Page 36 of Her Last Hope
“Fuuuucccck…you asshole.” Logan grabbed his shoulder and rubbed vigorously before rotating it a few times.
“You’re welcome. Now let’s call in the cavalry.”
“My phone is broken.” Logan held up the shattered object. “How about yours?”
Nick pulled out his phone and stared at it. “Works, but no service.”
Leandra held her phone up, moving it around before shoving it in her back pocket. “Mine too.” She pressed one hand on his stomach, the other over the wound on his back, applying pressure.
Logan stood in front of the blown-out elevator door. “We can climb up, no problem.”
“Not before we take a look around. Maybe the hostages are still here. At the very least, maybe we can find some records that will help me find my client’s daughter,” Leandra said.
Nick exchanged a long glance with Logan. “Dylan had to have seen or heard the blast.”
Logan nodded.
Nick took Leandra by the shoulders. “We have to stick together, and if things get dicey again, we’re outof here, okay, hon?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you call the guys you work with in the field, hon?”
“Of course not.” He laughed, tracing the mark he’d left on her neck. “And I don’t give them hickeys either.”
Yep. It was official.
He’d lost his ever lovin’ mind.
7
Leandra’s head felt like the grenade went off inside it, not in the elevator. Her knees stung from the scrapes that had ripped her flesh as she and Nick slid across the floor, slashing open her jeans.
Her entire body ached.
But not as much as her heart did.
A thud on the ceiling caught her attention. “Please, no more grenades.”
Another thud.
Then three more.
“We’ve got company,” Nick said before whistling three times.
Whoever was above them whistled back.
“Baby Dyl to the rescue,” Nick said, pointing to a door at the end of the corridor. “Let’s check that out.”
She let out a long sigh of relief as she made her way down the hallway. She stood behind Nick, since hepushed his arm out and tucked her back there, while Logan opened the door and did a quick scan before giving them the ‘all clear.’
Stepping into the room, her eyes immediately focused on the prison-like cells that occupied the room.
She gasped, sucking in air that tasted like three-day-old piss left in an unflushed toilet.
Coughing, she took a few steps forward, reaching out to one of the cells, letting her fingers glide across the cold metal bars. Tears stung the corner of her eyes. Bare cots lay on the cold tiled floor, a single dirty, thin blanket in each cell.
That was it.
“We have to find them,” she whispered as she counted the cells.
