A Colby Christmas

Two men were dead.

Her new friend in this nightmare motioned for her to move. Maybe he could reach her phone. She crept back from the desk so that he could lie flat down on the floor.

“We need something to sweep it out.”

Duh. “I know, but I couldn’t find anything, and then I got interrupted.”

He scrambled back up to a kneeling position and reached for his belt buckle.

Her tension blasted to a new level. “What’re you doing?”

“Maybe I can sweep it out with this.” He wrenched the belt free of his trousers and flattened on the floor once more.

Elaine wrung her hands as she watched him thread the belt beneath the desk. If this worked they could have help on the way within minutes. Movement on the monitor hauled her attention upward.

Two of the masked men, weapons drawn, walked along a corridor.

Marble floor…

Damn. “They’re coming.”

The stranger still angling for her phone looked up at her. “What?”

“Two of those men are coming.”

Somehow he was on his feet and dragging her away from the security desk by the time she said the last word. Her mind was still attempting to analyze the way he’d gone from on the floor to on his feet like an Olympic gymnast.

Time didn’t permit them to make it all the way to the snack shop to hide. They were forced to crouch next to the row of self-service newspaper stands halfway between the security desk and the snack shop. For Elaine, curling into a ball was quite sufficient for staying out of sight. But the guy with her, his shoulders were too broad if he sat sideways and his legs too long to fold up compactly if he turned the other way. He had no choice but to flatten out against the wall next to her. If a sudden move were required he might be in serious trouble. Then again, he did appear able to move with amazing agility.

Elaine could hear the two men at the security desk. They rummaged through the drawers and doors beneath the counter, rifling things around, slamming drawers and doors. What were they looking for? Map of the building? Keys? The security guards carried a ring of keys on their belts. Most likely these criminals already had those. What else could they be trying to find? And why were the other two at the Colby Agency offices?

Holding her breath, she raised her head just far enough to peek over the tops of the newspaper stands. The two appeared to have given up on finding whatever they were looking for. One bent down, then straightened, the discarded belt in his hand.

Elaine’s breath locked in her lungs. They’d never believe the belt had been left behind by one of the guards. She wasn’t that lucky.

Familiar musical notes shattered the silence.

Elaine froze.

She knew that tune.

Her cell phone.

Damn.

It had to be nine o’clock. Her mother called her every night at nine.

One of the masked men got down on the floor and peered beneath the desk. Damn. Damn. Damn. They would know she’d been down here.

Using the same technique her still unidentified companion had started, the masked man fished out her cell phone. He waited until the music died and then he opened it. She could imagine him scrolling through her address book, checking her voice mail.

He closed her phone, dropped it on the floor and smashed it with the heel of his boot. She jerked at the violence behind the move.

The man looked up abruptly and surveyed the lobby, as if she’d telegraphed her displeasure straight to him.

Elaine ducked her head down.

She felt the man behind her stir. Clearly he’d recognized that it was her phone that had announced its presence.

If those two bad guys started in this direction…Dread churned in her belly. There was no place to hide. If they even moved they could be spotted.

Even breathing might not be a good idea so she held her breath.

The soft rasp of a rubber sole against marble vibrated across her senses.

One of the men was coming.

Fear hurdled into her chest. Her heart reacted by skipping a beat.

What could she do?

The crackle of a radio broke the tension.

A quietly muttered yes sent a new wave of terror through her. Whoever answered his radio couldn’t be more than half a dozen yards away.

More talk, too low to comprehend and fading. The man speaking was moving away.

She had to look. Just to be sure.

Blood roaring in her ears, she dared another peek above the top of the newspaper stands.

Both masked men were back at the desk, still looking for something. And then, as if God had answered her silent prayers at that precise moment, the two walked hurriedly away from the security desk. She tried to see where they went but she couldn’t be sure if they returned to the stairwell entry or turned in the other direction that led to the freight elevator.

As if he’d been watching the whole thing through her eyes, the man behind her was up and tugging her after him. How the hell did he do that?

