In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2)

Which meant a long-ass hike up twenty-three flights of stairs. She knew Beau was skeptical that she was physically capable of accomplishing such a feat, not because he didn’t believe her strong or in shape, but simply because the events of the last couple of days, the multiple psychic bleeds and bouts of debilitating headaches had taken their toll.

She wasn’t sure she was up to the task, but she was determined to push past any pain or exhaustion and in no way slow them down. She knew it was imperative that they got in and out as quickly as possible, avoiding detection. Ideally they wanted to slip in unnoticed and avoid any potential confrontation. The idea of them engaging the enemy and one of them—any of them, even the men she hadn’t met—getting hurt or killed made her sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to be responsible for yet more blood and violence. She’d had enough to last a lifetime, and if she never had to face it again, it would be too soon.

They’d all worn dark clothing, blending seamlessly into the night as they moved stealthily to the fire escape behind the building and the entrance to the stairs.

Dane issued a series of hand signals she didn’t understand, but evidently his men did. And he must have stationed two men at the back entrance to stand guard and watch for any potential danger because the two men melted away into the darkness, rifles up, handguns at their side.

Dane posted another man at the door leading from the stairwell into the building. He locked it, preventing anyone from entering from the inside, but then took up a post to the side that the door opened up to so he would be obscured and would have the element of surprise.

Ari hadn’t been nervous before. She was too excited over the possibility of Ramie being able to locate her parents. She had utter confidence in Ramie and her abilities. But now, as they rapidly ascended the stairs on soft feet, no sound emanating from the specialized military-issue boots that were specifically designed to be soundless, as Beau had explained when he’d laced up the pair he’d slid onto Ari’s feet, her nerves began to make themselves known.

Unease skittered up her spine, wrapping around her chest, constricting and squeezing until her heart began to race under the restraint. She inhaled silently through her nose, sucking in deep, silent breaths and letting them out the same way so she risked no sound of her fear escaping her mouth.

She was protectively positioned between Zack in front and Beau behind her with Dane leading the way and Eliza taking position behind Beau, bringing up the rear. The operatives that had taken the other vehicle had been strategically positioned at various points, every angle carefully considered from the eyes of someone wanting to penetrate and gain access to the group.

She knew they would have no care for the men risking their lives to protect her. Their sole focus was her. An incessant prayer quickly became a mental chant, repeating in an endless cycle in her mind, as she pleaded with God to protect them all. To side with good so they prevailed over evil.

She prayed that they would be successful and would return—every one of them, not a single man sacrificed in their bid to aid her—safe and sound, that they’d encounter no resistance so they could get back to Ramie with haste so that she could attempt a miracle.

Her fingers curled into determined fists as they reached the eighteenth floor and she felt the first sign of fatigue and the beginnings of a burning sensation on the stitched wound on her side. Her ribs, which until now had not given her a single twinge of discomfort after the second day of taking it easy, suddenly made it known that they were in fact bruised and tender and that she was working them way too hard.

She would not slow them down. She would not be the reason for any delay. A delay that could prove fatal.

Gritting her teeth and mentally blocking the pain, she increased her pace, keeping her head bent so no one would be able to see her fatigue and distress. Thank God no one present was psychic and could pick up her thoughts or she’d be totally busted, though Beau did have an uncanny way of picking up on her slightest discomfort or worry.

Shit. The warm slide of blood registered but before she could hurriedly wipe it away with the back of her sleeve—thank God it was black—it dripped onto the step below her in a large circle. Worse, it dribbled in a line to the next step. She hastily wiped the blood and then used her cuff to do a more thorough clean so she didn’t miss a spot.

She should have known that Beau wouldn’t miss it. For once, could he just not be so damn observant? He should be focused on their objective. Not her.