footsteps echoed.
“Fuck.” Jory closed the door and kicked off the faceplate. “I can’t figure out what that kid is hiding.” Scrutinizing the circuitry, he frowned. “If he’s working with the commander, I wouldn’t hold it against him.” Still holding her tight and seeming not to notice her struggles, he yanked open a desk drawer. “Hmm.”
“Who can’t Chance leave?” Piper muttered.
Jory ignored her, scrambling through the contents.
“Jory—” She gasped when he grabbed two paper clips and a piece of gum, shaking out the gum and keeping the foil. “You’re kidding me,” she muttered, wanting to keep fighting but suddenly curious.
He unbent a clip against his jean-clad leg and shoved it into the keypad with his free hand. A twist of the foil around the other clip, and he shoved that in, too. Then he pushed them together.
A spark flew, and metal singed. The locks engaged again—this time permanently.
Piper’s mouth dropped open. “You’re freakin’ MacGyver.”
“Best television show ever.” Jory turned and continued down his path, squiring them through two more doorways—with her card.
Damn it. She needed to fight. Panic heated down Piper’s throat. She jerked her elbow back and into his ribs. Hard.
He didn’t even flinch, his even footsteps more frightening than if he’d started running.
“Let me go.” She pulled to the side and tried to nail him in the throat with her elbow.
He ducked and held her closer. “Where are we?” he muttered, shoving open one last door to the outside parking lot.
Bellows echoed behind them, and glass shattered. Good. The soldiers were at least through one door and would be there soon. She screamed, long and loud.
“Damn it.” Jory pivoted and easily tossed her over his shoulder, loping into a jog. Seconds later, he shoved her inside a battered Ford truck just as soldiers poured from the building, guns out and already firing. “Shit.” Jory ducked and yanked the door shut, ripping wires out and rubbing them together.
A bullet shattered the back window.
Piper cried out and ducked, scrambling for the passenger-side door. Jory jerked her arm and tugged her flat, her head in his lap. “Stay down. They have fire orders, and it won’t matter if they hit you.” His voice remained flat and calm.
Why the hell wasn’t he freaking out? Soldiers were shooting at them. Even if he was a trained assassin, surely he could feel fear, or at least have some sort of a physical reaction. The side window blew open, and glass rained down. Jory curled over her body, protecting her from jagged shards, just as the engine engaged. His thigh tensed, and suddenly the truck jumped forward. He grimaced while propelling the truck out of the lot.
“Where are we?” he asked, his hands turning the wheel as more bullets ripped into metal around them.
“Outside of Salt Lake City,” she whispered, biting her lip to keep from screaming as glass cut into her side.
He snorted. “No kidding. Perfect timing, too.”
It was about rush hour. “We’ll get caught in traffic. Please, Jory, turn yourself back in. They won’t stop coming for you.” God, she had to get out of the truck. Who the hell was this man? Even now, he maneuvered the truck quickly, expertly turning the wheel, not even breathing heavy. “How are you so calm?”
“Training.” He jerked the wheel, and the truck careened sideways, pressing her cheek into his groin. She tried to move. “Not yet.” One heavy hand landed gently on her nape, holding her in place. “They’re in pursuit, and they’ll fire.” He leaned to the side and glanced out the window as they drove wildly.
After what seemed like an hour, but was really probably only half that, Jory grabbed an old shirt from the floor and wiped off all the blood. Soon, the sounds of honking horns and engines filtered through the air. They were in the city. Finally, Jory spoke again. “How far is the main compound?”
She snapped her lips
“Fuck.” Jory closed the door and kicked off the faceplate. “I can’t figure out what that kid is hiding.” Scrutinizing the circuitry, he frowned. “If he’s working with the commander, I wouldn’t hold it against him.” Still holding her tight and seeming not to notice her struggles, he yanked open a desk drawer. “Hmm.”
“Who can’t Chance leave?” Piper muttered.
Jory ignored her, scrambling through the contents.
“Jory—” She gasped when he grabbed two paper clips and a piece of gum, shaking out the gum and keeping the foil. “You’re kidding me,” she muttered, wanting to keep fighting but suddenly curious.
He unbent a clip against his jean-clad leg and shoved it into the keypad with his free hand. A twist of the foil around the other clip, and he shoved that in, too. Then he pushed them together.
A spark flew, and metal singed. The locks engaged again—this time permanently.
Piper’s mouth dropped open. “You’re freakin’ MacGyver.”
“Best television show ever.” Jory turned and continued down his path, squiring them through two more doorways—with her card.
Damn it. She needed to fight. Panic heated down Piper’s throat. She jerked her elbow back and into his ribs. Hard.
He didn’t even flinch, his even footsteps more frightening than if he’d started running.
“Let me go.” She pulled to the side and tried to nail him in the throat with her elbow.
He ducked and held her closer. “Where are we?” he muttered, shoving open one last door to the outside parking lot.
Bellows echoed behind them, and glass shattered. Good. The soldiers were at least through one door and would be there soon. She screamed, long and loud.
“Damn it.” Jory pivoted and easily tossed her over his shoulder, loping into a jog. Seconds later, he shoved her inside a battered Ford truck just as soldiers poured from the building, guns out and already firing. “Shit.” Jory ducked and yanked the door shut, ripping wires out and rubbing them together.
A bullet shattered the back window.
Piper cried out and ducked, scrambling for the passenger-side door. Jory jerked her arm and tugged her flat, her head in his lap. “Stay down. They have fire orders, and it won’t matter if they hit you.” His voice remained flat and calm.
Why the hell wasn’t he freaking out? Soldiers were shooting at them. Even if he was a trained assassin, surely he could feel fear, or at least have some sort of a physical reaction. The side window blew open, and glass rained down. Jory curled over her body, protecting her from jagged shards, just as the engine engaged. His thigh tensed, and suddenly the truck jumped forward. He grimaced while propelling the truck out of the lot.
“Where are we?” he asked, his hands turning the wheel as more bullets ripped into metal around them.
“Outside of Salt Lake City,” she whispered, biting her lip to keep from screaming as glass cut into her side.
He snorted. “No kidding. Perfect timing, too.”
It was about rush hour. “We’ll get caught in traffic. Please, Jory, turn yourself back in. They won’t stop coming for you.” God, she had to get out of the truck. Who the hell was this man? Even now, he maneuvered the truck quickly, expertly turning the wheel, not even breathing heavy. “How are you so calm?”
“Training.” He jerked the wheel, and the truck careened sideways, pressing her cheek into his groin. She tried to move. “Not yet.” One heavy hand landed gently on her nape, holding her in place. “They’re in pursuit, and they’ll fire.” He leaned to the side and glanced out the window as they drove wildly.
After what seemed like an hour, but was really probably only half that, Jory grabbed an old shirt from the floor and wiped off all the blood. Soon, the sounds of honking horns and engines filtered through the air. They were in the city. Finally, Jory spoke again. “How far is the main compound?”
She snapped her lips
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