Taken (Second Sight) (3 page)

She wanted to grind on him, feel the thudding at her sweet spot turned to crushing, as her hips whipped back and forth atop him. Over and over the air was forced from her lungs in shallow grunts as he slammed upward. His chest heaved with harsh and ragged gasps. And just as she thought there would be no end to the primal thrusts, Mac sat up and Isabelle quickly found their positions reversed. As her hands landed on the bed behind her, Mac knelt and pulled her hips hard toward him.

• • • • •

As Mac tugged Isabelle up his thighs, his hips thrust forward to meet her. Her entire body vibrated with the connection and she quickly sank to her elbows as her head tilted back. An explosion of frantic gyrations claimed her hips, her lithe torso whipping up and down. Her olive skin was suffused with pink and the perfect, rose-tipped mounds of her breasts thrust upward, her chest heaving in time with his. His engorged flesh buried itself in her as he kept a firm grip on her thighs, pulling her hard onto him. Isabelle whimpered in response as a deep shudder rippled through her. Her body seemed to shimmer and then her incredibly flat tummy writhed and flexed. Again, he thrust forward, plunging into her deeply and, for a moment, Mac wasn’t sure what he was seeing.
 

But as he stared at her abdomen and pressed his hips harder, he lifted her pelvis higher. Her elbows came off the bed as her body arched impossibly high, and he saw his own arousal within her.
 

“
Yes
,” he hissed.

He pressed one hand over the bulge as Isabelle’s body writhed around him. Between the creamy curves of her twisting and pulsing hips, his hand pushed down and he felt himself.
 

His climax exploded inside her.
 

Under the press of his own palm, his straining shaft thickened uncontrollably and a white-hot eruption made him cry out in ecstasy and anguish. Isabelle’s climax immediately clamped on him, her abdomen like a vise, her writhing turned into a chain of convulsions that rocked them both. His member was molten, spewing inside her, jerking upward with one vicious clamp and then downward with the next. His arms wound around her tiny waist, pulled her hard onto him, as her body shook violently and she cried out. Her climax rippled along his length and he could only spill himself into her in response. Their harsh, ragged cries filled the air and their bodies fueled one another as she clamped down on him and he stiffened, repeating the cycle. She milked him without relent and he bent over her, curving his body to match her arch, holding her to him as sat on his ankles. Gradually, his hips began to thrust erratically and Isabelle’s agonized gasps told him she was nearly spent. Slowly, the contractions ebbed as did the blinding ecstasy that had swept through him. Finally, Mac released the grip around Isabelle’s waist and eased her down to the bed. Her chest heaved like a bellows, and he couldn’t help but glance at the spot where he’d seen himself, but then he collapsed onto the bed next to her.

The pillows were at their feet but neither of them moved.

“I love you, Mac,” Isabelle whispered, though her breath was still ragged and harsh. He opened his eyes and turned his head to her but her eyes were closed and she hadn’t moved. “And I
know
you love me. I do…” Her voice faltered and a teardrop slipped down from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath. “The reading…”

“
Isabelle
,” he said quietly, instantly turning to her, cradling her to his chest. “Forget about the reading. Tomorrow we’ll go see Ben.” He paused at the quick knot in his stomach. “Because I
do
love you.”

As her arms wound around him and she buried her face in his chest, he felt her nod as he stroked her hair.

That’s what it comes down to
, he thought.
I have to love her enough to risk losing her.

Prentiss had arrived bright and early, up with the sun because of the ninety minutes it took to get the body make-up on. And the wait had not been long because there she was–
Isabelle
.

She came in through the main, double, glass doors, her green dress swishing in the draft. It looked like the same agent was with her, though it was hard to tell. They all looked so alike in their conservative suits. Prentiss grinned. Cops all looked alike too. All anybody saw was the uniform. She and the agent passed him without so much as a glance.

Today is going to be the day.

Prentiss fell in behind them but several paces back, the lumpy manila envelope tucked under his arm. A young mother with a baby in a stroller joined the procession just in front of him. Clearly, they were all headed to the elevator. Once there, they joined the group already waiting. As usual, it was a busy day at the Federal Building.
 

