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She looked up, waiting for Nick or Ronan or even Declan to call out on their way down the hall.
The office remained silent, and Alexa slowly got to her feet, adrenaline flooding her body. It was Sunday, and Reilly, the bodyguard who manned the front desk, was off.
Nick had gone to see Clay. Alexa hadn’t bothered telling him she was going to the office, even though she knew he didn’t like her to go anywhere alone after what had happened in her apartment and at the hotel. If she’d told him, he would have calledReilly in for the morning, and she hadn’t wanted to be responsible for Reilly losing one of his days off.
She’d figured she’d get out of the house, spend a couple of hours working, and probably be home before Nick even knew she was gone.
The elevator dinged again and Alexa reached for her purse, her eyes on the office door.
She hadn’t wanted the gun, but Nick had insisted. And not just Nick, Julia and Elise too. They’d been taught to shoot by their grandfather, and they’d made it clear carrying a weapon had saved their lives more than once in the months they’d been at war with Manifest.
Alexa had only agreed to make them happy. Well, that and because she’d thought it might give her a little more freedom, that Nick wouldn’t worry so much if he knew she was armed.
Now she pulled the gun from her purse, took off the safety, and moved around her desk as she tried to stop the fear rushing through her veins.
She started for the door to the hall, her heart beating like a drum in her ears. Her body had moved seamlessly into fight or flight mode, aided by the trauma she’d suffered the day one of Frederick Walker’s men had tried to kill her in her apartment. He’d had his hands around her neck, his eyesburning under the ski mask he’d been wearing, when Nick had appeared.
Now she wondered if the Walkers were going to try again, if they would keep trying until she was finally dead.
She moved down the hall, the gun raised in her hand. Could she use it? She didn’t know. She’d shot a man once, had killed one of the men who’d been trying to kill Nick in the hotel stairwell.
But that had been instinct. She hadn’t had time to think about what she was doing. Nick had been about to die. Her body — her heart — had made the decision for her.
She had gone to the firing range with Nick, firing rounds at the targets until Nick was satisfied she could hit someone if her life depended on it. But those targets had been paper, not human beings.
She pushed the thoughts aside as she inched her way toward the lobby. She couldn’t ponder the moral dilemma of defending her life. Not right now. She had to focus, and she continued down the hall, alert for any signs of another presence in the office.
She hesitated when she got closer to the end of the hall that spilled into the lobby. The office was deathly silent, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for the first shot to be fired.
Would it be hers? Or someone else’s? Someone lying in wait beyond the hall?
She flattened her back against the wall and forced herself to breathe, trying to still her shaking hands. The only sound in the office was the soft hum of the building around her, the vibration of the building’s heating and ventilation systems, something she’d never noticed before, and the muffled sound of traffic beyond the building’s walls.
She didn’t know how much time passed before she made the decision to continue into the lobby.
Five seconds? Five minutes?
Time seemed suspended. Finally she took a step out of the hall, sweeping the room with the gun the way Nick had done when they’d been moving through the darkened hotel, trying to escape the assault of Walker’s men.
As far as she could tell, the room was empty, nothing but potted plants, overstuffed chairs, and a couple of end tables.
She turned her attention to the front desk, the only possible hiding place if someone was hoping to surprise her in the lobby.
She dared a glance back at the tracks she’d covered in the hall, even though there was no waysomeone could be hiding there. She would have seen them walk past the open door of her office.
When she’d reassured herself that her back was covered, she moved toward the front desk, her eyes still on the elevator. Her feet seemed filled with lead as she got closer to the desk, but she forced herself to move without hesitation. If someone was hiding, hesitation would mean her death.
She rounded the desk all at once, then exhaled a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding.
There was no one there.
She drew in a breath and braced herself against the desk, the gun still in her right hand. When her heart rate slowed to an almost normal pace, she replayed the moments before she’d grabbed the gun from her purse.
The elevator had dinged twice. Could someone have accidentally stopped on the wrong floor? That would make sense. Someone had meant to get off on another floor and had continued in the elevator when they realized their mistake.
She was understandably jumpy, the empty office making her assume a threat where there wasn’t one.
She took another deep breath and straightened. She was about to head back to her office, pack up her things and head back to the house, whensomething on the carpet in front of the elevator caught her eye.
