Potter watched the flames shoot toward the sky as he raced toward the building. “Robin!”
Sirens screamed closer. Toby had been on his way home when he’d spotted Robin’s car in the parking lot of the lab. Ever since Robin had discovered his deception—orders to get close to her and figure out what was going on in the lab—she’d kept him at arm’s length, her narrow-eyed stare hot enough to singe his eyebrows if he dare try to get too close.
Tonight, he’d planned to apologize profusely—again—and ask if there was anything he could do to earn her trust back. Only to pull into the parking lot, be greeted by the loud boom and watch flames shoot out of the window near the front door.
Heart pounding, Toby scanned the front door and rushed forward only to be forced back by the intense heat. Smoke billowed toward the dark night sky while the fire grew hotter and bigger. Mini-explosions followed. Chemicals.
“Robin!”
Toby jumped into his truck and drove around to the back only to find it not much better although it did seem to be more smoke than flames. The thick cloud decreased his visual field, but he had to try. Robin was in that building, and he was afraid he’d failed to protect her. Big time.
The lab backed up to a wooded area left by the designers of the campus to make it feel less city and more rural. He’d always appreciated the beauty of the place, and now he had visions of it burning, the trees and animals caught in the path of the flames. And Robin.
Toby parked near the tree line in case more explosions were coming. The lot on this side was smaller, just one row along the length of the building.
At the back door, he grasped the handle and pulled. Locked. Of course. Using both fists, he pounded on the glass and metal door. “Robin!”
He fumbled for the key card FBI special agent Ben Little had provided when Toby had agreed to take the case, allowing him access to the building when it would be empty. Better for snooping and spying.
Another explosion from inside rocked Toby back, but he was able to keep his feet under him. He figured the blast was on the other end of the building—where he knew Robin’s station was. If she was anywhere near that station, there was no way she was still alive. “No, please no,” he whispered. No one was around to hear him, but maybe God was listening.
He raced down the side of the building, trying each door only to find them locked. He wasn’t getting inside. And no one was coming out. Where were the fire trucks? He knew his concept of time was skewed. What was merely seconds seemed like hours.
Heart in his throat, he finally backed away, his mind flashing through times spent with Robin. Eating at the university cafeteria, walks around the small pond near the library, laughter at the old movies in the campus theater. Her fury when she discovered his duplicity. He blinked and shook his head.
Initially, his assignment had been to get close to her and find out what was going on in the lab. Over the past month, he’d found himself wanting to know her, convinced she wasn’t involved in anything suspect but that she might have information she didn’t know she had. Now, he’d failed her.
Grief gripped him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d quit the CIA because he was tired of the covert life. He’d been working as a professor at the university—and healing from life’s wounds—when his former handler and friend, turned FBI agent, had roped him into helping with his case.
Toby grabbed his phone from his pocket and punched in the number for Ben Little. It rang twice as a fire truck finally screamed around the side of the building. “Yeah?”
“Ben, it’s me. Someone blew up the lab and I think Robin’s inside.”
“What!”
“I failed her, Ben.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. “I failed.” Again. Another woman had died because of him.
Robin blinked. Then coughed. Her head pounded in time with her heart. The pain nearly sent her back into the black abyss, but she drew in a smoky breath and shoved herself up off the bathroom floor. Darkness swirled, and spots danced before her eyes while sweat rolled down her temples and between her shoulder blades. Nausea doubled her over, but she stumbled to the door and touched the handle.
Only to jerk back when it burned her hand. Fighting to stay upright and conscious, she staggered to the window and unlocked it. Then realized it was sealed shut. The double-paned frosted window that ran from ceiling to floor was simply for looks, not for opening.
Groaning, she looked around for something, anything to break the glass. An idea sparked in her smoke-fogged brain and she stumbled to the nearest stall. Grabbing the top of the ceramic tank, she hefted it with a grunt and carried it back to the window, ignoring her churning stomach, pounding head and shaky legs. She gathered her strength and heaved it against the glass. Once. Twice. A large crack formed in the window. Her legs gave out and she fell, gasping, choking, her lungs grabbing at any remaining oxygen in the room.
Get up! You’re going to die if you don’t!
Pulling on the last of her strength, Robin hauled herself and the tank lid up. “Ahhh!” She slammed it against the glass.
The window shattered, the pieces falling to the ground outside. “Oh, thank you,” she breathed.
She shrugged out of her lab coat, placed it over the jagged edges and hauled herself through the opening. She fell to the ground on top of the glass. Her palms stung and she flinched but pushed to her feet, coughing and gagging.
Robin staggered away from the burning building, blinded by the smoke and desperate for clean air. The sirens and red flashing lights registered. She pressed a bleeding hand to her pounding head and finally found herself at the edge of the parking lot. She staggered into the trees and retched.
The world continued to spin, and she fell to the ground, her cheek pressing into the pine needles. She had to run.
But why?
She should know why but couldn’t bring the reason into focus.
Oh, because of him.
He’d tried to kill her.
His eyes closed. Then opened. Her head continued its hammering and her ears rang with an annoying high-pitched frequency.
Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the swirling trees while she tried to figure out what had happened. There’d been an explosion. Something had hit her, and she’d fallen.
Voices reached her. Instinctively, she scrambled to her knees and crawled behind the nearest tree while she made out the words “...find her. Get rid of her.”
“There’s no way she survived that,” another voice said. “You barely got out alive and she was still in the building when it exploded.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. You said she ran into the bathroom just before the first explosion went off. She’s dead.”
“Make sure!”
“Fine, I’ll make sure.”
They had to be talking about her. Tremors