Though he stood at the edge of the group, Prentiss could see Isabelle in profile. She wore matching gloves and he noticed the way she clung to the arm of the agent. Was there something between them? Prentiss cocked his head just as the elevator next to him dinged loudly.

As the last of the group inside disgorged, Prentiss motioned for the mother and her baby to precede him and promptly filed in behind her. He wanted to be at the back of the elevator. Though he turned around to face the door and could see that Isabelle was entering, he turned his face to the floor so she couldn’t see it.
 

The make-up, dye job, and costume were excellent but why take a chance?

An older man had followed him in and was standing between him and Isabelle so Prentiss shifted slightly right. As Isabelle entered and began to turn, Prentiss took a good look. Her dress came down to mid-thigh again today and, as she pivoted, his eyes were drawn to her knee, though it was quickly out of view. He couldn’t help but smirk, feeling the tug of the spirit gum under the fake mustache.

But as the rest of the people outside slowly filed in and the crowd compressed, Prentiss realized with a start that the agent with Isabelle was looking at him.
 

Prentiss froze, his mind a complete blank.
 

Though Prentiss could only use his peripheral vision, he was sure the man’s gaze was on him. Slowly, Prentiss lifted his chin and looked up at the changing numbers over the door and, then, so did the agent.
 

Prentiss slowly let a breath go and darted his eyes to the back of the man’s head and then up to the changing numbers again as the elevator dinged and began to slow. They were going to stop at the third floor.

Had he been looking at me?

A slow trickle of sweat started to work its way down the small of Prentiss’s back.

Shit. Is the make-up waterproof?

Suddenly, the thrill of the stalk had turned into a grueling ride on the slowest elevator in the world. From that point on, Prentiss kept his eyes on the changing numbers. Passengers came and went at each floor.

Had he been looking at me?

Prentiss adjusted the envelope under his arm so it didn’t get soaked with sweat.

Get it under control. When they get out, you have to get out. You have to see where they’re going.
 

But at the moment, Prentiss wasn’t sure he could make his legs move, let alone get out. He stared down at his shiny, black, leather shoes.

Is this what stage fright is like?

Prentiss had heard of it but never experienced anything even close. He
loved
the limelight. But as the elevator reached the seventh floor and the door opened, Isabelle and the agent began to move.

They’re leaving!

With a surge of panic at the thought of losing this chance, maybe his only one, after all the preparation, all the cost, Prentiss committed.

 
He cleared his throat.

“Pardon me,” he said to the older man just in front of him.

• • • • •

Mac could see through the glass wall that Dixon and his captain were already waiting, having coffee in the conference room. Ben had yet to arrive.
 

Now might be a good time for a word in private.

Though Mac waited as the sergeant made the introductions, he didn’t take a seat.

“Let me go see what’s keeping Ben,” he said.
 

Isabelle’s eyebrows knitted together briefly but she smiled at him. Dixon and his boss probably thought nothing of it. But as Mac exited the room and glanced once more at Isabelle–who was watching him leave–he knew he had to get this thing with Ben cleared up.

• • • • •

Prentiss had passed the assembled group in the conference room and continued down the wide and virtually empty hallway. The layout was similar to the other floors he’d patrolled and he headed directly to the bathroom. There was one man at a urinal but the stalls were empty. Though he hadn’t practiced this, Prentiss had rehearsed it over and over in his mind.
 

He proceeded into a stall, closed the door, and set the envelope quietly on the floor. Then, he reached behind the toilet and turned the water to it off, spinning the clear plastic knob clockwise until it wouldn’t go any further. Then he flushed it.

The water in the bowl emptied but no new water came in and, in moments, he had his receptacle clear. Outside the stall he heard the man at the urinal leave but he quickly bent low and scanned for feet under the door just to make sure.

This is it.

He grabbed the manila envelope, ripped open the top without bothering with the metal clasp, and dumped the firework mortar and old t-shirt onto the floor.

