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Quickly, she hoisted herself up his back, knowing with each move, she left bruises. Sitting on his shoulders, she slid her harness up her rope, locked it in place above his harness, then braced her feet against the glass.
“Run!” Ian ordered before bumping her off her perch. Both sprinted using the rope tension to keep them perpendicular to the building.
Bullets strafed behind them, blowing out windows in their path.
“Jump!” he yelled.
The couple leaped in unison, the momentum creating a pendulum out of the rope, swinging them back behind the line of fire. Lara threw out one of her suction cups and anchored it above one of the blown-out windows.
Without words, he caught the edge of the sill. Muscles straining, he pulled himself up and in.
“He’s coming around again,” Lara shouted.
Ian hoisted her in next to him. She flopped, belly first to the floor.
Neither spoke. Shards of glass bit her hands. Ignoring it, she dived with Ian behind a huge oak desk. Bullets peppered the ground around them.
“Get ready.” Lara palmed her gun and waited. Soon the helicopter hovered in front of the blown-out window.
Ian grabbed a miniature rocket from his utility belt, attached it to his cable pistol and fired. The whine of the missile pierced the air, hanging only a brief moment before it hit.
The helicopter exploded in a rush of flame and heat. Fireworks of metal and sparks rocketed through the room.
“So much for the silent approach,” Ian yelled over the din, ignoring the spew of smoke already receding from the shattered window. “You okay?”
“Yes,” Lara answered. Alarms sounded—huge foghorns that blasted through, shaking the floor beneath them.
She scanned the room, ignoring the howling gusts of wind from the missing windows. Like most executive offices, the decor was no more than sterile layers of chrome, leather and glass. Double doors in front. Single door at the side, just beyond a fully stocked bar. Probably to the private bathroom. She tugged off her goggles and pulled out a miniature, palm-sized computer again.
“How are we looking so far?” Ian asked, yanking off his own night goggles. The office was semidark but the hallways would be lit.
Lara glanced up from the green display. “We’ve got a minute max. I show six goons coming up the stairs. One in the elevator. Two more just outside the front doors.”
In theory, they still had a mission to complete. The question was, could they succeed and still save their skin? Ian gestured toward the entrance, indicating he’d take point. Lara covered.
Within seconds, two men burst through the double doors. Their Uzi semiautomatics strafed the room, ripping through paintings and leather upholstery. The bar’s mirror exploded. Glass shards sprayed across their heads.
Lara dropped, rolled, came up on her knees, catching the farthest gunman off guard. When he swung back, she fired. But she’d misjudged the quickness of his reflexes. Pain exploded in her stomach, the impact knocking her back. She gasped as white-hot fire spiked her from belly to chest.
Ian jerked when she fell but didn’t turn until the two men dropped, dead, on the ground. Quickly, he grabbed their guns. “How bad?”
She clutched her stomach, covering the bullet wound. Fear rose, coating her tongue with acid and bile. “It’s nothing.” She moved, using the desk to stand. Lara fought off the wave of nausea and weakness. “Let’s finish this,” she whispered. Blood soaked her suit. She could feel the warm stickiness against her skin. She shifted her weapon to her left hand and braced her legs apart to keep them from shaking. “Options?”
“Stairs.” Ian snagged her computer and glanced at the screen. “I’ve got four more closing in.”
Lara nodded, only to stop when the room tilted. The loss of blood was already making her light-headed. “Let’s go.”
She staggered a few steps, then recovered long enough to reach the wall next to the double doors. Light from the hallway spewed into the office, its glare almost painful to Lara’s blurring vision. Taking short shallow breaths, she waited for Ian to give the go-ahead.
“Get ready, Red.”
“I’m ready.” She gripped the weapon tight to cover her trembling. With a jerk, she slid closer to the door.
Ian glanced back at her and swore.
Lara followed his gaze. Blood streaked the wall behind her.
The bullet had gone completely through and out her back.
Angry with herself for not realizing, she said, “There’s nothing you can do, Ian, except get us the hell out of here.”
Lara wasn’t a woman who relinquished control. She’d learned long ago that doing so would only bring pain. This time, ironically, pain was forcing her to do just that, leaving her no choice but to trust Ian to save them. “You’ve got about five minutes, hotshot. Then you’re going to have to carry me.”
“When this is over…” Gun raised, Ian used his foot to kick the double door open. The ding of the elevator ricocheted through the white hallway. “Get down!” he ordered, then grabbed a compact explosive, the size of a small metal hockey puck, from his belt. He tossed it directly into the path of the elevator and shoved Lara into a nearby doorway, shielding her body with his.
The explosion rocked the floor. A burst of heat surrounded them, rancid smoke of burned tile and plaster filled her lungs. Lara coughed, tasting the blood and bile.
