If Ingrid was in trouble, then it stood to reason that Lark and Adele faced the same peril. A whisper of dread slid through him.
There was no point going after Devoncourt. Vengeance could wait. He had to make sure Adele and the other women were safe.
"Hello, Malloryn," Balfour's voice said in his ear.
Malloryn froze, pressing his fingers to the earpiece in horror. "Balfour?"
The only way his nemesis could have gotten his hands on one of the communicators was to take down one of his agents.
But who?
"What the hell do you want?"
"Your lovely wife would like to say something to you," Balfour murmured.
"You're bluffing. You don't have Adele."
He'd gotten her clear of this entire mess, hadn't he?
Maybe it wasn't a communicator? Ava's transmitting device kept them on the airwaves, but there was no guarantee Balfour hadn't somehow manipulated the system. Perhaps he'd found the correct radio frequency— "Here, Adele. Tell your husband how much you love him."
"Auvry?" came a tremulous voice.
Her voice.
The bottom of his stomach dropped. What had happened? How had Balfour gotten his hands on her?
The seconds ticked out in time to his heartbeat.
"Hello, Adele," he managed to say. The last thing he needed to do was panic. He couldn't betray his feelings right now. He couldn't. "Are you all right?"
"He has a knife to my throat," Adele admitted, though he could hear the tremulous quiver in her voice.
"Where are you?"
Static whined in his ear.
And then Balfour was back. "I'm where it all ended last time."
"The throne room," he said, loudly and clearly, so anyone listening through Ava's communication device would hear him. "You're in the throne room."
"You have five minutes to find me, or I'll cut her throat."
Malloryn went cold.
He'd cut her throat anyway.
"If you hurt her in any way," his voice came out hard and cold, "then I will not simply kill you. I'll destroy you."
But he knew Balfour.
The bastard wouldn't hurt her until Malloryn was there to watch it happen.
"Tick, tock, Malloryn."
He had five minutes to rescue Adele.
Heat seared the air as Malloryn fought his way through gusts of fire.
Lark and the others had appeared just as he and Charlie cleared the stairs. He'd taken one look at Ingrid in Byrnes's arms and swallowed the hot lash of fury inside him. This was Balfour's doing. They'd done their best.
"Get out of here," he'd said curtly. "Get to the rooftop and evacuate."
And Ingrid must have been hurt badly, for Byrnes didn't bother to argue.
Lark and Charlie exchanged a slow look.
But they didn't follow him.
Smoke nearly stole his breath as he climbed the stairs once again, the intensity of the heat drying his lips and skin. His eyes stung. Only long-time familiarity with this place allowed him to make his way toward the throne room.
Balfour would be waiting for him there.
He knew it.
Shoving his way through the enormous double doors that led into the throne room, he found small respite from the updraft of smoke and flames that licked at the hollow core of the tower.
He wasn't alone.
Balfour turned to face him, his boots crunching on the broken glass that had fallen from the atrium roof. He had Adele's back against his chest, his knife held tight against her throat. Smoke poured up through the ceiling, leaving the room clear enough to see.
They stared at each other for a long moment, Malloryn's pistol trained on Balfour's head.
Then his gaze cut to Adele's, and it felt as though he lay splayed on an altar before Balfour, his chest cut open and his heart exposed for all the world to see. He'd never meant to let her in. He'd never meant to fall. But somehow, Adele had slipped beneath his guard when he least expected it.
It was like reliving the past; Catherine begging for him to leave, and Balfour turning the pistol from Malloryn's chest to hers.
This time it was Adele on the sacrificial altar.
Not her. Please not her. He'd only just started to realize how much he loved her.
"Hello, Malloryn."
"Let her go."
Balfour gave him a thin smile. "I don't think so. Put the pistol down."
The second he did, she was dead.
Malloryn's gaze focused through the sights of the pistol, narrowing between Balfour's eyebrows. Could he take the shot? All those years spent practicing for this moment, and suddenly he wondered if he was good enough.
Not to kill Balfour, but to save her.
"I'll kill her," Balfour warned, the knife tightening just enough to make Adele squeak. A thin trace of blood slid down her throat.
"You'll kill her anyway." He saw Catherine overlaid on the scene. Her face begging him to rescue her.... But when he blinked, all he could see was Adele, and she begged for nothing. She believed, her eyes shining as she stared at him with utmost trust. "It's what you do. Just to prove you can."
"Do it," Adele mouthed, and his hand stopped shaking as his resolve firmed.
"Adele." He focused on Balfour's forehead. "Do you remember what Gemma taught you?"
"Yes," she whispered, tensing.
"Good."
He took the shot.
The bullet ricocheted as Balfour jerked to the side. Adele drove her palm up into Balfour's wrist, jarring the knife from her throat and stomping on his heel. Balfour tried to jerk her back in place, but she flung herself to the side and Balfour was forced to dive for cover.
Malloryn strode forward, firing on Balfour with every step. Blood splashed on Balfour's shoulder, and then Malloryn clicked empty.
He flung the pistol aside and scrambled to where Adele lay clutching at her throat. Blood dripped between her fingers, and his heart hammered, but when he looked at the wound, it was superficial. Thank God. Relief burst through him.
"I'm fine," she gasped. "Go!"
"Get to the roof," he told her.
"Not without you."
"You don't understand." He didn't want to try and explain. Time was running out. The chance for either of them to escape this mess was rapidly narrowing. He could feel the building shuddering beneath his feet. The air was growing hotter, thicker.