Relentless (34 page)

Stifling a shriek, she whirled and ran for the exit. Each pounding step filled her ankle with hot stabs of pain but her sole focus was on getting out the doors and into the hallway beyond.

Her mind raced. Would Rhys really fire his weapon in such a crowded place? He was a crack shot, but how could he possibly hit his target in such a chaotic setting? She kept pushing forward, bracing for the sound of a gunshot and praying everyone but her would-be killer was out of the line of fire.

Where in hell were the other security agents Rhys had told her about? People blocked her way. She shoved and elbowed through them, almost feeling the heat of her stalker's breath on the back of her neck. She expected to feel a bullet in the back at any moment.

Close now. The door was right ahead.

The sour smell of panic swirled through the room, making her dizzy. Air rushed in and out of her starved lungs until she felt faint. She had to get out. Had to.

Nearing the wide double doors, she threw a glance over her shoulder and the breath stuck in her throat. Shirani was closing the gap between them, but the man from the hospital was right behind him.

“Run!” she yelled at him. “He's got a gun!”

A moment's surprise flickered over the surgeon's face, but then grim resolve replaced it and his strides lengthened.

She couldn't waste time trying to help him any further. She had to get to safety first.

Bursting into the main lobby, her eyes locked onto a hallway branching off to the right. She careened into it, catching a glimpse of Shirani running flat out after her. The gunman was a dozen strides behind him, pulling his weapon free of its holster.

No sign of Rhys. Was he all right? She almost stopped, wanting to go back for him. What if he was hurt? She slowed a fraction, the pain in her ankle tearing up her leg.

“Neveah!”

Prickles of fear raced down her spine at the unfamiliar voice yelling her name. She looked back over her shoulder.

“Stop!” the stalker shouted, raising the gun.

“Shit!” she breathed and took off, bare feet slapping against the carpet. People gasped and dropped into defensive crouches when they saw what was coming after her. The elevators loomed ahead at the end of the hallway. Her earlier thought about hiding in one came back to her. She didn't dare take the stairs. If she could get into the elevator and shut the doors before he reached her, maybe she could make it.

Air exploded in and out of her aching lungs.
Halfway there. Keep running.
She kept her eyes locked on the elevator doors, desperate to reach them in time. The glowing call button between the two stalls beckoned like a ray of light in a world of darkness.

“Neveah, stop!”

Like hell. She choked back the whimper of terror and pain locked in her throat, the men's footsteps pounding behind her. Getting closer every second.

A shot rang out, a loud popping noise. Neveah shrieked and instinctively covered her head, expecting to feel the burn of a bullet. Instead she heard someone cry out, and glancing back saw Shirani stumble.

God...
She almost tripped over her own feet as she slowed. But the doctor climbed to his knees gripping his right shoulder with his other hand, blood seeping out of the bullet wound.

“Neveah,” he said, eyes beseeching her to stop. Before she could move, he surged to his feet and began running again, his gaze locked on her.

“Hurry!” she yelled, lengthening her strides, intent on hitting the call button. She lunged for it and slapped it with her palm, heart racing as precious seconds went by. Her eyes tracked the numbers above the door while the elevator car descended closer. Third floor.

Shirani was almost to her.

Come on
, she begged.
Open!

Second floor.

Footsteps getting closer. Gun rising again.

Lobby.

She swallowed a scream as the gunman raised his weapon for another shot, then the bell dinged and the elevator doors opened. She fell between them with a half-sob and Dr. Shirani was right behind her. The instant he dove inside she frantically hit the button to close the doors and punched the top floor button.

Through the closing doors she saw the assassin's grimace of rage. “No!” he shouted as he ran, still too far away to get off another shot.

The doors finally slid shut, and the relief buckled her knees. Sucking in a shaky breath, she allowed her legs to give way and slowly sank to the floor. Shirani stood slowly, blood dripping onto the marble floor from his shoulder wound.

She forced her chattering teeth to part. “Y-you ok-kay?”

He was breathing hard as he came to his feet, his eyes pinned on her strangely. Was he already in shock?

Forcing aside her own fear, she pushed herself up the wall and removed her jacket so she could tend to his injury. “H-here. Let's g-get th-the bl-bleeding s-stopped.”

