Page 20 of Stone

“Knox, it’s a dead end.”

He looked in the other direction and saw she was right. Shit. He glanced up. A metal fire escape was attached to the neighboring building. Several stories up, there was an open window.

“There.” He jerked his chin. “We go up.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “All right.”

Something tightened in Knox’s chest. There was no panic or hysteria; she was focused on what had to be done.

“Um, there’s just one problem,” she said. “I can’t jump that high.”

“I’ll lift you.” He fired off several shots and turned back to her.

Nola had hitched her tight, gray skirt up, baring slim thighs.

Hell. Keep your head in the game, Holman.

He grabbed her waist and lifted her up. He caught a quick flash of pink panties.

Nola gripped the metal above her and hauled herself onto the fire escape. Knox fired down the alley again, and watched the Russians dive for cover. He spun, shoved his gun in his holster, then jumped, and grabbed the fire escape. He pulled himself up.

Shots pinged off the metal nearby. He heard Nola cry out and duck down. He pulled his weapon out, took aim, and fired down into the alley.

“Up,” he said. “There’s an open window above us.”

They quickly climbed up the escape stairs.

Nola frowned. “This is someone’s apartment—”

“Go,” he ordered.

Shaking her head, she threw her leg over the windowsill and climbed in. He followed.

It was a simple apartment, with worn furniture and the walls painted a deep yellow. A woman holding a basket of laundry stepped out of a nearby doorway. When she saw them, she screamed, and let loose with a barrage of Spanish.

“Sorry,” Nola said, holding up her hands. “So sorry. We won’t hurt you.”

Knox slammed the window closed behind them and locked it. He pointed outside. “Bad guys. Chicos malos.”

The woman staggered back, looking terrified.

Knox hauled Nola through the living room to the front door. He wrenched the door open and pulled her out to the narrow corridor.

“Come on.” They jogged to the stairwell and down to the floor below.

“We’re stopping here?” she asked.

“Need a place to hide.” He strode down the hall and stopped at a door with Maintenance written on it.

He rammed his shoulder against it, pulled back, and rammed again. The flimsy lock popped, and the door opened. He pulled Nola inside.

When he shut the door, darkness blanketed them. All he could hear was the sound of her heavy breathing, accompanied by the sharp scent of cleaning supplies.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yes. Maybe. I might need some therapy after this.”

He gripped the back of her neck and squeezed. “You’re doing great, Sprite.”

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