not from the Middle East. In fact, he looked like a typical Midwestern farmer with sunburned skin, blond hair and pleasantenough features.
“You know him?” Wyatt asked. “Was he one of the men in the park?”
“No,” Carrie answered.
“Well, that’s a clue to the scope of the organization. Looks like the initial three you spotted in the park weren’t the only ones involved in the plot.”
She nodded.
As Blondie started to stir, Wyatt took back the gun while he debated what to do.
The man’s eyes blinked open. When he tried to move and found that his hands and feet were secured, he swung his murderous gaze from Wyatt to Carrie and back again. Carrie recoiled, but Wyatt ignored the threatening scowl. “How many men are in the building?”
“Enough to kill you and the bitch.”
“I don’t think so.” He wanted to ask how the terrorists had discovered the time and location of Carrie’s meeting with the Federal prosecutor, but he knew that would only be a waste of time.
The guy smirked at him. “You won’t get out of here alive. And once you’re dead, there won’t be anyone to testify against Bobby.”
“They have the pictures she took of your meeting.”
“So what? In this day and age, they could be faked. And—”
To stave off another smart remark, Wyatt bashed him on the head again, and he went still.
Carrie made a low, distressed sound. “Why did you do that?”
“Don’t tell me you wanted to keep listening to his line of crap?”
“No.”
Wyatt found packing tape in one of the desk drawers, and wound it around the guy’s head and over his mouth so he couldn’t call for help. Then he pulled him behind the desk.
“It looked like you handled my gun all right,” he remarked.
“Yes. My father made sure I was able to protect myself.”
“Good.”
He handed her his automatic and took the terrorist’s weapon for himself before crossing to the door and looking out. The hall was clear. But they’d come back when they realized their buddy was missing.
Wyatt led the way, and they sprinted to the end of the hall and into another office.
He locked the door, even knowing it would be a dead giveaway to their position. At least it would buy them a few seconds if somebody tried to get in.
“Up here the windows open. We can get out,” he told Carrie.
“Five stories up?”
“There are step-back roofs.” He hurried to the window and slid the glass open.
Carrie looked out, seeing the roof below them. “It’s pretty far.”
“Not if you lower yourself by your hands. I’ll go first.”
She kept her gaze on him. “You’re all business. All the time. I should be thankful for that.”
He bit back a retort. There was no time for anything but escape from a building that had turned into a death trap.
He slung the weapon over his shoulder, then climbed out the window and lowered himself, thankful that he was in good shape.
Controlling his descent, he eased down the wall, then let himself drop the four feet to the gravel surface of the roof below. Turning, he held up his arms to Carrie.
She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll catch you. Hurry, before they find us.”
She stuffed the gun into her shoulder bag, which she wrapped across her chest, then maneuvered herself out the window. Turning around, she lowered herself until her body was dangling from the frame. But her grip wasn’t strong enough, and she fell. Wyatt was there to catch her, taking her weight as she came hurtling down.
They both wavered on their feet, then he steadied them.
“Thanks,” she said.
“We’ve got to do that again.”
She made a strangled sound but followed him to the edge of the roof. Again he went first, lowering himself to his full length, then dropping six feet to the roof below.
When he turned and glanced up, he saw Carrie watching him. She looked as if she wanted to protest; instead, she grimly climbed over the edge and lowered herself by her arms. This time she must have made a concerted effort to control her descent. She didn’t let go until her full length was dangling from the edge. Again he caught her and staggered back, almost losing his balance. But he stayed on his feet, then went to check the next drop-off point.
A scuffling sound made him whirl around. He saw that Carrie had turned and was holding the pistol he’d given her in two hands—pointed at a man who was looking over the edge of the roof above, his weapon aimed downward.
Carrie fired, hitting the would-be assassin in the arm. Before he could recover, Wyatt delivered a chest shot, and the man went down, toppling over the edge and landing on the gravel surface a few yards from where they stood.
Carrie gasped as she stared at the body.
Wyatt hurried back to her, catching her look of horror as she realized what she’d done.
“I…I think he couldn’t believe a woman had the guts to fire at him.”
“His mistake,” Wyatt said in a gritty voice. “Thank God you did.”
She stood rigidly, and he reached for her hand.
“Gotta go.”
At his touch, she shook herself into action, and he hustled her to the edge of the roof. This time there was a bonus feature: a ladder leading down to ground level.
Wyatt sent Carrie down first, alternately covering her descent and checking for more pursuers on the roof above. When he joined her, she was shaking, and he knew she was still reacting to what had happened.
“I shot a man,” she whispered as though she were just now taking it in.
He pulled her toward him, at the same time easing her against the side of the building where it would be harder for anyone looking down from above to see them. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close. “You shot in self-defense. He was going to kill you.”
“It’s not like shooting at a target.”
He didn’t point out that he’d fired the kill shot. Or that he’d killed a lot more men. This was no time for a philosophical discussion on the morality of protecting oneself.
She
