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“Rehab center,” Clay supplied.
They traded a look.
Quaide locked the pedal to the floor.
When they came up on the stretch of flat land leading to the center, he hit speeds that would kill them instantly if they got into an accident. He only had one thought in his head—get Dove.
Night had fallen. The headlights cut through the blackness. Up ahead, he made out the long single-story building that housed a rehab facility.
“Point me to a door, Lark.” His face felt numb, his lips rigid.
She leaned forward between the front seats. “Uhhh. I don’t know! Just get to the parking lot and I’ll guide you through the comms.”
He touched the earpiece she’d thrust into his hand even before his ass hit the driver’s seat. The parking lot was fairly empty at this time of night. Visitors who came to see loved ones were gone, leaving only vehicles that belonged to the staff.
Immediately, he rejected an entrance on the far end of the building. “Unless the women were dropped off, it wouldn’t be at that entrance. They’ve got to be in the center of the building.”
Quaide hit the brakes. The SUV’s tires squealed and he yanked the door handle before he even put the vehicle in park.
He took off at a dead run for the door.
Clay’s orders filled Quaide’s ear, but he was already at the entrance, weapon cocked. “Lark, stay here! Climb into the driver’s seat and get ready to drive. Lock the doors and don’t open them for anybody.”
He wasn’t fucking around with the call button on the side of the building—he fired a bullet at the lock. An alarm trilled. Men in orderly uniforms came running in his direction.
Quaide assumed a defensive pose, prepared to deliver a kill shot to anybody who got between him and the woman he loved.
“FBI! I’m looking for two blonde women! Any idea where they are?” he barked.
The orderlies eyed him like he was a lunatic and required far more than this rehab facility could provide.
Violence built inside him.
Suddenly, Lark’s voice flooded into his ear. “Go right! On the right!”
He took off running, the orderlies giving chase too. He didn’t know if they believed he really worked for the government or if they were chasinghim.
Right this minute, he didn’t give a damn. His heart raced. Hot breath seared his lungs.
“You’re close! I see you on my screen, Quaide, and Rain’s tracker is a millimeter away from you!” Lark cried.
How far was a millimeter in real distance? He skidded to a stop. Tossing a wild look at his surroundings, he tried to determine which door she might be behind. Using his shoulder, he threw himself at one. It flew inward to reveal an empty room, but he didn’t turn before hot, sharp pain sliced across his shoulder.
He’d been knifed in combat, and that wasn’t a sensation a man ever forgot. He whirled and squeezed the trigger in the same move. When his bullet struck a man square in the chest, Quaide didn’t stop to watch him fall.
The knife the man held clattered to the tile floor. The knife he’d cutQuaide with.
The scent of his own blood hit his nostrils, and within seconds, he knew his shirt was soaked. Dammit, Dove wouldn’t be happyat allwith this turn of events.
With a low groan, he ran on without slowing at the pain.
“Quaide! What just happened? Did you fire a shot?” Clay demanded.
“Fucker slashed me with his knife. I’m fine—but when you find the scum lying dead in the hallway, you’ll know you’re close to me.”
“Let me catch up, Livingston!”
Not a damn chance was he slowing. If anything, he was going to pick up speed. Dove had to be around here somewhere.
