First You Run by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

want sold?”
    “I don’t think so. I don’t get a dangerous vibe from her, and she’s been so supportive.”
    “Supportive? She spirited you away to a dark crypt, juiced you up to a frenzy, and God knows what she’d have done to you next.”
    Why did she have ten thousand copies of Miranda’s book were hidden in a basement?
    “I want to see for myself,” Miranda said, pushing up on her knees and straightening her dress.
    “No need.” He stood and offered a hand. “You can trust me.”
    But could she? What if Taliña’s warnings were real? “If you don’t take me there, I’ll go find them myself.”
    “Miranda, I saw them. You don’t need to go snooping around the basement of some temple.”
    “Yes, I do.” She stood without his assistance. “Maybe they’re just blank covers. Or maybe they’re some kind of mistake print run. It’s the Temple of the Cross, isn’t it?”
    “Fine. I’ll take you there. But no matter what, don’t leave me. You got that?”
    “Yes.”
    To prove it, she held his hand tightly as they made their way through the rain forest. The trees were thick and plentiful, the tangy smell of cedar and spruce mixed with sweet orchids and wet earth. The only thing that gave away the real location was the utter lack of humidity in the air. No amount of irrigation could create the greenhouse of humidity Miranda had breathed in Mexico, Belize, and Guatemala.
    Still, the smells, the trees, the leaves, and the canopy felt real. All that was missing was the shriek of a howler monkey or the squawk of a macaw. It was a wonder the shaman hadn’t had her rich husband pipe in the music of the rain forest.
    “What did she do in there, anyway?” Fletch asked.
    “She was trying to get this light to shine. It’s called kyopa. It’s an energy of—”
    He paused, holding her back as his gaze darted around the shadows. Then he reached his right hand to his waist, sliding his gun from under his jacket.
    “What is it?” She barely mouthed the words, but he gave his head a quick shake, quieting her without even looking at her.
    With his left hand, he twisted her behind him, pulling her close against his back and locking her there with a solid grip. “No matter what I do,” he whispered, “stay behind me. No matter how I move, stay on this side.” He squeezed her closer, pressing her to his back.
    Adrenaline rushed from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers, and she moved closer to Adrien—a safe, solid man who’d take a bullet for her after knowing her for just twenty-four hours.
    He held his weapon straight out, his index finger not along the barrel as it had been when he’d secured her apartment last night, but curled around the trigger, ready to kill with a touch.
    Her pulse accelerated as she matched his stealthy footsteps, watching his head move from side to side. No one attacked, no sound slowed them, and Adrien followed his instinct and an impressive mental compass to get them back to Taliña and Victor Blake’s Maya-inspired mansion.
    “Where in the temple?” she asked. “Where were the book?”
    “Underneath a statue of a jaguar.” He pronounced it jag-u-ar.
    “The jag-u-ar is the god of the underworld.”
    He snorted softly. “No wonder he was such a heavy bastard.” He loosened his grip on her a tiny bit and eased her around to his side. Then he lowered the gun away from her, his finger off the trigger. “There’s only one entrance, in the front. But there’s hardly any light, so if you stay right in front of me, I’ll block you, and we’ll run up.”
    “Why do you think someone is going to attack us?”
    “Years of training. Fear of error.” He glanced around. “And the odd crack of a branch.” The only people in the courtyard appeared to be the white-jacketed waiters and staff. “You ready?”
    “I will be in a second.” She reached down and slid her sandals off. “Let’s go.”
    He gave her a tiny push, and they picked up their pace, staying