“Hmmph!” she growled, grimly gripping on and twisting, and squeezing her leg through the opening so she was no longer doing a split. A part of her registered the pain as the panel scraped the sides of her thighs. She let go.
The man below grunted as she slammed on top of him, using the wall to brace her weight. She used his initial surprise of finding his opponent a woman, grabbing him by the neck and jamming her fingers into the flesh hard so he would loosen his hold on her trapped leg. He grunted in pain.
“Scheiss!”
He freed one hand and yanked her head back by her hair. Ignoring her own pain, she turned her head the opposite way and smashed her elbow into his nose. This time he howled as he let go. Both his hands went up to protect his face.
Helen landed in a heap at his feet. She registered with slight surprise that the elevator was moving again, but there was no time to think about it as her opponent was reaching down for her again. Rage in his eyes. Blood dripping like a faucet from his nose. A string of German curses coming from his lips.
“Sorry, I don’t like what you’re calling me,” she said to him and kicked at his balls.
He tried to jump out of the way but she made enough contact to cause him to howl some more. He dove on top of her and brought up a fist. She turned, saw his fallen weapon, brought it up and pulled the trigger. The shot reverberated in the small space as the bullet hit its mark. The man’s fist lowered as he slowly toppled over.
Helen rolled over to avoid the dead weight, twisting to face the elevator doors. She had no idea whether she had been going up or down this time. She aimed, her finger on the trigger. The doors slid open. There was no one there.
“It’s okay,” a voice greeted her. “Status green.”
It was the COMCEN password. She took her finger from the trigger but still didn’t lower the weapon. She didn’t recognize the voice.
A pair of boots came within sight. Her gaze followed the blue jeans upward, taking in the denim jacket, the arms with the hidden hands shoved inside the pockets, up to the owner’s tanned face. A pair of silver eyes coolly looked down at her. His boot moved and kicked the body half on top of her aside.
“You made a mess,” the stranger said.
Fourteen
Helen didn’t need any of her unusual abilities to tell her the man standing in front of her was dangerous. Even looking up from where she was, his power unnerved her, as if he was standing too close for comfort. Something dark and ruthless lurked behind those silver eyes gazing down at her so dispassionately, taking in the whole scene in the elevator. She didn’t particularly care for the way he just stood there watching her either. She felt like some new trainee being judged incompetent at handling a simple job.
“Need help getting up?” the stranger asked.
His voice was low, like a man who knew people would listen to him. Slightly husky, like he didn’t talk much. Not that he was offering her any help either, because his hands were still in his pockets. One dark brow lifted, waiting for her answer.
Helen’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t need any help, especially from him. Moving her limbs tentatively, she stretched her right leg. No pain. She pushed herself to a crouch. He still just stood there, watching her as she tried to stand up and lost her balance.
She frowned, looking down at her right leg. She had felt a twinge and then it had given out, but there had been no pain. She tried getting up again, this time slowly and carefully, her eyes grimly on those jeans-clad legs as she straightened to her full height. Damn, she was hoping he would be shorter but no such luck. Finally she looked up, expecting to see scorn in his eyes.
There was none. Those silver eyes, though—they were damn compelling.
Danger.
Her whole being lit up like a thousand lightbulbs and she fought the urge to take a step back. Not liking how he was making her feel, she casually looked down at her hands. Blood. And grime from…? She frowned. The oily stuff she had felt while she was rolling around on top of the elevator.
Oh well. Then all her clothes were covered with the stuff. She looked back at the man as she wiped her hands nonchalantly down the side of her bodysuit. Fashionably spy-black to hide blood and grime, of course.
So, he wanted her to talk first? Maybe he was just speechless from admiration. “Did De Clerq send you?” she asked politely, taking a moment again to reexamine her hands, as if having a dead man at her feet was an everyday thing.
De Clerq was strangely silent in her earpiece. Maybe they were all speechless with admiration at what she’d done.
He didn’t respond immediately as his gaze slid down the length of her and back. It was irritating her. His dark brown hair was combed back neatly, reminding her that hers was probably hell to look at. A dark lock curled over his forehead. She quickly took in the masculine features—nothing soft, from the look in those strange eyes that glittered back at her to the uncompromising set of those lips. He looked too damn comfortable in his faded jacket. His weathered jeans fitted him too damn well. So casual. So ordinary. And everything about him sang danger.
It was her turn to arch an eyebrow. What? Were they going to just stand here?
“Do you still have the SEED?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Number One is going to set the stage upstairs to provide distraction. He’ll demand to see Weber immediately and cause enough trouble to get more security going upstairs. Weber is still occupied. It’s evening and most of the floors are empty, so you won’t have trouble moving from floor to floor using the stairwell.” He pointed to the direction she had to take, then looked down at her legs. “Are you injured?”
Helen straightened even more. She recalled her leg being twisted around like a limb in a wrestling match while her upper body was trapped above the elevator.