Ian eased back, his eyes finding hers. “Can you make it?”
“I’m tougher than I look,” she whispered through the viselike pain that squeezed her chest, then prayed she was right.
Without help, Lara reached the stairway door first, but it was Ian who yanked it open.
Somewhere below the slap of running shoes echoed through the circular concrete stairway. Ian motioned her up the stairs.
Her legs grew weaker, shaking uncontrollably. She grabbed the railing to pull herself up the steps, but her hands, slick with sweat, slid. With a cry, she fell facefirst onto the concrete. Pain exploded in her chest, seared her belly.
“Lara.”
“Go,” she rasped. Blood bubbled up her throat, making each breath an effort.
Ian grabbed her by the shoulder, his arms braced to lift her.
“No!” The fire in her gut intensified. Weakly, she lifted her hand, showing him the steel puck clutched under her fingers. “Get out of here.”
Before she set the timer, Ian’s hand covered hers.
Too weak to tug free, she didn’t even try. “Let go, Ian. I’ll detonate it when they reach me. By the time their friends realize you’re not here, you’ll have the files and be long gone.”
“No.” He swung her up into his arms, pausing when she gasped with pain. “Not this time.”
A man yelled from the stairs. Lara heard the blast of gunfire, felt Ian shudder with each bullet’s impact. The warmth of his blood mingled with hers, its metallic scent suspended between them.
Slowly he pressed her back against the wall, his body now more deadweight than not. Still, he protected her.
“Ian,” she rasped, ignoring the movement behind them, the growing echo of feet as the bad guys closed in. Instead, she concentrated on the small flecks of silver in his blue irises, the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips—trying to absorb the strength behind each. “Game over.”
“No, Red, it’s just beginning.” Ian leaned in until his lips hovered only slightly above hers, his breath brushed warm, reassuring against her cheek. Anticipation—and maybe a little panic—rifled through her and came out in a shuddered breath. All she needed to do was lift her chin….
“I breached the building first.”
Chapter Two
“Damn it, MacAlister!” Lara sat up, pulled her hands out of the computer cuffs and tugged off her Virtual Imaging helmet. A cascade of red hair tumbled free. With fast, jerky movements, she disconnected the sensor wires from her training suit. An instant later, lights flashed on and the VI program shut down—leaving all four walls of the lab room an iridescent blue and the air silent. Anger whipped through her. “You sabotaged my operation, didn’t you?”
Ian removed his helmet, tossed it into the leather seat next to him. He ran a casual hand through his chestnut hair, now sweat darkened to a charred brown. Cropped military short, his hairstyle complemented the broad sweep of his cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw and a nose that was a touch off center and, she suspected, had been broken more than once.
“Answer me, MacAlister,” she demanded. Born from a French mother and an Irish father, Lara had more than her fair share of temper. Most times, she kept a tight rein of control over it. Other times…
“I can’t. I’m dead, remember?”
“Funny,” she bit out the word. “Did you or did you not sabotage my operation?”
“Now why would I do that?” His mouth twitched with amusement. “I’m the one who developed the program.”
No one would call Ian MacAlister handsome in a pretty boy sense. But with the strong, striking features of his Celtic ancestors and his laser-blue eyes, no woman could walk past him without a second glance.
“Who better to change it?” she snapped, finding her own eyes lingering, her heartbeat accelerating. Annoyed, she shoved her hair behind her ear and slid from the leather seat.
“All the programs have failure sequences in them,” he responded with equanimity. He disconnected his suit and stood in one long, fluid movement—a jungle cat satisfied after a night on the prowl. “No mission goes smoothly.”
“Usually, it’s a random process,” she argued, cursing herself for letting her guard down. “This time you decided what was going to happen and when. That’s why you made the bet with me. Isn’t it?”
“You decided the challenge, not me. Besides, I didn’t need to reprogram anything to win. The fact that you went in by yourself told me you hadn’t thought the mission through.” He slid the zipper on his training suit down to his waist. He wore no shirt. Lara’s gaze flickered over him, settling on the ripple of movement across his chest as he jerked his arms free. He left the top portion of the suit dangling off his hips.
Her eyes dipped, following each carved muscle that flexed with power under his sun-bronzed skin—remembering from months before how the bare skin gave way to a small, sexy line of sable hair just below his navel. Too damn sexy for her own good, she understood now. Still, the heat danced through her, lighting little fires along her nerves.
His gaze caught hers, and in an instant the planes of his face sharpened, his jaw tightened with awareness.
With effort, she drew one deep steadying breath.
Then just that quick Ian’s features smoothed, the passion sliding under a relaxed, easy smile—an undeniable arrogance.
He turned to retrieve a white towel from the console beside his chair and Lara let out a long hiss.
