot through him at the push of a button. Fire burned his nerves and muscles. Elliot rolled onto his back, unable to control his movements. His jaw clenched hard, his entire body rigid from the current. The headache at the back of his skull exploded in a haze of white light. A growl ripped from his throat. Waylynn. He had to get to Waylynn.
The current faded, but his peripheral nervous system had yet to get the message. Elliot struggled to keep his eyes open, to reach for his gun. To do anything but lie there, leaving Waylynn vulnerable. “Don’t...touch her.”
The masked assailant who’d tasered him crouched low, retrieving the Taser’s electrodes one by one. “Try to stop me.”
* * *
SHE GASPED INTO consciousness as a high-voltage shock wave of fear slid down her spine. Pain exploded from the right side of her head. They’d... They’d been in an accident. They’d been hit. Waylynn fought to raise her head, but the darkness, the fatigue, tempted her to close her eyes again. Go to sleep. No. She had to stay awake. Dim lighting glinted off the broken glass in her lap. She set her head back against the headrest and scanned the rest of the vehicle. “Elliot?”
His name clawed from her dry throat as she searched the empty interior. She swallowed against the bile rising up her throat. Oh, no. The driver’s side window had been shattered. Had he been thrown from the SUV? Panic overwhelmed her as she reached to unlatch her seat belt, but found the buckle already unlocked. She was sure she’d buckled herself when she’d gotten in the car. Had to be Elliot. Where was he? Her muscles protested as she climbed across the center console. Ignoring the slice of glass in her palms, she rest
ed her weight against his still-warm seat. Distant sirens reached her ears. The police were on their way. “Answer me, Elliot.”
“Sorry, Dr. Hargraves, your bodyguard won’t be answering anything for a while.” Gloved hands shot through the driver’s side window and pulled her from the SUV.
“Wait, I have to find my friend. He was in the vehicle with me. He could be hurt.” Waylynn struggled against his vise-like grip, unwilling to leave the scene until she recovered Elliot. No. She wasn’t going to the hospital. Not without him, but the man pulling her from the crash was too strong. So much bigger than her and her injuries had taken a lot of her strength. The scene of the crash blurred as he set her on her feet and spun her to face him. Her head throbbed in rhythm to her racing pulse as the dizziness cleared. The black ski mask hiding his features plunged dread straight through her. What kind of emergency personnel wore a mask? The hardness in his impossibly black eyes and his hold still wrapped around her wrists told her the answer. They didn’t.
His six-foot-plus frame towered over her. Black ski mask, dark jacket, black pants, black shoes. Gloves. “He’ll be fine once he wakes up.”
He’d called her Dr. Hargraves. She’d never told him her name.
“Let me go.” She pulled at her wrists locked between his hands, the scent of cigarettes burning her nose. This wasn’t the man from her quick flash of memory back at her apartment. He’d had blue eyes, but fear skittered through her all the same. She glanced at the smoking vehicle that’d T-boned them in the intersection, the driver’s-side door propped open. No driver to be seen. Because he was standing in front of her. Waylynn swept her tongue through the saltiness in her mouth. “You caused the crash?”
“You should’ve taken the fall for Alexis’s murder, Waylynn.” Her masked assailant pulled her into him, repositioning one hand around her throat. “Would’ve made this so much easier. Shame, too. I think your work could’ve changed the world.”
Rules in Defiance Page 7