Rhys was coming for her. She knew that. All she had to do was wait for him to free her. With hands that flapped like leaves in the wind, Nev offered her wounded colleague the jacket.

Rather than submit to her care, Shirani lifted a hand to the elevator panel and hit the stop button, never taking his eyes off her. The alarm bell sounded as the car jerked to an abrupt halt.

Steadying herself against the wall, she glanced up in confusion at the floor number. He'd suspended them between floors. To prevent the shooter from getting them? Looking back at him, a splinter of alarm swept over her. His expression was too set. Too intense.

Instinct had her backing away. She bumped into the wall.

Without a word, he slid his left hand into the breast pocket of his jacket.

Rhys came around the corner so fast he almost plowed into Khan. Dodging him, he skidded to a halt and stared with hollow eyes at the closed elevator doors. God dammit, he'd missed her by seconds.

Five goddamn seconds too late, too slow.

“I couldn't get a shot off,” the cop said dully, coming up beside him. “She kept stopping and putting herself in the line of fire.”

Rhys had fired once, but he'd failed to make the head shot. He wanted to puke for the terror flooding him.

“She recognized me. I think she thought I was the hit man.”

Ah, Christ, it must have been Khan she'd seen following her at the park and hospital— “Is she in there with him?” he demanded.

“Yes.”

“Fuck!” He pressed his hands against the elevator, sick with fear. “Neveah! Neveah, answer me!” Rhys tracked the floor numbers on the display. The elevator was moving up. “Get hotel security to stop the elevator,” he said hoarsely and raced to the stairs. The door crashed into the wall when he threw it open and bounded up the steps three at a time. He heard the cop barking commands over his radio when he hit the second floor landing.

His thighs burned from his demand for speed, and though he wasn't tiring, he wasn't moving fast enough.

Third floor.

Move, goddamn you!

“Hotel says they've stopped between the seventh and eighth floor,” the cop yelled as Rhys hit the fourth floor.

The reasons for them stopping had Rhys's heart in his throat. He was only halfway to her, and each second cost them time Neveah didn't have.

The look on Shirani's face was terrifying. Eyes wide, Neveah stared at the hand he slipped into his jacket. No. She had to be wrong. The breath hitched in her dry throat. “Wh-what are you— ”

The words cut off when he withdrew a wickedly sharp silver knife, like the ones from the dining room. Her eyes flew up to his. Ahmed Shirani...
He
was the one? The one who wanted to kill her?

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly.

Her heart shot up into her throat. She shrank back against the mirrored wall, thinking he'd gone crazy.

The blade glinted in the harsh light, cold and lethal. The sight of it paralyzed her.

Horrific memories flooded her. Another knife, dripping with her friends’ blood. Agonized screams and strangled cries. The knowledge that she could be next.

Every muscle in her body stiffened as abject fear gripped her. She couldn't die. Not like this. She couldn't bear it. The bite of that cruel blade, slicing into her flesh. The terrible pain and horror. Bleeding to death, weakening with each cut, life draining out of her faster with each terrified throb of her heart. A low whimper escaped through her clamped lips.

His face was stamped with resolve as he faced her, blade gripped in his bloody hand.

She was trapped in here with him. Her heart screamed in denial.

Shirani took a step toward her and she yelled Rhys's name.

“He can't hear you,” he said, swallowing. “And even if he could he can't get to you.”

Her eyes misted. He had to get to her. She had no other chance.

Moving carefully, Shirani took another step. Hesitant in his movements.

Her spine was already flattened against the mirrored panel. She had nowhere to go. Her frightened gaze remained on the shiny blade in his grip.

“I... I wish there were another way,” he whispered, voice vibrating with regret.

“D-don't,” she cried, raising her hands to ward him off. “Please don't do this.”

His face twisted with pain. “I have to.”

“No, please— there m-must be s-something— ”

He lifted the knife, poised to strike. “No. Have to. But I can make it quick. Please... I don't want you to suffer.”

She was going to throw up. The bile was right there, ready to come up, her body shaking so hard it hurt her bones. Unable to speak, she shook her head, pleading with him to spare her.

His mouth tightened for an instant as he battled some inner struggle. Then he lunged at her.

