Page 122 of Every Last Breath

His tongue flicked out, and he licked her cheek in one long, disgusting sweep.

Catching a grip on the small cylinder with her fingertips, she worked it up her pocket and pulled it into her palm. She closed her fist around the tear gas, thumbed off the top, and sprayed his eyes.

The best thing about the gel was no danger of blowback in her face.

Howling like a wounded wild thing, he reared back, his weight rising off her, and wiped at his eyes with his sleeves.

She raked in a coughing breath. Her raw throat burned. Calling upon whatever strength she had left, she drew her knees into her chest and kicked him full out. He toppled like a chopped-down tree.

Sucking in deep, ragged breaths, she spied the dull gleam of her gun.

He shrieked and thrashed on the floor, swabbing his eyes with his shirt.

She rolled to her hands and knees and grabbed the 9mm, leveling the barrel at him. It was then she realized she was trembling. She scrambled to her feet as he made his way up on his. When her mind cleared, the black edges around her vision lifted, and her aim sharpened.

Novak spun around, his face fierce. Their gazes snagged. She steadied her shaking weapon hand with the other. He squinted at her with red, swollen eyes and launched forward at her with nightmarish intensity.

She wanted to blow a hole in his skull. Paint the walls with his blood and brain matter.

But they needed him alive.

She shifted her aim from center mass and shot him in the leg. He fell to his knees. Glaring, he crawled undaunted in her direction, fueled by some demonic willpower.

As he reached out for her, she put a second slug in his hand and kicked him away.

Castle barreled into the therapy room and stopped short, taking in the sight.

“Your timing sucks.” She took a step, rubbery knees threatening to give, and leaned against the wall. Her insides quivered like battered Jell-O. Experience had taught her that by morning, she’d feel the ache of every wretched bruise.

Castle cuffed the Ghost, hands behind his back. “You did all the hard work. My timing is shit-hot.”

“The bioweapon?” she asked, regaining her bearings.

“Reece made it with thirty seconds to spare,” Castle said. “It’s contained.”

“Cole? Is he okay?” It was as if the universe hung in suspended animation as she waited for an answer.

Chapter 34

Capital One Arena, Washington, DC

7:45 p.m. EDT

Cole sat in the back of an ambulance, letting the EMT flash a light in his eyes while he nursed his bandaged throat. The tech had gotten the bleeding to stop, and he was fortunate there was no permanent damage or need for stitches.

The building hadn’t been locked down under quarantine, and he heard the CDC was pulling out, which meant the bioweapon was contained.

Maddox pushed through the arena doors onto F Street. His heart rolled over in his chest. She looked like the devil had chewed her up and spit her out, but she was alive. And nothing else mattered. He nudged the fussing EMT to the side, leaped out of the ambulance, and ran to her. She flung herself at him, and he caught her close against his body, his arms snapping around her like bands of steel.

Their arms twined around each other in a desperate clinch. She shivered in his arms, her head tucked under his chin. He held her tighter. Holding her had never felt so good, so precious.

Tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. He would make the most of every single day he had with her. No more regrets.

He cupped her bruised face. “You okay?” His voice was raspy. Each word burned his sore throat.

“Yeah, or I will be.” She yanked back, lightly touched the bandage on his neck, and her gaze fell to his bloodied clothes. Alarm widened her eyes. “Cole—”

“Most of it isn’t mine,” he reassured her.