Ian glanced over his shoulder in understanding. “How’s the damage?”
Welts, raised and vivid, striped his back. “Not too bad for a tough guy like you.” Lara waved a careless hand, not pleased with the chaotic emotions that squeezed her chest like an accordion.
“You had the sensors set too high.”
“I wanted the pain to be realistic,” she stated. “We both know the results are only superficial. Harmless.”
For the first time she noticed the burning across her abdomen. After placing her helmet on a nearby console, Lara unzipped her suit and stepped out of it, revealing her white sport bra and fitted racing briefs that rode low on her hips. Above her waistband were dozens of welts, the intensity already fading into dull red splotches. Lara resisted the urge to soothe the sting and her stomach beneath.
“You’ve only yourself to blame if you’re sore, Ian.” Lara’s gaze cut back. “You should have left me to take care of the bad guys. I was dead anyway.”
“I don’t leave anyone behind.”
“That’s right, I forgot,” Lara said, knowing that Ian had resigned his naval commission only months before contracting his talents to Labyrinth. “It’s the Navy SEAL way. So is integrity. Honor.” She inclined her head, letting him see that she remembered the day he’d held no such honor. “Huah.” Her blatant sarcasm couldn’t be missed when she uttered the Navy SEALs’ signature expression.
“It’s my way,” he answered, this time all traces of humor gone.
“Just stay out of my way,” Lara insisted, noting his deepened displeasure and not caring. Caring would show that he meant something to her. Had the means to hurt her again.
The fury was there, rigid but contained. She tossed her suit over the back of the chair and started toward the double steel doors. “And stay out of my training sessions. I don’t need a partner. And if I did, it wouldn’t be you.”
Ian’s frown deepened, his eyes slanted into blue slits—sharp enough to slice the air between them. “Wanna bet?”
Slowly, she swung around, her own eyes narrowing. And because her temper broke free, she snarled. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Face it, Red, just the fact that right now I’m sharing the same air pretty much puts you into tilt.” He rubbed the towel over his face, now seemingly indifferent to her fury.
“I’m done with the games, Ian.” She didn’t argue with his first statement. The truth was the truth.
“So am I.” Cain MacAlister, the new director of Labyrinth and Ian’s older brother, stepped into the blue room. His gaze slid to Lara. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
“I have time,” Lara answered. Both brothers moved with predatory ease, but whether it was because of their warrior heritage or occupations, Lara couldn’t be sure—the ability seemed so innate. Where Ian was muscle and meat, Cain was leaner, almost lanky, with pitch-black hair, smoky gray eyes and features sharp enough to be called aristocratic.
Still their jawlines were the same, Lara noted.
And Lord knew, so was the slant of their frowns.
Cain glanced from Lara to Ian. “Are you two done playing?”
“We’re done all right,” Lara answered easily.
But Ian saw the proud line of her jaw lift. Lara didn’t like Cain’s question, but Ian knew she wouldn’t address the issue with Cain in Ian’s presence. Too bad, he decided, because he would have really liked to see her take on his brother.
“For now,” Ian commented, while his gaze remained on Lara, unblinking. He rested a hip on the nearby console. “It was Lara’s doing,” he said, deliberately taunting the Irish in her. “The woman can’t leave me alone,” he added, pleased when temper whipped color into the delicate line of her cheeks and her eyes sharpened into jaded glass. And a little disappointed, he mused, when stubbornness had her biting back words that threatened to get past the generous curve of her mouth.
“Ian.” Those same lips thinned over her teeth into a vicious smile. “Drop dead.”
She slapped her hand against the door panel, then paused long enough to wait for the door to slide open.
“Lara,” Cain called. “Stop by Kate’s office. She has a few…devices…that might come in handy for your meeting.”
Kate D’Amato was Ian’s younger sister and the head of Labyrinth’s technology division. “I will.” With one nod, Lara left.
Cain shook his head after the door slid shut. “A little early in the morning for a taste of sadomasochism, isn’t it?”
Ian sheathed the razor-sharp need that swiped at his gut. Some would describe Lara as slender, willowy—the more romantic, maybe—with long, tangled curls of fire-red hair and eyes the color of the Emerald City itself.
But Lara was far from romantic. Her body, kept lean and strong from a stringent physical regime, was no more than another weapon to use when necessary.
“Beats a strong cup of coffee,” Ian growled, and because it was only his brother, letting his frustration show. “God save me from stubborn women. She deliberately set herself up to fail. It’s as if she has to keep proving to herself she’s competent. You and I both know she’s one of the best operatives here.”
“Funny thing is, we both might know it, but you continually come to her rescue.” Cain folded his arms. The sleek, tailored lines of his navy-blue suit emphasized the air of authority.
