Page 65 of Lethal Game

“Yeah. Smoke called and woke me about five minutes ago. Said there was some kind of dust-up at the front desk. I don’t think this fire was an accident.”

“Someone started it on purpose?” That was akin to playing Russian roulette with people’s lives.

“I want you to wear this,” he said grabbing something from his go bag. It was a black cap, the kind soldiers wear for night missions. “Make sure you get all your hair under cover.”

“Are you saying this fire is another try at kidnapping me?” Suddenly the fire made horrible, insane sense. Whoever wanted her had failed on their first try. This was attempt number two.

“Oh my God.” She grabbed her go bag and moved toward the door.

Con grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.

“We have to get out—”

“I know, but I want you to have this.” He thrust the butt of a gun into her right hand. “Hang on to it.”

“Okay.”

“Here.” He had a holster for it and quickly got the straps wrapped to her right thigh. She slid the weapon into the holster while he slung his backpack on and grabbed his SCAR, a combat assault rifle. “Grab the back strap on my pack and don’t let go of it. Okay?”

She grabbed it. “Got it.”

“If we get separated, I want you to go to the base and directly to the lab, get inside the level three containment area if you can and stay there.”

“Why there?”

“Because you can lock yourself inside if you need to.”

“What if someone isn’t just after me? What if they’re after what we’re working on?”

Con stared at her for one full second. “We can worry about that if we don’t get roasted alive. Ready?”

She nodded.

He bent low and opened the door.

She followed as he headed down the hallway. Smoke flowed across the ceiling like a murky, muddy flood.

He moved quickly, but not faster than she could manage. They stopped at an intersection, he looked both ways, then turned left. As they made their way down the hall, the smoke grew thicker and thicker. She began coughing and tried to tuck her face into the collar of her shirt.

Someone bumped her from behind and three people—she couldn’t see well enough to tell if they were men or women—rushed past. They pushed her against the wall and she found herself struggling to maintain her hold on Con’s pack.

She sucked in a breath to yell at him, but all she breathed in was smoke. She thought she was going to lose her grip when Con stumbled back and into her. She looked past him and saw more people yelling and waving their hands, but none of it seemed intelligible to her.

Con got himself right side up and yelled into her ear, “Hang on!”

She made sure she had a good grip then nodded.

Con surged forward, shoulder checking one man out of the way better than any hockey-playing enforcer. He continued moving, almost dragging her along with him past another couple of people.

Something got in between her legs, tripping her, and she went down. Sophia tried to hang on to Con, but she was knocked to one side, effectively ripped away from him.

Smoke was billowing throughout the hallway, cutting visibility down to zero, three feet above the floor. All she could see were legs. Most of them were dressed in off-base clothing and no one looked like Connor, Smoke, or River.

Get out, get to the lab.

Sophia got on her hands and knees and crawled, trying to avoid all the booted feet dancing around in the smoke. A man fell to the floor right in front of her, his face only inches from her own. He stared at her for a partial second, then yelled something at her in a language she didn’t understand and grabbed the collar of her shirt.

She tried to jerk herself out of his hold, but he wouldn’t let go.

---