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“I have every intention of saving her regardless of who the fuck her father is,” I said, forgetting my place for a moment. “Sir,” I tacked on.
I met Griffin’s eyes and gave him a nod. It was go time.
2
DIANA
On a scale of one to ten, this is . . . unscalable. How do you even rate this kind of nightmare? Had I nodded off while reading? Ugh. Why was I hot? And what was that in the air? My entire body did that weird jerk-move from startling when you fall in your sleep, and I?—
“Don’t move. Not an inch.” An unfamiliar voice curled around me as the weight of something heavy banded across my waist.
Who’s holding me? Wait . . . not a nightmare. “What—what’s happening?” I started coughing, or maybe choking, on what felt like burnt, ashy air as it filled my throat and lungs.
Finally managing to pry open my eyes, the realization of what a bad idea that was had me sealing my lids tight. Was the floor missing inches from where I was lying? Or was this some bizarre fever dream?
Then it hit me. The memories.
I snatched answers from the foggy part of my brain before they could retreat in terror and self-preservation. The hit to my head from the blast had rattled my thoughts and knocked me out.
“The floor is unstable. You need to be careful.” There was that voice again, coming from behind me. “I need to shift you to the other side of me before you fall.”
Fall? I did my best to force the fear to vacate my body so I could get a handle on the situation and reopen my eyes.
“You okay? Injured?” he asked.
“I—I don’t think so. I feel fine.” That was something. Based on the mystery guy’s steady tone, he sounded okay, too.
But there were wires exposed. Crumbled plaster. The building was . . . well, I shouldn’t have been able to see into the room next door, but there it was—a wide-open space with no floor between myself and the Deputy Chief of Mission’s office.
“This can’t be from that guy’s vest.” I knew a thing or two about chemistry. Enough to know the explosives those two assholes had strapped over their clothes couldn’t tear a hole in the room like this.
“There was an explosive device in the office next door. Took out that room and most of this one, including the floor.” The deep, slightly muffled voice slid across my skin, hitting the shell of my ear again.
I’d learned the names of every Marine and security officer in the building since I’d arrived. Spoken to each of them multiple times. I would’ve remembered a raspy tone like this one had I met him before.
“You got to me in time,” I said as it came back to me, remembering more of what happened before it’d been lights out.
The man behind me had to be the military-looking guy who’d shown up just before the blast. Rifle in hand, most of his face masked aside from his eyes, he’d taken out the two men who had me hostage. And then . . . boom.
And now I was on the ground about to fall through what was left of the floor. Maybe a twelve-foot drop wouldn’t be that bad, but what if I landed on glass or something sharp or jagged, and?—
“There’s nowhere for us to go,” he said, cutting off my panicky thoughts. “We have to wait for an extract. But I need you on the other side of me, okay?”
“What do I do?” At the feel of his hand on my midsection, I tried to turn my head, hoping for a glimpse at the man sent here to save me. Instead, I went still, terror sliding in and taking hold of me as the remaining floor wobbled beneath us. “I don’t want to die.”
“I’m not letting you die. My people will find us in time.”
I attempted to cling to the promising sound of his voice, instinct and hope (maybe even a bit of faith?) telling me we would be okay, but the rational part of my brain clamored for attention. Facts and random information that didn’t serve any purpose, except maybe to heighten my anxiety, cut through as I started hacking on the smoke again. Science couldn’t get me out of this mess, but maybe the guy with his hand on my stomach could.
“I’m going to slowly pull you on top of me, then around to my other side. The floor is a bit more stable behind me. There’s only a foot of space, but you’ll be against a wall, and there must be a support beam right below keeping us from going down like the rest of the floor.”
I latched on to his strong, calming tone and did as he asked, managing to complete step one: straddle a stranger.
My hands rested on his chest—well, on top of the vest stuffed with ammo—as he held my hips, keeping me safely tethered on his lap. Only his eyes were visible, but it was too dark to make out the color of them. I leaned in closer to him, feeling safer already. Feeling better, even. “Oxytocin,” I muttered.
“What?” he asked, somehow remaining patient with me.
We both started coughing, and I waved at the tendrils of smoke in the air with one hand, then found his eyes again. “I feel safe like this, and my body must be releasing oxytocin as a result, lowering my cortisol levels. So, basically, I’m less panicky now.”
