His firestorm.
Defiance boiled within him, and his mind churned to create an alternative plan. He wasn’t designed for settling down with one mate for the duration, for commitment and parenthood. He wasn’t like Quinn and he wasn’t like Rafferty.
Donovan liked running solo just fine.
“It went well,” Rafferty murmured in old-speak, his words the barest rumble in Donovan’s thoughts.
“You knew, too,” he accused, replying in kind.
Rafferty shrugged. Donovan appreciated that his mentor didn’t lie to him, but he didn’t like that Rafferty thought it had been necessary to deceive him.
“No excuses?” he demanded, his tone harsh even for old-speak.
“You won’t believe anything I tell you about serving the greater good,” Rafferty replied. He stopped at a traffic light and looked directly at Donovan, a yearning in his gaze. “Is it true?”
Donovan nodded. Rafferty exhaled with obvious disappointment. He put his hand on Rafferty’s shoulder. “It should have been yours. You’re the one who wants a firestorm, not me.”
“The Great Wyvern has wisdom beyond ours,” Rafferty said with a conviction that Donovan didn’t share.
“The Great Wyvern likes to jerk us all around,” he retorted, just before the back door of the hearse flew open. He heard the click, saw the warning light on the dash, felt the draft.
Donovan pivoted. In the light that poured into the rear of the hearse, he saw a woman in a backless hospital gown.
Running away.
“Shit!” he shouted, and flung himself out of the hearse. Rafferty stopped, but Donovan was already running in pursuit of his mate.
“Stop!” he shouted.
Alex didn’t.
She made directly for the ER entrance, her steps wobbly but determined. She was faster than he would have believed. A pair of people turned to watch as she hobbled up to the lit entryway barefoot, her gown fluttering around her hips.
Donovan halted with reluctance. He couldn’t exactly follow her there and snatch her up. Donovan reminded himself of his failure to beguile the other orderly. There would be even more witnesses by the time he caught Alex and carried her off.
“Let her go,” Rafferty counseled, pulling the hearse to a halt beside Donovan. “We’ll follow her and wait for a better moment.”
Donovan flung himself into the passenger seat, watching Alex intently. A taupe Buick was parked in the curve of the entryway, its engine running, and she headed straight for it.
Alex opened the driver’s door and slid into the car as if it had been her destination all along. She must have said something to the people there or smiled, because they shrugged and turned away.
The Buick roared as she rocketed out of the Emergency drop-off.
“Follow her!” Donovan cried, wishing that he was driving, that he had his Ducati instead of this limping excuse for a vehicle.
“I thought she was sedated.”
“So did I. She’s taking a right there.”
“I’m on it,” Rafferty acknowledged. “Relax.” The silence between the two Pyr crackled, Donovan aware only of his own irritation.
It was Erik’s fault. He should have told Donovan about the firestorm, should have warned him. Surprise was ruining his game.
But then if he’d known he’d be stepping into his own firestorm, he’d never have accepted the assignment.
“Usually you’re the one who bolts,” Rafferty observed. “Around for a good time, not a long time, as you like to say.”
“She took another right,” Donovan said tightly. He’d been angry before, but it was beyond unthinkable that his destined mate should flee from him and his protection.
Women did not run away from Donovan Shea.
Ever.
It was rude of Rafferty to remind him.
“You still think the Great Wyvern doesn’t know how to plan a lesson?” the older Pyr mused.
Donovan barely kept himself from doing injury to his old friend. “I don’t want to think about lessons and plans,” he snapped.
“Maybe you should. Maybe this won’t go well until you do.”
“Just drive.” Donovan sat back and forced himself to think calmly. “Where do you think she’s going?”
Rafferty mused as they took another turn. “I’ll put my nickel on that lab of Gilchrist Enterprises.”
“Me, too. Exactly where the Slayers will look for her.” Donovan snarled in his frustration. He might not want a firestorm, but having one meant that Alex Madison was his responsibility—never mind that he was to take her into the protective custody of the Pyr. “I thought she was supposed to be a genius.”
Rafferty was unruffled. “Then she must have a good reason for going back there.”
“Maybe she’s one of those brilliant people who don’t do real life that well.”
“Maybe. In which case, she’s a perfect match for you.”
“She’s not going to be my match. . . .”
“Is that so?” Rafferty murmured.
Donovan gritted his teeth as Alex took another turn in the direction of the industrial park where the lab was located. “Miss the turn,” he said impulsively. “Let her think she lost us.”
“And?” Rafferty asked as he did what Donovan suggested.
“Ditch the hearse and wait for me at Erik’s hotel suite.”
“But what about Alex?”
Donovan spoke with grim determination. “I’m not that easy to ditch. Stop along here and let me out.” He slanted a glance to Rafferty. “You can tell Erik that I’ll bring her there safely.”
Rafferty pulled to a halt at the side of the road and Donovan reached for the door handle. When the door opened, they both caught their breath at the scent.
“Slayer,” Rafferty said softly, his nostrils flaring. Donovan stepped out of the car and Rafferty leaned across the seat. “And no one I know. You sure you want to do this alone?”
