No!â
âIâm not about to pull anything stupid.â The determined look in his eyes said unless I have to. If hostages were threatened, he wouldnât hesitate to dive into the line of fire. âTrust me.â
âConââ
âSweetheart, we donât have time to debate.â He backed her against the wall. His hard body pressed into hers as he lowered his head and kissed her. Hot and silky, his tongue thrust into her mouth, giving and taking. Reassuring and seeking reassurance.
She tasted love. Longing. And an edge of desperation that scared her more than anything that had happened in the past thirty minutes. She clung to him, kissing him with recklessness born of fear. She could not lose this man she loved with all her being. Not before she had a chance to show him how much he meant to her. If she left and anything happened to him, heâd never know.
He ended the kiss. The steely resolve in his eyes terrified her. The wistful hope wrenched her heart. âGo. Iâll see you soon.â
âIâm not going anywhere. I love you.â
âThen let me do what Iâm trained for.â His face was resolute, his gaze tender. âYouâre a liability I canât afford. Now go.â
Scalding tears stung her eyelids and she blinked them into submission. He was right. Sheâd only be in his way. Clutching and whining would get him hurt. She had to be strong, for his sake. Bailey straightened her spine. Kissed him one last time,with her heart beating so painfully in her throat it nearly choked her. âIâll see you soon. And no heroics. Promise me.â
He cupped her face and stroked his thumb over her lower lip. Her crazy mixed-up insides did a slow loop-de-loop. He smiled. âMen make promises, darlinâ. Heroes keep them.â
Walking away from him was the hardest thing sheâd ever done. Halfway to Syrone, she looked over her shoulder. Silent, graceful, Con loped up the stilled escalator to the second floor and glided alongside the balcony railing above her head. He offered a jaunty salute followed by a âget your butt movingâ gesture before continuing.
âSyrone,â she whispered, creeping forward.
The guard turned and Bailey froze. He was big. African-American. Wearing a guardâs uniform. But he wasnât Syrone.
âWho areââ
The behemoth scowled and strode toward her. âHow did you escape?â
âBailey!â Conâs hoarse cry echoed from above. âRun!â
His urgent command mobilized her. Instinctively obeying, she did an about-face and sprinted down the mall.
âThis way,â Con shouted, pivoting and running along the balcony parallel to her frantic flight.
Beneath him, she followed his fluid stride. He veered off and disappeared. Where was he going?
Panting, she risked a glance behind her. The guard was closing fast. For a big dude, he could move. Terror sank cold claws into the base of her neck. She poured on the speed, her pursuerâs footsteps thudding behind her. Daily yoga kept her limber and toned, but not trained for a three-hundred-yard dash.
âBailey, here!â She jerked her gaze up and saw Con leaning over the railing ahead, dangling a baseball bat. âCatch!â
Fleeing toward him, she caught the bat as it dropped. With the solid, heavy weight gripped in her hands, she ran on.
âKneecap him, baby,â Con ordered. âIâm coming down.â He pivoted again and tore back toward the escalators.
She looked behind her. The guard was much nearer than sheâd expected. Kneecap him? She glanced at the bat clutched in hersweaty palms. Imagined the crack of wood against bone. Torn tendons. Bloody splinters. Incapacitating injury. Bile stung the back of her throat. She could not do that to another human being.
She increased her speed, so did he. She tried swerving side to side like a blitzed quarterback on Super Bowl Sunday.