sandwiched between whoever had entered above and anyone who might be waiting below.
If there had been any other way out of the hospital, he would have selected it over the stairwell. Experience had taught him stairwells were prime locations for an ambush. A gunman above, a gunman below, and a person could be taken out in an instant.
Caught between floors, they had no choice but to continue down. He doubted Laney would make it up even one flight of stairs. Meeting her eyes, he held a finger to his lips, then guided her quickly down.
On the ground floor below, another door opened. He could hear heavy footsteps coming their way.
Not good.
Grayson had no intention of being caught in the middle of an ambush. Better to go on the offensive—meet trouble one-on-one. Grayson urged Laney down to the first floor landing, gently pushing her into the shadows. Drawing his gun, he peered over the rail.
A shadowy figure ascended the steps quickly, the barrel of a gun glinting in the dim emergency lights. From above, footsteps echoed loudly as the second person rushed down the stairs.
Grayson needed to act now. And it wouldn’t be by the book.
If he announced himself, he’d lose the element of surprise. If he took a bullet, Laney would be easy pickings.
There’s no way that was happening.
He had to time it perfectly. The gunman slowed as he neared the landing, cautiously stepping around the corner, gun first. In one quick motion, Grayson cracked the butt of his service weapon on the guy’s wrist, eliciting a startled howl of pain and sending the gun clattering down the stairs.
The guy turned back—whether to flee or retrieve his gun, Grayson couldn’t be sure. Reaching out, Grayson grasped a handful of the guy’s sweatshirt and brought his gun forcefully down on the man’s temple. The blow sent the man crumpling to the ground in a motionless heap.
Grabbing Laney’s arm, Grayson pulled her forward, ushering her around the fallen assailant. The unmistakable pop of a silenced pistol echoed in the stairwell, a bullet slamming into the concrete wall a foot from Grayson’s head. He shoved Laney forward, placing himself between her and the gunman as they raced down the last few steps to ground level.
He shoved the door open, scanning the hallway and the open door of the room beyond. Backup lights illuminated the hospital’s laundry room, the huge cavernous area the perfect cover for anyone who might be lying in wait. Footsteps pounded on the stairs above, the second gunman moving in quickly.
Grayson dragged Laney into the hallway, shielding her from any threat that might be waiting.
“This way.” He motioned toward a glowing neon exit sign pointing them to their escape route. They ran toward the far wall, turning the corner as the stairwell door slammed open once more.
Grabbing Laney’s hand, he sprinted toward the exit. He knew she was struggling to match his pace, but slowing down wasn’t an option.
Right now he couldn’t worry about anything but getting her to safety—as safe as any place could be for the only witness against a very large, very lucrative crime ring.
They barreled through the exit door into the employee parking lot.
“Come on,” he encouraged her. “I parked my car out here.”
* * *
Agent DeMarco didn’t let go of Laney’s hand as they ran through a near-empty parking lot. Silver streaks of moonlight managed to break through the intermittent cloud cover, providing some visibility beyond the shadows of the building. Too much visibility if their pursuer ran out of the building behind them. Laney shuddered at the thought.
She didn’t want to be within sight of that door if it opened and the gunman appeared.
Her body was wearing down, though. No matter how much she wanted to keep sprinting along beside Agent DeMarco, she wasn’t sure how much farther she could go. Her legs shook, every pounding step across the pavement making her head throb.
She stumbled, and his grip on her hand tightened.
“You can do this,” he urged her.
Maybe she could.
If wherever they were heading was closer than a few steps.
They rounded the corner of the building, putting brick and mortar between themselves and the door. She wanted to feel safer because of it, but fear pulsed through her veins, churned in her stomach. They had no idea how many men were after them—or where their attackers might be lying in wait.
A sudden clatter from around the building, like a can kicked across pavement, had Agent DeMarco snagging the arm of the jacket she wore, yanking her behind a large metal Dumpster.
“Stay hidden. I’ll be right back,” he ordered before easing around the Dumpster and moving soundlessly into the night. She stood still, keeping as quiet as possible. Listening. She could hear nothing but the deafening rush of her own blood in her ears. Without Agent DeMarco, she felt exposed and vulnerable. Releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, she tried to shake off that feeling.
She’d worked under stressful, even dangerous, circumstances in the past, and she’d never had to rely on anyone to get her through them. She couldn’t allow herself to rely on Agent DeMarco, either. Playing the part of the victim just wasn’t her style. After all, if something happened to him, she would have to take care of herself.
And she would. She’d been doing it her whole life.
She’d realized at age eight that her mom was powerless to protect either of them from her father’s violent outbursts. Laney had been forced to take on that role. She’d learned to protect them both. This was no different. She needed to be ready. She needed to assess the situation herself. Plan her escape route should anything go wrong.
She eased out from behind the Dumpster, peering into the darkness. Nothing. The night seemed too still, the parking lot too dark. Dozens of cars were there, the streetlights off, the moon temporarily hidden by clouds.
A shadow moved at the edge of the lot, a deeper darkness in the gloom.
She jerked back, heart pounding wildly.
“Good choice,” someone whispered, and she jumped, spinning toward the voice.
Big mistake. Blood rushed from her head, and she swayed.
Firm hands cupped her waist, held her steady as she caught her balance.
She looked into Agent DeMarco’s face. “Where did you come from?” she whispered.
“I was circling around to get a location on him. I also told you to stay out of sight.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t.” His hands dropped away. “I had you in a position of cover. You walked out where anyone could see you.”
“It’s dark.”
“Ever heard of night-vision goggles?” he asked. “Because someone who has money
