Sloane lifted her arm, adjusted her shirt to cover her nose and mouth, every tiny movement tugging on her wound, washing more blood down her side. She tried to meter her breathing, focusing on short, shallow breaths, but the gas filtered through the fabric, adding to the fuzziness warping the corridor into a never-ending tunnel.
They soldiered on, Nick helping her keep pace, that internal clock still winding down. They reached the stairs with a good seven minutes left, the fire door giving way with little extra effort.
Dalton and Buck cleared the level below before they all started climbing, Bodie and Avery taking point. They reached the first landing when the vents screeched, the fans spooling up until the pressure against her chest made it hard to move. Thewhirlwind lifted her ponytail off her shoulder, whipped it about her head like a lasso.
Bodie shielded his face with his forearm, leaning into the current. “Stay close to the wall.”
They shifted over, hugging the side as they fought against the hurricane force winds funneling down the stairwell. Nick moved in front, keeping one of her hands locked on his waist as he deflected the worst of the air — eased her progress a bit.
She set her jaw, bit back the hushed curse as every step tested what remained of her strength. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled, snapping them open when Nick’s breath washed over her face.
His gaze dropped to her side, then back. “Put your arms around my neck.”
She drew herself up, crushing the scream that tore at her throat when the wound stretched against the dressing. “Not dead, yet. I can keep going.”
“Sloane.”
“We both know you’ll have to resort to carrying me before this is over, so… Save it until I need it.”
He leaned in. “You needed it eight minutes, ago.”
She chuckled, nearly blacking out when Dalton shouldered in beside them.
He huffed, looking as pissed as Nick. “You’ve put on a good show, but let us help.”
Sloane shook her head. “You want to help?” She shoved her rifle at him. “Carry this for me.”
He took the weapon, turned it over in his hands then stared at her as if she’d given him her last lifeline. “Sloane…”
“Christ, I’m only loaning it to you. I expect it back.”
He glanced at Nick, something passing unspoken between them before he turned, headed up the stairs.
Sloane waved Nick on, using his belt as an anchor as they circled one more flight, followed the rest of the crew out the top service door onto a grated platform. A couple of windows took up the right side, another door on the wall behind them.
Ahead, the narrow skyway stretched sixty feet across the dark yawning gap of the atrium — a long, transparent strip of reinforced glass and braided tension cables. Waist-high rails ran along both sides, emergency lighting glowing along the base.
Dalton ventured to the edge of the gallery, kicked at the walkway, testing out the first panel as if expecting the entire structure to cave beneath his weight. Not that Sloane disagreed because standing there, watching Dalton’s massive form inch out onto the floating corridor, she couldn’t help but think the entire structure looked far too fragile to hold their combined weight.
Bodie turned to them, gestured to the walkway. “Ladies first, Sloane.”
She coughed. “You guys go with Kessler. We’ll bring up the rear.”
Bodie arched a brow. “I wasn’t really asking…”
“And I’m trying not to have to admit that I’m going to be slower than the rest of you. And there’s no way Nick’s carrying me across that… contraption, so… Go. We’ll be right behind you.”
Bodie glanced at Nick, arched a brow.
Nick motioned toward the catwalk. “She’s got a point. We’ll only be a few seconds behind.”
Nick’s buddy sighed, looking as if he wanted to argue before ushering the others onto the platform. They moved across, walking quickly but controlled, everyone looking everywhere but the seven-story drop beneath them.
Nick crowded in close. “Do you want to take lead or follow behind?”
She glanced at the rails, the way the unit swung from the combined weight of his teammates shuffling across, wondering if she should have insisted on a different exit strategy before reaching for his belt, again. “I’ve got your six.”
Nick leaned in, his mouth next to hers. “Never doubted that in all the years we’ve been running ops. Just do me a favor? Don’t be a damn martyr… If you think you’re going to pass out, tell me before you slip under a rail or face-plant onto the glass.”
