“No!” he shouted in frustration.
Heart pounding, he went still and forced himself to calm down. The fuzziness in his head from being knocked unconscious slowly abated. His mind cleared. With his free hand, Chase felt around for the gun and phones, but they were gone. Cursing, he grappled for the lock-picking kit. It was the one thing the gunmen hadn’t found.
He tugged the small kit from his pocket and went to work on the handcuff. Since his right hand was cuffed, he had to work left-handed. His vision had adjusted to the darkness, but Chase couldn’t see well enough and had to feel his way through the process.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his back as he worked. All the while he tried not to imagine what the two gunmen would do to Lily when they found her.
We’re going to hurt her. She’s going to die a slow, painful death. So is that baby of yours. All because of you.
“Please, God, let her be all right,” he whispered as he frantically worked to pick the lock.
A curse flew from his lips when his first attempt failed. His hands shook so violently he was screwing it up. Easy does it, whispered a small, calm part of his mind.
Closing his eyes briefly, Chase put Lily and all the terrible things that could happen to her out of his mind and focused on the lock. His heart rate slowed. His breathing evened out. His hands steadied.
Two minutes later the cuff clicked open. Chase’s first instinct was to run directly to Lily and stop the men before they did something horrendous and irrevocable. But training and experience warned him rash actions would do nothing but get him shot.
Working frantically, he picked the other locked cuff and stuffed it into the pocket of his slacks. In the semidarkness, he searched the floor for anything that might have been left behind—a gun or phone—but he found nothing.
He needed a plan. He needed a weapon. A mode of communication with the outside world. The two gunmen could very well already have Lily in custody. There was no way he could rush in unarmed and get both of them out alive.
In his years with the military and with Eclipse, he’d found himself in worse situations. Still, this was different. This was personal. He’d never had to save the life of a woman he’d once loved, a woman he still cared for deeply. The woman who carried his child.
Chase took the steps two at a time to the top. Checking the small window in the door that led to the main hall, he slowly pushed it open and stepped out. Here the light was better. He started down the hall, trying each door he passed.
The first two doors were locked. The third read Security. Chase didn’t hesitate. Taking a deep breath, he shoved open the door.
An older man in a blue uniform sat at a desk. Four darkened monitors lined the wall ahead. He gave Chase a cop look when he walked in. “Can I help you?” he asked in a strong Boston accent.
“I want to report a crime.” Putting his face in his hands, Chase moved closer to the desk.
“Calm down,” the security guard said. “Tell me what happened.”
With his face still in his hands, Chase collapsed into the chair and scooted closer. “They took my girlfriend. At gunpoint.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” He inched closer. Almost there…
“They kidnapped her? At gunpoint?” The man reached for the radio. “Where did this happen?”
The instant the man turned away, Chase lunged and went for the gun. Eyes wide, gripping the radio like a weapon, the security officer tried to scramble back. “What the—”
A jab to the solar plexus silenced him. When the man doubled over, Chase followed up with a chop to the base of his skull. The man sprawled on the floor.
“Sorry, old man.” Glancing around, feeling the seconds tick by, Chase stuffed the gun into his waistband. He lifted an expandable baton from the man’s belt, along with a flashlight and a cell phone. Pulling the cuffs from his own pocket, he snapped them onto the man’s wrists. He found masking tape on the desk and peeled off enough to cover the man’s mouth. Spotting a small supply closet at the back of the room, he dragged the man into it and locked the door.
Chase spent another minute searching the small office for anything he might be able to use. A locked cabinet snagged his attention. Safety-conscious law-enforcement types always kept the good stuff under lock and key. He quickly picked the lock, yanked open the cabinet. The cache of small arms and various riot gear didn’t amount to much, but they would do in a pinch.
Armed with the .38 revolver, a concussion grenade, a canister of tear gas, and the resolve of a man facing his worst nightmare, he went in search of Lily.
Chapter Six
They were going to kill her.