Page 33 of Striker
“Are you injured? Bleeding?”
She shook her head then scoffed, realizing he couldn’t see her. “No.”
The sound of an engine reached her ears. “I just got in the vehicle. What’s your address?”
She gave it to him, clinging tightly to the phone.
“I know you’re scared. I want to hear everything that happened, but right now, I need to know if there’s a threat. Tell me if you can see or hear anything. Check out the window if you can safely. The guys are coming behind me for backup.”
She got to her feet, her leg muscles as limp as spaghetti. Forcing her knees not to bow, she crossed to the window that overlooked the front of the building staying near the wall and out of view. Cars drove up and down the busy street, and the sides of the road were lined with parked vehicles.
“I don’t see anything suspicious, but I don’t know what to look for either.”
“Any cars idling? Look for a van or large SUV. If they planned to take you, they?—”
“He didn’t plan on taking me.” The words rushed out with certainty, and the memory of his malicious grip shoving her beneath the water turned her blood to ice.
Atlas let out a slew of curses. “I’m almost there. Keep watching, okay?”
She perched on the arm of the couch, watching each parked vehicle for signs of someone waiting.
A black SUV rolled down the road and whipped into a parking spot. Atlas hopped out of the driver’s side, his phone pressed to his ear and his stride intent. Moments later he disappeared from view, entering her building.
Relief swept over her. He was here. Everything would be okay now. She wasn’t alone. “I saw you.”
“Taking the stairs now. You said 307?”
“Yes.”
“Elevator would be quicker, but I don’t want to be stuck in it if someone cuts the power.”
A silver sedan with tinted windows caught her eye—a luxury vehicle she hadn’t spotted earlier. A hand moved to the window and flicked a cigarette.
Her stomach dropped. “I think someone’s waiting.” She described the car.
“All right. Hang on, I’m going to pass that to the guys. They’re only five minutes behind me.”
“He could have a gun,” she breathed.
“Prolly does,” he said dryly. “They’ll handle him, don’t worry.”
Half a minute later, heavy footsteps pounded down the hall. Though common sense told her it was Atlas, fear still rushed through her. She moved quietly to the door, and a soft knock came next.
“I’m here.”
Ending the call and setting the phone on the table, she crossed the kitchen and flung open the door. Atlas stood there, a scowl etched on his face. His sandy hair was sexily mussed and his sea-glass eyes sparked with concern. He wrapped her in his arms, lifting her off her feet, and shut and locked the door behind him.
She closed her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, savoring every warm inch of him.
Gently, he lowered her. “You’re soaked.”
She sniffed and nodded. A tear rolled from the corner of her eye. Dammit, she hadn’t even felt the tears come. Hadn’t even been aware of the stinging in her nose until now. He swiped at her cheeks, then led her to the couch, where he pulled her onto his lap.
She leaned against his chest, her head on his shoulder. His fingers stroked the damp strands wetting them both.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Mol. This shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have left you.”
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know this would happen, and you can’t exactly babysit me while you do your job.” She wrapped her arm around his waist, gripping his shirt tightly.
