Page 85 of Dangerous Devotion

Now she wasn’t so sure.

With a worried bounce on her toes, she darted a glance toward the back of the space where the restrooms were located. She knew damn well that AJ wasn’tactuallyusing the restroom—he was finding the bomb.

How long would that take? She could use a little backup here.

She fiddled with her phone, considering texting him to see how his search was going. Behind her, she heard Simpson’s boot step on the concrete floor. She pivoted, a polite smile in place.

“Shaw, what are you doing?” He stood close—too close for her comfort. The only time her old friend ever came this close to her was when they greeted each other with an embrace.

His sharp eyes missed nothing. They narrowed as he noted what must be alarm in hers.

“I’m sorry, May. But you left me no choice.” He jammed two fingers into the side of her neck.

A sharp pressure blazed through the nerves at the base of her skull, and white-hot pain lanced through her. Her mouth opened to scream, but the world faded.

She woke to silence. Dead silence.

Her body wouldn’t move. Her limbs felt sluggish, dead weight.

The haze coating her mind fluttered away, snapping it into sharp focus. Though her eyes were open, she couldn’t quite focus and only saw a blur. Her nose picked up the scent of dust and rusty metal. Mildew hung thick in the air.

The ground underneath her was cold concrete. Like the base.

Only this didn’t smell like the hangar.

Her last memory was Simpson’s face before he dug his fingers into her neck. He must have used a pressure point takedown on her. Goddamn him. He wasnotthe man she knew.

The cold of the floor seeped through her clothes. Even before her eyes focused, she felt the narrow, boxed-in space.

She wasn’t anyplace she knew—but it somehow felt familiar.

Realization settled like a lead brick in her stomach. She was inside a storage facility.

Her eyes rolled in a terrified survey of her surroundings. The absence of windows and exits other than one rolling door solidified her belief she was locked in a storage unit.

Oh god. How was she getting out of this? She should have let AJ put a tracker on her.

If she lived long enough to get back to him, he’d probably never let her out of his sight again—and she hoped he didn’t. She never wanted to leave his side, if this was what happened.

A swift glance around didn’t even show her that Simpson was standing there, waiting for her to regain consciousness. Good news, her hands weren’t bound by ropes or zip ties. The bad news was that the place seemed to be empty, providing nothing she could wield as a weapon against him.

With it being so silent inside the four industrial and scary walls, May was completely tuned in to the noises outside. In the distance, a car. Not close enough to hear her even if she screamed.

Then the low scuff of boots on pavement. She fixed her entire focus on that sound. It traveled from left to right, right to left. As if the wearer of those boots was pacing in front of the door, or close to it.

She picked up a male voice, barely loud enough to project through the metal barrier between them. Snippets came to her, which she struggled to piece together into a semblance of language.

The intonation of the voice rose and fell in a cadence she recognized.

Simpson.

She expected to feel a rush of anger—but not one of fear.

The emotion plowed over her, making her clamp her lips to hold in a cry. She didn’t consider herself to be a weak woman, but she wasn’t trained for battle the way Major General Shaw Simpson was.

In any fight, he would best her…unless she got the upper hand, or a nice weapon inherhand.

AJ. Where are you? Please find me!

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