Though he’d grown up with M-80s that could sound like an army was invading, those weren’t available any more. Instead, he was going to make do with a mini mortar shell–essentially a cardboard tube with fireworks in it. It was meant to hold a single, one-inch diameter ball of powder with a fuse but he’d already filled it with three. He stood it in the bottom of the toilet bowl and hurriedly jammed the worn shirt all around and on top of it, sealing it in, with just the fuse showing.

Experience had taught him that the tighter you could seal the explosion, the bigger the boom. A number of empty toilet tanks in the junkyards of his youth had been blown to dust.
 

He drew the lighter from his pocket and opened the stall door. Still no one. Quickly, he lit the fuse and, as it sizzled loudly behind him, he ran.

• • • • •

Isabelle sat in the strained silence of the conference room with Sergeant Dixon and Captain Atakawa, a distinguished Asian man with a crew cut, possibly in his early fifties, who wore a dark, blue suit. Though the captain had cast a few glances at her gloves, he hadn’t asked. Nor had she offered to explain. More than likely Sergeant Dixon–

A booming noise, accompanied by a shudder in the floor and a rattling of the glass wall behind her, made Isabelle start, hands landing on the table in front of her.

“What the–” yelled the captain as he jumped to his feet.

“That was an explosion,” yelled Dixon, following the captain to the door.
 

Isabelle got up as well.

“No,” Dixon said, thrusting his palm at her. “Stay put. Let me see what’s going on first. I’ll be right back.”

A crowd of people began to flow by in the hallway. In moments, the sergeant and the captain had disappeared into the mass of uniforms and suits that were running toward the explosion.

Oh my god
, Isabelle thought.
Where’s Mac?

She grabbed her purse and was just pulling out her phone when a police officer flew through the doorway into the conference room.

“Isabelle de Grey?” he panted breathlessly.

“Yes?” she said, putting the phone away.

“Sergeant Dixon sent me,” he said taking her by the arm. “We’re evacuating.”

• • • • •

The elevator came to such a hard stop that Mac had to crouch low and the young man in the corner lost his footing and sat down hard.

They’d heard the explosion only seconds before. An alarm began to sound beyond the confines of the elevator and a red light next to the emergency call button on the elevator panel began to blink. Mac stood and looked up to the indicators above the door. None of the numbers was lit. The last number he remembered seeing was eleven. He’d been on his way to the seventeenth floor to see Ben.

“Are we stuck?”

Mac turned to the young man, who’d managed to stand but had left his backpack on the floor. He looked like he might be twenty at most.

“For the moment,” Mac said. At least the boy didn’t appear to be panicking. Mac looked up at the indicator lights again. Still nothing. He pressed the red button with the white phone symbol on it. “The elevator is probably programmed to stop when it senses a jolt.” He checked the lighting at the elevator ceiling. “We’ve got power, so no interruption in electricity.”

“So we’re okay?”

Mac nodded at him and smiled.

“We’re okay.”

Though Mac spoke slowly and casually to keep his companion calm, his mind was racing.
 

That had been an explosion.
 

Where is Isabelle?

• • • • •

Prentiss all but dragged Isabelle down the stairs after him. It was chaos in the stairwell. People were flooding into it and it was getting more crowded as they neared the lobby level. This was something that Prentiss had counted on. Isabelle hadn’t questioned him, simply done what she was told. Though he could feel the panic all around him, the crowd still moved at a steady pace, the bumping and jostling mostly coming from firemen who were charging upward in the opposite direction.
 

“Get clear of the building!” they shouted as they headed up.
 

As they surged into the crowded lobby, Prentiss kept his grip firm on Isabelle’s arm but he felt her resist.

“I’ve got to find Mac!” she yelled.

He glanced backward at her, the amber eyes blazing, her lips parted with heavy breathing.

“We have to get clear of the building,” he shouted back, using the dialogue he’d just heard.

Whether he’d convinced her or not, he didn’t know but she sped up again. As the throng crushed near the double doors, Prentiss pushed with them. After several long minutes of bodies pressed together, people screaming and shouting, firemen trying to get in, they were out.