Page 86 of Ford

“We’ll find them.”

“Go home, Ford. She’ll be fine. We have a plan. Trust us.”

Suddenly, Yanna got up. “Stay here,” she said, turned and headed back toward the door.

Scarlett sat in the chair, watching as the men followed Yanna’s exit with their eyes. The blond’s gaze, however, never moved off Ford. One of the men, however, got up and followed Yanna.

Oh, this couldn’t be good. She took a breath, then, “They’re going after Yanna. I have to warn her.”

She heard an intake of breath, Ford’s low growl, but this was what she did. Warned people. Watched their backs.

She got up and headed out of the room, not looking at the two men. Pushed through the doors to the lobby.

Two elevators banked each side, one dinging open, and she looked around, not seeing Yanna or the other man. Maybe she’d gone to the ladies’ room. She headed toward the marked door—

A hand landed on the small of her back, and before she could turn around, or even make a noise, she was pushed into the elevator.

“Hey!”

She rounded, but the man who’d followed Yanna crowded in, his hand slamming over her mouth. She grabbed his wrist, trying to wrench it away. The other man in black scooted in, turned, and pushed the door closed button.

She kicked at her assailant, but he pressed her hard against the wall and grabbed her other hand.

The door closed just as Yanna entered her view. She spotted Scarlett a second before the doors closed.

The man let her go and she pushed him away. “What do you want?”

He looked her up and down, and she resisted the desire to close her arms over herself. She pushed past him to hit the emergency button, but he pulled her back, and the other man clamped his arms around her from behind.

No, no, she didn’t know what was happening, but it certainly wasn’tthis. Her being attacked in an elevator in Russia. She made a fist and swung it down hard into her attacker’s leg, searching for a soft spot. He dodged her, and she reacted with her elbow, slamming it hard into his ribs.

He cursed in Russian—what she guessed may be a curse—called her a name and shoved her hard into the other man, who grabbed her wrists.

They’d gone to the bottom floor, to the basement, and she knew it—just knew that she’d die in that clammy parking ramp.

No. Sorry, but she might not know what to do with the rest of her life, but she planned on having the rest of her life. She slammed her head back. It met the jaw of the man behind her. He roared, and she hoped she’d split his lip. Then she lifted her knee into the other man, finally meeting the soft parts.

The doors opened. She kicked him again, fighting to wrench her wrists free. “Yeah, see, Americans are harder to kill than you think!”

The man behind her grabbed her around the waist, and she brought her foot down hard on his instep, jerked her head back, and again met his face.

Another curse.

The doors closed.

“No!”

Especially since they’d had enough.

The first man grabbed her by the neck, his hands digging into her flesh, cutting off her air.

She didn’t bother to translate his word. But she read his expression as he shook his head, his eyes still clouded with pain, pulled back his fist and—

The doors opened, and Ford exploded into the compartment, grabbing the man around the neck.

A second man separated her from the attacker behind her with a fist that flew past her.

She wrenched herself free, scrambling out of the elevator into Yanna’s embrace.

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