Page 41 of Guarded from Treachery

It’s almost deafening.

A red light above the door starts flashing.

My heart stops beating for a second.

“It’s fine.” Matt shifts so he’s between me and the door. “Just the fire alarm. Nothing to worry about.”

His voice is carefully calm, but an undercurrent of urgency runs through it.

“Come on.” He helps me off the table and tucks me beside him, his arm coming around my side. With his free hand, he reaches inside his button-down shirt, no doubt touching the gun I know he has holstered beneath it. “We’ll just head out to reception, meet up with Rhiannon, then wait in the car until this is all taken care of.”

Although I’ve been through dozens of evacuations over the years, most of them false alarms caused by burned popcorn in the microwave or a malfunctioning smoke detector, I can’t help feeling nervous.

But I swallow it back and make sure my voice is steady as I reply, “Okay. Sounds good.”

As Matt hustles me from the exam room and back down the hallway the same way we came, itseemslike any other false alarm. There’s no distinctive smell of smoke or an ominous glow emanating from beneath any of the doors we pass. The few nurses we encounter seem annoyed but not concerned, one of them even grumbling, “If Harriet burned her popcorn again, I’m complaining to the doctor. This is just ridiculous.”

By the time we get to the metal door that leads to the reception area, my heartbeat is practically back to normal again. Until the nurse ahead of us tries the handle and curses.

There are four of us gathered at the door, the cursing nurse, another woman in scrubs, me, and Matt. Matt glances at the cursing nurse and asks, “What’s wrong?”

She looks at him, and her expression flashes with that same appreciation I saw from the other nurse. Then she says, “The door is locked. It must be some override thing when the alarm goes off. But I don’t remember this from the last time.”

Matt grabs the door handle and gives it a hard yank. His jaw goes hard. “Dammit.”

“There’s an exit at the other end of the hallway,” the other woman in scrubs says. “Hopefully it’s not an actual fire or we’ll burn to death.”

Lovely.

The cursing nurse jolts. “Shit. Do you think?” She pauses. “I think I smell smoke!” Then she bolts off down the hallway, calling over her shoulder, “Come on, Glenda! I don’t get paid enough for this shit!”

Matt glowers in their direction. “Well. I’m not sure how I feel about the staff here.” Still keeping me against his side, he changes direction and heads after the two women, his muscular arm firm around me. “As soon as we get outside, I’ll text Erik to come meet us. I’m sure Rhi is already out there.”

“Where is everyone else?” I ask as we hurry back down the hall. “The other patients. Doctors.”

“I don’t know,” he grits out, sounding a bit less calm than before. “They must have gotten out before the door locked. Or they went out the back exit.”

“You’re probably right. And I guess being a Saturday it’s not as crowded. Still. It seems like a fire hazard to have the door lock.”

As we pass by one of the alarms, still blaring at an eardrum shattering level, Matt raises his voice to reply, “It does. And I’m not very pleased with this place. Maybe we should?—”

Out of nowhere, a huge figure crashes into us.

A man. All in black. His face covered with a full-face mask.

The blow is so unexpected, so violent, I’m knocked away from Matt. I fall to my knees, throwing out my hands to keep from smashing my face.

Matt reaches for me, but the man in black is all over him, punching, kicking, clawing, a dervish intent on causing as much damage as possible.

“Isla, the button,” Matt calls out roughly. “Press it now!”

Just as I’m about to press the left earring, a hand grabs my arm and yanks it hard. Pain erupts in my shoulder. I hear a faint pop.

As I yelp in pain, Matt yells, “Get your fucking hands off her!”

An arm comes around my chest, lifting me off my feet. I’m pressed against a hard body, my back to their front. Hot breath wafts by my ear, and the scent of garlic hits my nose.

Even as I start wriggling, kicking, trying to throw my elbows back, any of the things Matt taught me to do in self defense, it’s too late. This man—whoever he is—is carrying me away.

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