He had pissed her off, standing there like that, not doing a damn thing to help her. Not that she needed his help. It was those eyes looking at her with disdain, like he knew she would be a problem. And then to find out he was going back down for “unfinished” business—that irked her the most, that he’d been sent to do something she hadn’t been capable of doing.
It was her fault that the operation had gone somewhat chaotic. If she had cancelled that man in the vault, there wouldn’t have been any alert about what was happening and she wouldn’t have had to fight with that operative in the elevator, and this Number Nine fellow wouldn’t have had to move from whatever position he was in so he could save her ass.
She supposed she had to thank him for that. The idea of saying that to his face filled her with dismay. Maybe she could send him a postcard.
Dear Number Nine, thank you for saving my ass.
Helen chuckled quietly as she jumped down the last few steps. She didn’t even know his name.
“Are you all right, Hell?” De Clerq asked.
They were probably wondering why she was laughing when she was supposed to be urgently running down the stairs. “I’m almost down at the ground floor,” she told him. “Then I’ll look for the emergency exit that was on the blueprint we were looking at in the plane, over.”
“Copy that. How’s the leg?”
She almost stopped in surprise. How did he know? “Did Number Nine tell you about my leg?” she asked.
“Affirmative. He said you might need help if you were required to jump into the van, over.”
Need help to jump—Helen felt like turning around and running back upstairs to find the man. “Please tell him that I rolled down the last ten flights of stairs,” she retorted, trying to keep the edge of anger from her voice. “I could probably roll myself into the van, thank you very much.”
“He was just reporting in on your condition when Dr. Kirkland asked.”
“Dr. K. could just have asked me,” Helen pointed out.
“I’m doing good. Serum working like the eighth wonder. No pain.”
And let out an involuntary gasp as she tried not to fall down the stairs.
“What is it, Hell?” De Clerq demanded.
“I don’t…know,” she managed. Her heart was beating erratically and she could barely think clearly. “Danger. I just sense danger.”
“Is someone in the stairwell after you?”
“No.” She gasped again, her breathing uneven. “No one. I can’t explain this, De Clerq.”
She felt the hair on the back of her neck standing. Her “warning” sense had never been so alarming before. Goose pimples. Heart pumping as if she were in fear, but she wasn’t feeling scared at all.
“You’re nearly there, Hell. Come on, you can do it. The exit isn’t too far,” De Clerq urged.
Helen stumbled down, trying to concentrate while trying to control her breathing. One of her eyelids fluttered uncontrollably. What the hell was happening to her?
Shit! Pause! Pause!
The images running in his head were muddled, crisscrossed with lines. His eyes hurt.
“Agent 51, what’s wrong? Your hands are covering your eyes and you’re moaning.”
“Pain.” He had changed channels and had appeared on what was a stairwell. He had felt the electronic key and had zapped down that flight of stairs in his phantom body. Then he’d slammed into—something hard. But that was impossible. “I can’t see!”
“What do you mean you can’t see? What are you doing, 51?” his monitor demanded. “We need you to focus. Are you with the key?”
He could feel all the precious recorded images melting inside him. No!
Pause! Pause!
He had to fight through this, get back his sight, so he could get out of here. His head pounded. He could hear his monitor talking about him.