Neveah let out a shriek and ducked as he came at her, trying to dart past him. His arm swung down in a sharp arc, the knife catching her high up on the shoulder as she hit the floor. The fiery burst of pain made her suck in her breath. Warmth flowed down her upper arm, the metallic scent of her blood rising up to mix with the choking stench of fear. The hard marble was cold beneath her sweating palms. She shoved upward and spun to ward off the next attack. She had no space to move, no room to maneuver and buy time. Her brain wasn't working fast enough. She couldn't think, couldn't reason because of the thought of what was coming, could only react on pure survival instinct.

The defense course she'd taken. In a knife fight you had to get in close to take away their leverage.

She couldn't do it. She was too afraid. Her instinct to flee was too strong.

Her jacket lay discarded on the floor. She couldn't even wrap it around her forearm to protect her muscles and arteries when he struck next.

He came at her again, this time with a growl, and she lashed out with a forearm to block the downswing of his arm, bracing for the hot burn of the knife in her skin. She made solid contact with his wrist and jammed her knee up at the same time, catching him low in the belly. He gasped and doubled over for an instant, allowing her enough time to scramble away. She faced him, panting with shock and a growing sense of rage. How
dare
he attack her, feel entitled to take her life after all she'd been through.

She'd liked him. Told him about Rhys's neurosurgery. Trusted him.

The spike of adrenaline hit her bloodstream, filling her with resolve. She wouldn't go out quietly. If he wanted to kill her, he'd have to do it while she fought and clawed and resisted to the very last.

Pulling in a hard breath, he straightened and looked at her with utter loathing. “Just die, damn you!”

“Fuck you,” she snarled back.

He darted forward. Nev doubled her fists and hit him in his wounded shoulder as hard as she could, then spun away. He screamed in agony while the knife whooshed past her ear and sliced through the back of her blouse, narrowly missing her cringing flesh.

He circled her warily now, breathing heavily. Blood dripped from the bullet hole, his entire right arm soaked with it. The floor was wet and slippery with crimson smears that glistened in the overhead lights. The wound in her own shoulder burned like fire, her heart slamming against her ribs like a sledgehammer.

Rhys was coming after her. He would be here any moment. Any second, she told herself. The horrible buzzing of the alarm would stop and the elevator would jerk as it moved, and then the doors would slide open and Rhys would be there ready to shoot the bastard dead.

Hold on, Nev. You have to keep fighting. Just a little longer.

Focusing on that, she squared off with Shirani, hands raised like a prizefighter, praying she'd be fast enough to dodge his next attack and thinking about the most vulnerable points she had to protect. So long as he didn't hit an organ or a major artery, she could buy a few more minutes. But the thought of taking more stab wounds filled her gut with ice. Why hadn't she worn the damn vest Rhys had offered?

Shirani's hand dropped, whipping up hard at her gut. She shrieked and threw herself sideways. The knife slashed against her ribs. The hot blaze of pain tore what little air she had out of her lungs and made her curl in on herself. Tears blurred her vision.

Christ, oh Christ, she couldn't take this. From the corner of her eye she saw the blade flash up again and threw out a hand to catch his wrist. The impact jarred her wounded shoulder and she bit back a cry, muscles straining to hold him back. Shirani grunted and locked his bleeding arm around her throat, squeezing as he forced the knife closer to her throat. Going for her jugular or carotid artery. Severing either of those would kill her in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. She could not lose her hold.

Gritting her teeth, she struggled to maintain her grip on her arm and held on while the pressure around her throat increased. She fought the additional spurt of panic as her air decreased. Both hands were on his frighteningly strong wrist, the muscles in her arms shaking with effort. She couldn't let go to try and pry her arm away from his throat. If she lost her grip on him, she was dead. A raw scream of denial and rage worked up her bruised throat.

In desperation she twisted in his grip, throwing her feet out to brace against the mirrored wall for leverage. She pushed back with all her might, shoving him against the opposite wall, trying to throw her head back and hit him in the jaw. He cursed and jerked his forearm tighter against her. The knife edged closer, quivering as it poised inches above her vulnerable throat. It glimmered in the lights, the instrument of her death, waiting to plunge through the critical vessels in her neck.