“Yes.” Donovan was using all of his keen senses to identify the threat to his mate. The Slayer was old, but younger than he was. He was alone and unfamiliar. He wasn’t that close.
“He might not be alone. Boris can disguise his presence.”
Donovan was dismissive. It would take a herd of Slayers to bring him down. “She’s my mate and my responsibility.”
Donovan ignored the quirk of Rafferty’s lips at that. Doing his job was not the same as committing himself to one woman for the duration, but he suspected that Rafferty wouldn’t see things that way.
“You’ll need help,” Rafferty said in old-speak.
Donovan glared at him. “My firestorm. My problem.”
Rafferty frowned. “But—”
“You and Erik lied to me. I’ll do this alone.” Donovan could tell that Rafferty was offended, but he didn’t care. He was offended that he’d been tricked.
“Suit yourself.”
Donovan nodded once at his mentor. “Go. I’ll be fine.” He strode down a quiet side street without looking back. He heard the hearse move away.
His only regret was that he didn’t have the gloves Quinn had made for him. He’d left them at Erik’s hotel, afraid their metal talons would trigger an alarm in the hospital. Now he felt vulnerable without them.
Especially as there was a Slayer around.
Donovan found a dark alley, stepped into its shadows, and shifted shape immediately. He leapt into the sky and flew toward the lab.
And Alex.
If he got to her first, the Slayer would have a bigger fight on his talons than he expected.
Gilchrist Enterprises smelled of smoke and destruction. Given a choice, Alex would have gone anywhere else in the world, but the first thing she needed was here.
She just had to get it fast.
If she could have disappeared without coming here, she would have. The only good thing was that her brother, Peter, had given her that dare.
And she’d followed through.
Alex punched in her access code and held
her breath until the light flashed green. She hauled open the steel door and ducked inside. The lab was dark. Alex could smell ash and melted plastic; broken glass crunched underfoot.
She would not go into the lab itself.
Alex didn’t believe for a minute that the guys in the hearse really had lost track of her. Did they know where she was going?
Alex didn’t intend to linger and find out.
She found her office by feel and by memory, and tapped the code into the security panel of the fire safe. The drawer rumbled open, making far too much noise in the silent building.
Alex held her breath, but there was no sound of pursuit. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heart, which was loud enough to hide a lot. She reached into the dark drawer, relieved when her fingers landed on a big Ziploc.
Her stashed package was there and still sealed.
Alex snatched the package and ran. She bolted back down the corridor and out of the building, without glancing to either side.
She was in the stolen car, hitting the gas even before she had the door fully closed, the Ziploc on the seat beside her. She squealed the tires, caring only that she got out of there ASAP.
She heard the sirens in the distance and told herself it was just a coincidence. The police couldn’t be after her for leaving the hospital without her doctor’s authorization, although someone might have an issue with her having stolen the Buick.
On the other hand, anyone who had left a car idling at the entrance to the ER probably had bigger problems in the short term. Her gaze fell again to the key tag, which pronounced the vehicle to be the possession of Archibald Forrester, WWII vet.
She really hoped Archibald was okay.
She’d stolen a car. Alex couldn’t even believe it herself, but what else could she have done? Too bad she hadn’t thought to grab a pair of latex gloves at the hospital. Her fingerprints would be all over Archibald’s car by now.
A lifetime of being honest hadn’t prepared her for recent events—or for what she was going to do about it. Alex was going to have to lift her game if she was going to be a successful survivor.
Like Harrison Ford in The Fugitive.
Alex gripped the wheel. She could do that. Alex glanced in the rearview mirror and nearly had heart failure.
The hunky gurney driver was in the backseat.
He waved at her and cast her a smile that made her heart go thump. “Hi, gorgeous. Going my way?”
Chapter 2
Alex swerved and came close to putting the car into the ditch. When she was back in her lane on the empty road, she looked in the mirror again.
He was still there, still smiling at her with confidence.
Even worse, he was better looking than she’d thought.
Maybe that said something sad about her recent social life. Admiring the looks of a kidnapper didn’t count as the smartest thing she’d ever done.
He was broad shouldered and tanned. His hair was wavy and auburn, his jaw square. His eyes were very green—or maybe the hospital scrubs made them look more green—and Alex felt a familiar heat start low in her belly.
Maybe she was experiencing side effects from whatever had been in her IV drip. She wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t stupid, either. Alex decided to take command of the situation.
It wouldn’t solve anything if he knew she was terrified.
“Get out of the car,” she said with authority. “Right now.”
“Tell me what you took from Gilchrist Enterprises first. Was it this?” He reached for the Ziploc on the front seat and Alex swerved the car hard. He fell back in the opposite corner of the backseat while the car fishtailed down the road.
“Where’d you get your license?” he asked with indignation as he sat up and straightened his jacket. “Out of a cereal box?”
Alex glared at him in the mirror. “Get out of the car.”
A glint of challenge danced in his eyes and she knew he wasn’t going to be so easily daunted as her brother, Peter. He reached for the Ziploc again and Alex hit the brakes hard. The car almost stopped on its hood.
