Free AMBUSHED by REBECCA YORK Page B

opening
and slamming shut again. When the door to their hiding place
opened, every muscle in his body tensed. He saw a man’s shadow
flicker on the wall, but the searcher was in a hurry and only came
partway into the room, then ducked out again and went on to the
next office.
    Elizabeth breathed out a sigh. “Will they
come back?”
    “Yeah. But not right away.”
    He turned to face her and caught his
breath.
    “What?”
    “Blood. Are you hurt?
    “I don’t think so.”
    Cautiously he inspected the spatter on her
face and found no wound.
    There was a carton of water bottles on the
floor beside the desk. He grabbed one and a wad of tissues from a
nearby box. After washing her face, he stuffed the tissues into his
pocket.
    “Thank you,” she whispered.
    He answered with a tight nod.
    She kept her gaze on him. “You’re all
business. All the time. I should be glad of that.” As she spoke,
she reached for him, clasping him to her.
    He’d never allowed himself to hold her in
his arms. Now when she pressed against him, a blaze of sensation
radiated to every cell of his body. As his arms came up to embrace
her, he absorbed the feel of the intimate contact. Just for a
moment.
    When he started to ease away, she raised her
face and met his gaze.
    “We could die here,” she whispered.
    “Not if I can help it.”
    “So much we haven’t said. Haven’t done.”
    “We will.”
    Astonishment filled her voice. “That’s a
promise?”
    “Yes.”
    He knew she wanted to say more, but a door
slammed nearby. The terrorists were going to be more thorough when
they came back.
    Hoping he had an answer to that problem, he
took two strides across the room and climbed up onto one of the
chairs, then onto the desk. From there, he reached up and pushed a
large ceiling tile aside, peering into the darkness beyond.
Hopefully there was enough room for two people to squeeze
inside.
    When he motioned for Elizabeth to join him,
she shot a quick glance at the door, then did as he asked.
    “I’m going to lift you. Grab onto the
support beam and pull yourself up.”
    As she reaching toward the ceiling, he
holstered his weapon and grasped her hips, ignoring the intimacy as
he raised her.
    He saw her hands find something solid to
grip before she pulled herself into the tight space above the
office, wiggling her way around a cable that led to a light
fixture.
    As she moved, the ceiling tiles buckled.
They weren’t meant to hold a person’s weight, let alone two
people.
    The noise in the hall was coming closer. No
time left. And unfortunately Jordan wasn’t quite tall enough to
pull himself up.
    For a sickening moment he thought he would
have to take his chances on the floor. Then Elizabeth eased forward
and reached for him.
    Praying he wouldn’t drag her back down, he
clasped her hand, using the leverage to boost himself into the
space.
    He scrambled through the opening, but not
without making a heaving sound.
    All he could do now was push the tile back
into place and pray nobody came tumbling down on the heads of the
guys with the UZIs. The space was tight, hemmed in by wiring and
support structures. He and Elizabeth were jammed together as
tightly as if they’d been sleeping together in a bunk bed.
    He’d left a small crack along one of the
horizontal channels, enough for him to see down and spot a bit of
dust from the crumbling tile edge lying on the desk.
    Would one of the terrorists see it?
    Had he trapped himself and Elizabeth? He
pictured the ceiling tiles dripping with their blood before he
pushed the vivid image out of his mind. Quietly he eased his gun
out the holster and held it in one hand.
    As the other hand brushed hers, he clasped
her fingers. She held tight to him, then went stock-still as two
men stepped into the room. From his vantage point, he couldn’t see
much. Both were dark haired. One was tall, the other short. They
both wore jeans and tee shirts. But the most notable fashion
statement was the UZIs they