Ava Gray - Skin Tight

“Open it.”

Rowan stepped forward toward the lift. “I need my hands free.”

He couldn’t argue that. But as he cut Rowan loose, he warned, “If you move on me, I’ll use your parts to get inside.”

“I know that, you imbecile.” The doctor rubbed his sore wrists and then went to work on the console. A frown blossomed. “It isn’t responding. There’s something wrong.”

Foreboding shivered through him. “What do you mean, wrong?”

“Precisely what I said. Is English your native language?”

“No. Open. The. Damn. Doors.”

“There’s a system malfunction. I cannot!”

“Surely there’s an override, and a ladder in the shaft. Don’t you want to get me down there so you can have your men try to overpower me?” Søren regarded him coolly. “That’s your plan, isn’t it?”

Rowan set his jaw, but he did go back to work. At last the lift doors popped open, but a wave of insane heat slammed upward, accompanied by the roar of flames. Backdraft. Søren dove toward the other room and rolled behind the metal wall just as the fiery wave sizzled the air to shimmering death.

The doctor wasn’t so fast or so lucky. Some might argue karma played a role. Rowan screamed like a pig in the slaughtering pen.

The other man crawled toward him, a needle in his hand. Rowan’s body had been badly burned, his flesh melted like hot wax. Horribly, the air smelled of barbecue.

And that’s justice for Noreen.

“Now you want to fight? Now?” Søren demanded.

“Gillie,” Rowan whispered. “No. Not fight. Nothing left. Nothing. My research, my Gillie. Gone. Want you to end this.” He offered Søren the hypodermic, not in aggression but in a silent plea. “End it.”

Numb. Søren knew the man didn’t deserve mercy. The bastard deserved to die in agony. All he needed to do was walk away. It would take hours, maybe even days, for Jasper Rowan to shuffle off the mortal coil. As if his hand belonged to someone else, he saw himself reach out and take the needle. Søren removed the safety cap, jabbed it into Rowan’s thigh, and depressed the plunger. A mercy killing. After all this time, that was what it came down to.

Mia was down there.

There was no one to blame anymore. No mission to hide behind. This time, he had to confront the truth. He’d failed her. Søren dropped to his knees, unable to move for the weight of fresh anguish. There he remained, locked into a place too bleak for tears or prayer or grief. His heart was a black hole and it swallowed everything.

Hours later, he staggered out of the silo and into the blue twilight. There was only one thing left to do.

Mia ran.

She’d split up from the others a while ago. After agreeing with the redhead that a large group would be easier to track, she had decided she didn’t want to throw in her lot with the big scary one or any of the others. In this seriously FUBAR situation, she would be better off alone.

Okay, she would be better off if she could get ahold of Søren; he had to be worried. Assuming she was right, and he did, in fact, give a shit. She was afraid to rely too heavily on her instincts where he was concerned. Maybe he was rejoicing right now because he didn’t have to worry about her and he could execute his revenge without distractions.

Assuming he was alive.

If he had been behind the destruction, she might’ve left him behind when she took the elevator up. But she couldn’t have waited. That would’ve been a stupid move when she didn’t even know for sure he’d been responsible. For all she knew, those escapees had done the damage.

She had to tell herself that. He wasn’t dead. Surely she’d know.

The ground was cool beneath her bare feet as she ran. Pine needles pricked her soles. Thank goodness it was a sunny day for this time of year, or her predicament would be unbearable. To make matters worse, she didn’t know where the hell she was, what direction she was headed, or where to go for help. If she ever got to civilization, she would never leave again. Paved roads were good, shopping malls even better.

Weakness clawed at her. It had been a long time since she’d eaten, drank anything, or slept. Tightly controlled fear threatened to spiral out of control. Mia fought it down and kept running. God, she hated the woods. Trees were evil. What had made her cut away from the nice, open fields and into the forest anyway? Stupid.

It seemed like she ran forever.

But at last the undergrowth began to thin. She’d long since given up on higher thought and was focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Feet bruised and bleeding, her gray pajamas ripped and torn, she stumbled out onto a country road. Unfortunately, it was deserted, and the pristine condition of the asphalt indicated it was rarely used. But surely someone lived out here.

She staggered along the shoulder of the road, verging on collapse. Then she saw a glimmer of light some distance away. No telling how far. Gathering a burst of energy, she pushed herself into a run. The house came into sight around a bend; it was pretty and picturesque, nestled in the trees like this.

Hoping she’d find kindness within, Mia came the last few feet to the door and rang the bell. God, the person who lived here would have to be an idiot to-

“What do you want?” a grouchy old man demanded through the screen door.

“Harold!” A woman’s voice filtered from the back of the house. “Who is it?”

“Some smelly hippie.”

Mia supposed that was fair enough. She didn’t have the love beads, but her overly casual attire and long, tumbled hair put her in the ballpark. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she rasped, “but I really need your help.”

The old man started to close the door, but his wife shouldered him aside. “Oh, my goodness, look at you! What happened?”

Shit. She needed a story that didn’t involve mad scientists, superpowers, or underground facilities.

“I was camping with some friends,” she said. “A get-back-to-nature thing.” Did people actually do that? “And a man attacked us in the woods. He stole everything, even my shoes. If you could take me to town, I can see about finding help. Getting my cards replaced and-”

The woman shook her head. “Well, I never. I can’t believe what the world has come to these days. In our woods!”

“It was probably a hippie after drug money,” Harold pronounced in a dour tone.

His wife sighed. She was a tiny woman with a wealth of white hair and bright blue eyes. “You blame everything on the hippies, even your vanishing MoonPies.”

For the first time, Mia saw a spark of humor in the man’s eyes. “Hippies love MoonPies. It’s a well-known fact.”

“Mercy, listen to us nattering on while you’re nigh fainting on the porch. Come in, sweetheart. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Mia said shakily.

Inside, the house was tiny but cozy, adorably decorated with kittens and angels and lots of fancy knitting. She felt too big and dirty to walk around this doll’s house, but if Harold could navigate this gingerbread cottage, surely she could. She wiped her hands on her thighs, acutely conscious of her filth.

“There’s no point in taking you to town today. Everything shuts down at five. Why don’t you spend the night? In the morning Harold will take you to see the sheriff.” The woman headed toward the back of the house, and Mia followed like a puppy.

“I will?” the man grumbled.

“Yes, sir, you will. Enough sass. This young lady’s been through enough.”

You said it, grandma. She felt content to let the motherly woman take charge of her.

“Now then,” the woman rambled on, laying out fluffy pink bath towels. “I’m Alice Dixon. You met my husband, Harold. First we’ll get you cleaned up, and then I’ve got a lovely pot of vegetable soup on. It should be done a treat by now.”