She’d hoped he’d go right through the windshield, but her move had precisely the wrong effect. He catapulted over the bench seat, taking advantage of his own momentum, braced his hand on the dash, and landed elegantly right beside her.
He was an athlete, then, or a gymnast. Just her luck.
He bumped shoulders with her and a spark danced between them. Alex stared at it in shock, then hit the gas.
A spark? There couldn’t have been a spark.
But she’d felt that heat before.
They’d put hallucinogens in her IV drip. That had to be it. Side effects were the only possible explanation for the way she was tingling. He was close beside her, close enough to bump thighs, close enough for her to see how well the scrubs emphasized his muscled legs. He must be tall, taller even than she was.
Alex told herself that she didn’t want to know.
She probably shouldn’t be driving.
She accelerated and wrenched the wheel hard to the left. He was flung against the passenger door. “Maybe you got that license mail order,” he said, rubbing his shoulder and wincing. “Take it easy, would you?”
“I told you to get out of the car.” Alex snatched the Ziploc and dropped it down the neck of her gown.
He straightened and pushed a hand through his hair, watching her all the while. His smile should have been classed as a lethal weapon. “Now things are getting interesting.”
“Don’t even think it.” Alex kept the Buick spinning in a tight donut of a turn. The wheels squealed against the pavement, but the g-force kept him at the other end of the bench seat.
“Or what? You’ll drive even more recklessly?”
“This is defensive driving.”
“Don’t tell me you’re defending yourself against me.”
“You see any other would-be kidnappers in the vicinity?” Alex straightened out the wheel and accelerated, going over a curb so hard that he smacked the back of his head on the headrest.
He winced, rubbed his neck, then turned his glittering gaze upon her. Alex’s mouth went dry. He eased along the bench seat toward her, his voice dropping to a purr.
“Let’s just understand each other,” he murmured, and Alex shivered. She made the mistake of glancing his way and couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. “I don’t snatch what I want from women. I don’t have to steal. They give it to me, willingly.”
“Before or after you hurt them?”
His eyes flashed with anger. “I’ve never hurt a woman. Ever.” He spared a glance out the windshield. “Although you might hurt both of us.” He made a grab for the wheel.
“What?” Alex looked to find a truck closing fast. She turned right, rocking the car on its shocks, and passed within inches of the truck. The truck driver honked as Alex took a shaking breath.
“Just drive,” her companion suggested. “I’ll stay over here. Promise. I won’t even go after the Ziploc.”
Alex couldn’t keep her tone from turning scornful. “Because you think I’m going to just give you whatever you want?”
“Because of this.” His words were low enough to make her shiver again. He reached out a hand and before Alex could flinch, a spark leapt between his fingertip and her shoulder.
It was harder to deny it the second time.
She certainly couldn’t deny the heat of arousal slipping over her skin. Her mouth went dry, her breath caught, and she was achingly aware of how long and tanned his fingers were. His hands looked strong and sexy; the auburn hair on his arm contrasted with the stainless steel of his watch. It was too expensive a watch for an orderly. Who was he? What did he really want?
Why was she even wondering about it?
Alex was very aware of how masculine he was, how close his hand was to her shoulder. Or to her breast. It was easy, too easy, to imagine how he would persuade a woman to do whatever he wanted.
He’d move slowly, purposefully.
Alex forced herself to watch the road. He moved his hand away and looked grim.
She needed to find out what kind of stuff had been in her drip, in case she ever wanted to feel this hot and uninhibited again.
Assuming that she lived long enough to have the choice.
“Get out of the car.”
“First tell me what you stole.”
“Nothing.” It was true: the Ziploc was her own possession, therefore not stolen.
“That’s a big bag of nothing in your gown.”
Alex had to ditch him and the car. There was something wrong with Archibald’s car. It was a crisp October night; she was barefoot in a backless cotton hospital gown; the heater was off and she was melting.
Maybe it would have been more accurate to say that she was sizzling. She was far too aware of her lack of underwear, as well as the allure of her attacker.
This was why she never took drugs.
“Why don’t you slow down a bit?” he suggested.
Alex ignored him and pushed the gas harder. She made a two-wheel turn onto the main road that led into the industrial park. She felt his gaze upon her and could have named the moment he saw that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Alex couldn’t keep herself from blushing. To her mortification, her nipples were tightening and she hoped he couldn’t see them. No luck. She looked down and their peaks were unmistakable.
He turned to stare out the window, his throat working before he spoke. “You seem tense,” he noted. “Your first stolen car?”
“First time someone tried to kidnap me,” she snapped, and he laughed.
He had a good laugh, one that tempted her to laugh with him.
As if.
“If it’s any consolation, this is my first attempted kidnapping. How am I doing?” He turned that wicked smile on her and Alex was drowning in desire again.
Did Stockholm Syndrome happen this fast? Why did she want to trust this man? It was irrational and Alex was not irrational.
“Lousy. Get out of the car right now.” Alex poked at the temperature control to turn down the heater, but it was already off. Obviously Archibald’s car needed service.