Page 4 of Donovan Blake: Adrenalin

Timing in life is everything.

The thought floated through his head as he spied the momentary glow of a tiny flame from a lighter inside a vehicle parked across the street.

CHAPTER THREE

With her heart hammering and conflict raging, Phoebe had watched Donovan march from the room. He reeked of danger, and oozed a magnetic sensuality that sent the adrenalin pumping through her veins. Every time she looked into his intense brown eyes, she imagined him holding her down and whispering in her ear as he mercilessly ravaged her.

He was also scary as hell.

Especially when he’d ordered her not to call the police—or anyone else for that matter.

Who was he?

A man on the run from the law, or an FBI agent?

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

A part of her wished she’d kept driving and called 911 when she was back on the main road, but another part was glad she jumped from her car and helped him. The truth was, she hadn’t felt so alive in a very long time. But he suddenly burst through the door, startling her and snatching her from her heavy thinking.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded trying to catch her breath. “You scared me half to death.”

“My apologies,” he said hastily. “Is the driveway leading into the underground parking garage the only way out of here?”

“No, there’s a delivery entrance.”

“Okay, good. They’re out front. As soon as their back-up arrives they’ll be charging in here, and it won’t be pretty for either of us.”

“You mean they’re cops?”

“No, Phoebe, back-up is just a phrase.”

“Oh,” she muttered sheepishly. “But how will they know which unit I’m in?”

“From your license plates. Trust me, they know your name and which unit is yours. Pack a few things—and I mean now! We have to get out of here!”

The look in his eye sent her running into her closet. Grabbing a backpack she hastily jammed it with enough for a few days, then realized too late there was no room left for shoes. Snatching a garbage bag from the cabinet under the bathroom sink, she threw in what she thought she might need, then threw in a bunch of toiletries.

“Phoebe” Donovan’s wide shoulders and tall muscled body filled the door frame. “We have to go,” he ordered gruffly. “They’re crossing the street. They’ll be here any minute.”

“I’m ready. My stuff is in the backpack over there. Shit, my mad money!” she exclaimed, dropping the plastic bag and darting back into her bedroom.

“You don’t have to worry about money!” he yelled after her.

“Maybe you don’t, but I do,” she shouted back, snatching up the envelope from the nightstand drawer.

But he had already grabbed both the backpack and plastic bag, and was heading into the hall.

“Donovan, turn left, there’s a stairwell,” she called as she raced out after him. Though her fingers were shaking she managed to lock the deadbolt, then ran after him, catching up as he pushed open the heavy metal door leading to the stairs. But as she followed him through she heard the elevator ding. Spinning around, she dared to peek through the tiny glass window.

And caught her breath.

Several heavy set, scowling men were looking up and down the passageway.

Terrified, she ducked back and trotted down the stairs as fast as she could to join Donovan already at the bottom.

“Be careful not to squeal the tires,” he ordered as they raced to her car. “Drive normally.”

Asking herself how she could possibly do anything normally, she climbed behind the wheel, backed up, then rolled towards the delivery entrance. As the steel gate slid up, she drove out and turned down the alley.

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