Page 6 of Extracted

No . . .

* * *

Ah, shit.

Dallas hit the brakes of his rented black Mercedes and pulled a U-turn. He’d forgotten his laptop at the hotel. Surprisingly, his contact had been delayed and was good to meet at 7:45 p.m. That gave him just under the two hours he’d promised Gemma he’d stay away from the hotel.

The large stone mansion came into view between the towering jungle trees. He didn’t have a clue what they were. Their leaves looked almost rubbery, and their vines hung down in fairy-tale style.

He parked in the spot nearest the entrance and walked the rest of the way up the drive. The rear patio was closer to his room, so he rounded the side of the building. A three-foot-high stone wall boxed in the property. Red and black umbrellas came into view. The dining area was even fuller than it’d been half an hour ago.

He scanned the faces of the female diners as he approached. She could be eating right now, maybe meeting with a client she didn’t want him to know about, or—

Boom!

The ground shook. Screams split the air and people dove to the ground. The tables rattled in the aftershock.

What the . . . Did Colombia get earthquakes? It sure hadn’t sounded like one. He lifted his gaze to the hotel.

Another blast erupted. Dallas staggered from the explosion. Glass blew from the windows and fire bulged from every orifice, sending waves of flames into the air. He shielded his face from the pellets of stone raining down. People screamed in terror.

Fear pinched his muscles.

Gemma.

He had to get inside. He raced toward the front of building. The already warm air turned downright scorching as he got closer. A handful of people came bursting out—hotel employees. Blood coated a woman’s face, and her eyes were wild with panic. A body slammed into him then a woman fell at his feet. He bent and seized her arms, helping her up. The strap of her dress was tattered and her hair was in disarray. “Everyone, stay calm! Head to the parking lot—”

Another crack split the air.

The earth rumbled under his feet, sending him toward the ground. His head smacked the stone wall. Warmth heated his skull.

All went dark.

Images flickered in Dallas’s brain. Pearly white teeth. Dark hair. Bright cerulean eyes. Smooth complexion. Features blipped by one by one, not allowing him to hold the full picture. A feminine laugh echoed from the den of his memory. He tried to capture the sound and replay it, but it slipped through his grasp. The scent of raspberry and lemon taunted his nostrils. He inhaled deeply. Dust filled his nose. And . . . ash? He coughed and rolled to his stomach. Pain burst from his midsection, and it felt as if a hammer were striking his skull.

He blinked.

Smoke filled his vision. He turned his head toward the large mansion. Part of the stone wall was missing. There was a gaping hole in the east side of the building. A conference desk dangled on the precipice.

Jesus.

A bomb. No, several. He pushed himself into a sitting position. A low whistle screeched in his ears. He gazed around. Bodies lay on the ground, along with broken glass and stone. The air was thick with dust. He coughed into his sleeve and climbed to his feet, gripping the stone wall that had knocked him out.

The whistle in his ear grew louder. It was the only sound. Christ. He’d gone deaf. He stared toward another enormous hole in the hotel that surrounded the entrance. Rubble partially covered the distance between the building and him.

He stumbled over the rocks, grabbing whatever debris he could for support. He opened his mouth. “Gemma!” The scream ripped from his chest, but he didn’t hear it. His jaw ached as he continued yelling her name over the screeching in his eardrums.

The entire east side of the hotel had been obliterated. Parts of the west had been damaged too. If anyone still inside had survived, they’d be stuck.

The thought fired up his determination, and he climbed over the pile of boulders and entered the lobby.

A light flickered above the front desk. The body of a man lay underneath a large wooden beam. His eyes stared at the ceiling, glassy and unmoving. A puddle of blood surrounded his head. Dear god.

Dallas shoved aside the crippling fear that wanted to bring him to his knees. There was a good chance she’d been inside. That he might find her body crushed under fallen walls. He played their conversation over in his head. She hadn’t said anything about a job but had been downright pushy about trying to get him out of the hotel.

He’d find out who’d planted the bomb and—

He froze.

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