Page 101 of Nothing to Fear

They were kicking in the dressing room doors. Only five stalls. Heavy boots struck the carpet, drawing closer.

Her mind raced in circles at a frantic speed. What to do? What could she do?

Tension bubbled in her head, putting pressure on her entire skull. It was impossible to think, to breathe, with the bombardment of loud noises. Panic threatened to swamp her, and she smelled the musty stench of her own fear.

She fished her earbuds out of the bag and put them in. Forcing herself to take a slow breath, she gathered her wits like armor.

Her gaze landed on Gideon’s gun. She grabbed the weapon and dropped the bag.

She locked her sights on the door, hands trembling. The impulse to fight was a live wire running through her, overriding the anxiety.

Another whack—softer to her ears this time—was followed by the splintering thump of a door slammed open in the room next to hers.

She drew in a breath and started a controlled exhale. Focus. Aim. Fire.

Thwack! She recoiled, heart thrashing in her chest like a caged wild bird. The lock gave way. Her door swung in, smashing against the wall.

An imposing body dominated the doorway, and a savage face glared at her.

Willow pulled the trigger and—with a soft pop—blasted a hole in his skull in a flash of blood and brain matter.

A shocked cry snagged in her throat. The man keeled backward, hitting the floor.

The other three ducked out of sight.

The throbbing tension in her head eased in the unnatural silence that fell and thickened. What if they tried to sneak up on her and she couldn’t hear them moving?

She took out one earbud and tucked it in her bra.

A cold numbness bled through her, but her mind churned like a piston. If she didn’t find a way out, they were going to kill her.

The glass storefront stretched so far off, it might as well have been miles away. She aimed the gun and fired, missing her target but taking the head clean off a mannequin.

She heaved a breath, refocused, and pulled the trigger. The safety glass shattered.

If the commotion didn’t bring security or police, nothing would. But she was out of ideas.

* * *

9:49 a.m. EST/10:49 a.m. EDT

Gideon flew down the street. Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream, tingling beneath the skin. Scouring the streets, he followed the path she would’ve taken to the hotel unless forced to deviate. He fought the raging pulse in his throat. A cold sweat broke out on his brow.

There’d been five mercenaries at Ken’s. To come looking for her here, there’d be more than two. His comms equipment was in the backpack with Willow. It would’ve been too conspicuous to wear an earpiece while talking to a bank manager about an offshore account.

He put on the ear mic he’d swiped off a dead merc. Silence. He double-checked it was live. Why wasn’t there chatter? Where were those fuckers?

His gut pinched with sickening dread. He should’ve kept her pinned to his side.

If they found her, hurt her…

An unholy tangle of emotion made his heart squeeze to the point of physical pain. His rib cage throbbed and his pulse pounded at his temples.

Gideon raced toward the hotel, scanning for indicators of trouble. A lady with a stroller surrounded by a gaggle of kids slowed him for a heartbeat to avoid knocking a child down. He reached the last corner before crossing to the hotel.

Pearls strewn on the ground, rolling into the side street, caught his eye. He scooped up a handful. Faint iridescent pink. Willow’s.

Did they pop the necklace snatching her, shoving her into a car?