Everything except Miller’s breathing and heart rate.
I feel him jerk under my hold, and I attempt to pull away but get nowhere. I can’t let go of him, not for anything, and I’m suddenly panicked by the potential difficulty of getting him out of the lift once it stops. ‘Miller?’ I whisper, low and calm. It’s a vain attempt to fool him into believing that I’m composed. I’m far from it. He doesn’t respond and I take another glimpse at the floor indicator.
‘Miller, we’re nearly out,’ I say, pushing into him to force him to step away until his back is at the doors. The judder of the lift when it stops makes me jump, and Miller lets out a weak whimper as he pushes against me. ‘Miller, we’re here.’ I struggle against his fierce resistance, hearing the doors begin to open. It’s only now I consider the possibility of them waiting for us on the other side of the doors, and panic flares, my body stiffening as the doors begin to open. What if they are? What will I do? What will they do? My breathing pattern changes, catching up with Miller’s as I peek over his shoulders, my feet beginning to ache from staying on my tiptoes.
The doors open fully, revealing nothing but an empty hallway, and I try to listen for any signs of life.
Nothing.
Pushing against Miller’s dead weight, I get nowhere in my urgent need to shift him. How will he be once we’re out of this box? I haven’t got time to coax him out of this lift, let alone the building.
‘Miller, please,’ I beg, swallowing down the lump of desperation in my throat. ‘The doors are open.’ He remains frozen, stuck to me, and tears of panic begin to overwhelm my eyes. ‘Miller,’ I whisper, my shaky voice tarnished with defeat. They’ll be on their way back down soon.
She’s holding him. A chime sounds and the doors begin to close again. I don’t have time to shout for Miller to get out. He seems to jump to life, the sound of the doors closing undoubtedly the cause, and his body flies back as if someone has launched him from a cannon. I hold my breath as I watch him. He’s drenched, his hair stuck to his head and his eyes wide with fear. And he’s still shaking.
Not knowing what else to do, I reach down to retrieve the bag and move to the threshold of the lift, all the while keeping my worried eyes on him as he looks around him, familiarising himself with his surroundings. And it’s like the shattered pieces of my world suddenly fuse, bringing hope crashing back into our reality, as the mask falls, wiping away every shred of fear, and Miller Hart is back.
He flicks empty eyes up and down my body, catching sight of the bag, and it’s gone from my grasp in the blink of an eye. Then my hand is claimed and I’m out of the lift just as quickly. He breaks into a run, forcing my little legs to sprint in order to keep up with him, and he glances back every few seconds to check on me and for anything behind us.
‘You okay?’ he asks, no signs of exertion showing.
I, however, have misplaced the adrenalin that was fuelling me. Maybe my conscience has registered Miller’s resurrection and wants to relieve me of the pressure to hold things together. I don’t know, but exhaustion is taking hold and my emotions are screaming for release. But not here. I can’t lose it here. I nod, keeping up my pace so I don’t hinder our escape. Showing mild concern on his perfect face, he throws the bag up to his shoulder as we near the fire exit and releases my hand, his body charging at full speed into the door. It crashes open loudly, and the daylight beyond attacks my eyes, making me wince.
‘Take my hand, Olivia,’ he demands urgently.
I seize it, allowing him to pull me down the fire escape and onto the side street. A car horn blares immediately, and I spot William’s driver holding the back door open. We dodge cars, trucks and taxis, most honking their horn in annoyance, as we weave through the busy London traffic, charging to William’s car.
‘In.’ He gives a curt nod to the driver and takes over his hold of the door as he barks his order at me and throws the bag in. I waste no time, flinging myself onto the back seat, Miller following behind. The driver is up front before I know it and screeching off down the road, his madcap driving skills alarming me. He’s an expert, dipping and weaving through the traffic with ease and coolness.