She wanted to ask where they were going and what he planned to do but she didn’t have the nerve to risk even a word. She couldn’t be positive about how far the two killers had moved away from the lobby.

When he dragged her into the corridor—the same corridor which those two killers had taken—she balked.

“What’re you doing?” Was he trying to get them caught? No, not caught—killed.

Again he held one finger to his lips and ushered her forward.

She stared with longing at the front entry. It would be so easy to make a run for it…but those doors would be locked and any attempt to get them open would trigger an alarm. Breaking the glass would take throwing a large chair or sofa through it, she imagined. But then, the bad guys would know their location and they would come. The cops would come, too, but the roads were slippery with the snow.

He’d pushed into the ladies’ room before she’d totally given up on the idea of making a run for the nearest exit, alarm or no alarm.

He pressed his finger to her lips when she would have spoken. She couldn’t read his intent.

She leaned against the closed door and hauled in a ragged breath. They were on the first floor. A towering wall of glass made up the front wall of the lobby. Could she draw someone’s attention if she jumped around and waved out there? Would setting off the alarm be the right thing to do? Would the police arrive in time to save her before the bad guys got down to the lobby?

Probably not.

Focus, Elaine. She couldn’t go off on a tangent. She had to keep her mind on the moment…on the man currently occupying the ladies’ room with her.

He checked each stall to make sure they were alone. Then he walked with muted steps back to where she waited.

“Let’s move away from the door,” he suggested so quietly she barely heard him.

The urge to scream was almost overwhelming. People were dying and they were tiptoeing around and whispering.

She did as he said without argument, since she had no desire to give away their location. But now that they had some time to catch their breath she had a question or two for her anonymous ally.

“Who are you?”

She was pretty sure she had asked that before but there hadn’t been time for an answer.

“My name is Brad Gibson.”

A frown furrowed deep into her forehead, causing the ache she hadn’t noticed until now to take hold. Perfect. Everyone should have a headache when running from killers. She settled her attention back on the man standing between her and the long line of sinks on the wall. Brad Gibson. That name sounded vaguely familiar. She hoped like hell it wasn’t because she’d heard it on the news.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gibson, but that doesn’t tell me a thing. Why are you in this building? Do you work here?”

She didn’t recall seeing him, but then again, she was usually the first to arrive and the last to leave on her floor. Well, besides Victoria.

It was doubtful that she wouldn’t remember seeing this guy though. He was, she realized upon closer inspection, really cute. Tall. Blond hair that looked just right for a shampoo commercial and steady gray eyes. Nice face. The tan-and-navy striped shirt paired nicely with his khaki trousers. The brown leather loafers kept his movements noiseless. She glanced down at the boots in her hand. Great-looking and warm but worthless when it came to stealth.

“Yes. I work—did work,” he amended, “on the second floor at Welton Investments.”

Did work. “Were you fired?”

“In a manner of speaking I suppose I was fired.”

“Wait.” She set her boots on the closest surface, the diaper-changing table provided for the convenience of the building’s clients. She didn’t know why she’d bothered hanging on to them after she’d shed her tights. Maybe because they cost half a paycheck and she wasn’t generally the type to splurge. But in a city like Chicago, good boots were a firm investment. “You were fired and you’re still in the building after hours?” Her gaze narrowed. Maybe this whole thing was about him somehow. But then why would those men have made the bogus appointment to set up equipment in the Colby Agency? Why would they be on the fourth floor at that very minute? And why the hell would they have killed two guards?

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he assured her.

She wasn’t so sure about that but she’d give him the benefit of the doubt since he didn’t appear inclined to harm her in any way. If she were totally honest he’d probably saved her life once already.

“Meaning,” she prompted.

“It’s a long story, Miss Younger. I’m sure you’d find it boring.” He shoved that thick hair back from his forehead and massaged his temples with his thumb and middle finger as if he had a headache of his own. “Our priority right now needs to be about getting out of here alive.”

