Page 44 of Stolen By the Billionaire
Blaze leaned against the wall and crossed his arms and ankles, watching her. “It’s coded to my voice.”
Sarah kicked the door frame because she didn’t want to put her foot through the glass and maybe bleed to death. He probably wouldn’t take her to an emergency room if she cut off her foot because she’d narc that he’d kidnapped her. “What if there’s a fire?”
“If the fire alarms go off, the locks spring open automatically.”
So all she had to do was set a fire.
Challenge accepted.
Blaze continued, “The locks open if and only if the sprinklers don’t put out the fire in ten minutes, and I can tell it not to release, of course.”
Well, dang. “So, what do you do if you get laryngitis? Just stay locked in your house until you recover?”
Blaze shook his head. “I never get sick. The military vaccinates you against everything. In basic training, that last big one in your butt feels like half a cup of peanut butter.”
He flexed, and his entire arm swelled up like balloons had inflated all over it. The sleeve of his olive-beige tee shirt strained to hold his massive biceps and triceps and then gave up, riding back toward the crease between his arm muscles and his heavy shoulder, exposing more spidery tattoos on his forearm.
He said, “Vaccines make you strong.”
She kicked the glass this time, gingerly poking her boot at it, but the glass was as solid as a brick wall and did not rattle in its frame in the slightest. “Sounds like propaganda.”
Blaze shook his head. “General George Washington mandated smallpox vaccinations, such as they were back then, for the Continental Army. The British military took eighty percent losses due to a smallpox outbreak, and that’s why we don’t speak funny and sing ‘God Save the Queen.’ The US military takes vaccination and combat readiness very seriously. If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.”
Sarah kicked the glass door a little harder this time with the pointy toe of her boot. “Whatever.”
And then she kicked it even harder.
15
Monsanto Mafia
Blaze
Now that Blaze had the target, Sarah Bell, in his house, he could relax.
A little.
In his house, he could keep her safe from whoever was after her.
Probably.
His chances were better.
The back of Blaze’s left arm stung where the bullet had creased him, and the stiff clamminess of the bandage suggested he was bleeding through the gauze.
Time to change that dressing.
Sarah kicked the glass front entryway door a third time, even harder.
The frustration crumpling her cute little face was a little bit heartbreaking.
But just a bit. His mission would not be compromised because the cute girl was having a tantrum like a baby bunny bopping its face into your boot and scratching the spit-polished leather to demand a bite of your MRE.
He’d fed the bunny, though.
He’d have to be careful that this woman didn’t eat his lunch.
Blaze sighed. “You can kick it all you want, but that’s bulletproof, shatterproof glass. My military intel buddies reinforced the place when I moved in three years ago. This house is a fortress, inside and out.”