Alive. She swallowed back a lump of uncertainty. He was right. These guys weren’t kidding around.

“Why is the power off in this building? The rest of the city seems to be fine.”

“Our visitors did that.” He tugged at his collar as if he were accustomed to adjusting a tie. “I guess they weren’t expecting the back-up safety defense system.”

“What back-up…whatever you said?”

“When they shut off the power, every internal door in the building equipped with a lock went into lockdown mode. Computers, phones, nothing can be accessed. The exit doors become unbreachable from the standpoint of attempting to pick the lock. It would take a small bulldozer to get one of those doors open now. There’s no way anyone’s leaving this building without a major effort and without tripping the alarm.”

“Maybe we should trip the alarm.”

“There’s only two ways to do that.” His gaze leveled with hers. “Break the glass in an outer wall.”

“Or?” Did he have to look so resigned to their fate?

“Start a fire.”

Damn, and she didn’t even smoke. “You carry a lighter?”

That blond head moved from side to side. “You?”

A frustrated breath puffed past her lips. “Nope.”

There had to be something they could do. Staying in this bathroom wasn’t exactly a prime safe zone. It would only be a matter of time before the bad guys searched every damned room in the building looking for her. They might not know about Mr. Gibson, but they knew she was here. Those bastards might not be able to leave the building, but they had keys to every single interior door.

Then again, she thought as she glanced down at her right wrist, so did she.

“We can’t stay in here.” As safe as it felt right now, she knew that wouldn’t last.

“We have to find a place to hide until—”

That he abruptly stopped sent a chill clattering along her spine. “What?” Had he heard something she didn’t?

He set his hands on his hips and looked around the spacious restroom. “We should hide until it’s safe to come out again. Just hide and stay hidden.”

He’d just lied to her. Maybe not lied, but omitted something important. She might not be a trained investigator but she couldn’t have missed that one if she’d tried. He hadn’t even been able to look her in the eye as he’d made his statements. Statements she was pretty sure weren’t what he’d started out to say.

“Right,” she agreed. “We should hide out for sure.” And here she’d thought she had herself a true ally in this war. She’d have to keep an eye on dear old Brad Gibson. He might look like the all-American boy next door, but she didn’t trust anyone who would lie to her.

“Any suggestions?”

His gaze met hers this time. That he could go from lying to wholly sincere amped up her trepidation. Maybe he had some reason for avoiding the truth on a matter that didn’t really have anything to do with the situation they were in.

And maybe Santa would be dropping by her house tomorrow night.

She couldn’t worry about Brad Gibson’s dependability just now. They had to hide. Someplace these guys wouldn’t think to look in a million years. All she needed was a couple of years herself to figure out where that would be.

Inspiration nudged at her. She looked up. Those big rectangular acoustical tiles that indicated the ceiling was dropped somewhat below where it could be. She thought about how high the ceiling was in the lobby, then considered this one. There had to be large space up there above those tiles. There always was in the movies.

She pointed up. “How about up there?”

He considered her suggestion for a long moment, the muscles of his neck flexing as he studied the ceiling. She wondered if he’d been born with that healthy color or if he’d bought it at a local tanning spa.

“You could be on to something.”

She blinked. Scolded herself for thinking about the tanned skin stretched over those toned muscles. To say this wasn’t the time might be a cliché, but this definitely wasn’t the time.

“Let’s have a look up there.” He angled his head toward the stalls and moved in that direction.

She followed him to the very last one. Since it was handicapped accessible there was plenty of room for both of them to be in the stall at once. And the toilet had a higher profile, which would facilitate what came next.

As she watched, Gibson closed the lid and climbed up onto the toilet. He reached overhead and pushed the nearest tile up and out of its designated slot. Climbing up through the opening he’d made would be the challenge. She estimated that Gibson was six or six-one. The ceiling was about nine feet off the floor, higher than the eight feet in her apartment but not quite as high as the ten in her parents’ living room back home. The handicap accessible toilet sat up about two feet. Reaching the tile hadn’t been a problem. All she could say was she hoped he had some good upper body strength to pull himself up there.

Gibson braced one foot on the large pipe at the back of the toilet that provided the handle for flushing. Pushing off from that foot, he reached for the open space and grabbed hold of something she couldn’t see from where she stood. He just kind of hung there with that one foot braced on the plumbing for a second then he raised everything above his shoulders through the opening. She would bet he’d won the medal in the presidential fitness competition every year in school for chin-ups. She’d always stunk at those.

He eased back down onto the closed lid before stepping down to rejoin her on the floor.

“Steel beams,” he explained. “They’re fairly wide, eight inches maybe. We can use those for a path. There’s a whole maze of them up there.” He thought for a moment. “We can follow the beams to any of the rooms on this level, including the elevator shafts.”

“So we can hide up there?” The idea that hiding from those evil men might be that simple sent relief plummeting through her.

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Can we stand up or is this going to be a crawling thing?” That thought deflated her hopes somewhat.

He visually measured her height. “You might manage it. I’ll have to hunker over.”

Didn’t sound comfortable for him. But hey, this was every man for himself. To a degree anyway.

“So, are you game?”

If he meant was she going to do it, damn straight. “Let’s do it.”

He gestured to the toilet. “I’ll give you a boost.”

It wasn’t until she stepped up onto the closed toilet lid that she considered another aspect of the situation.

She fixed Gibson with a warning glare. “If you look up my skirt, I’ll kick you in the face.” Boots or no boots that wouldn’t be pleasant.

His only external reaction to her hostile warning was to blink. “I won’t look up your skirt.”

She tugged at her skirt, wanted it down as far as it would go. “See that you don’t.”

He climbed up next to her. The toilet lid creaked under the added weight. The feel of his body positioned so close behind hers added another layer of tension to the moment.

She closed her eyes and steadied herself. She just wanted to get out of this alive. Him, too, she added.

“I’m going to lift you up,” he murmured close to her hair. “Don’t try to fight me. Just reach for the beam and pull yourself up. I’ll give you plenty of help from down here.”

Elaine took a breath. “Okay. I’m ready.”

But she wasn’t.

His hands closed around her waist and he lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all. Amazing. This guy had to do some serious working out.

“Grab onto the beam anytime.”

The strained sound of his voice snapped her back to attention.

“Oh, sorry.”

She spotted the beam and grabbed hold. Never an athlete, her upper body strength was pathetic, but she pulled with all her might. He had her by the feet now and was providing resistance for her to launch off of.

He had to be looking up her skirt.

Heat singed her cheeks.

Her legs were apart…the skirt was hiked up to the tops of her thighs at this point. If he weren’t looking it would only be because his eyes were closed.

Despite her best efforts to focus on pulling up into the cavernous area above the ceiling, she had to look down.

Incredibly, his eyes were closed.

Impressed, she towed herself up onto the beam, straddling it as though it were a long skinny horse.

She looked around. Lots of wires. Acres of steel beams. And too damned many shadowy areas for comfort. Could be worse, since there were places where it was completely dark and the few emergency lights couldn’t cover the entire space.

“Move it!”

She almost jumped at the harshly uttered command. “Gimme a minute.” She had to get her bearings.

To avoid scraping her thighs along the beam, she got up on all fours and moved carefully away from the opening. She could probably stand up but she just wasn’t ready for that yet.

He grabbed hold of the beam and pulled himself up and onto it as if he’d been climbing mountains his entire life and this was nothing.

“What now?” Was she supposed to sit there or did he want her to move farther along the beam?

“Let me get this back into place.” He slipped the rectangular tile back into its slot on the grid system that supported the dropped ceiling.

The whole thing looked damned shaky to her. Not like these steel beams.

“Should we—”

He held up a hand, silencing her.

Even in the near darkness she saw him tense.

And then she heard it.

Below, the bathroom door whooshed shut.

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