Under Fire. Carol Ericson
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need to leave.”
Still holding on to Dr. Whitman, Max plucked her phone from the floor and headed toward the stairwell again. He half prodded, half carried Dr. Whitman upstairs, and when they reached the door to the outside, he inched it open, pressing his eye to the crack.
The car he’d stolen waited in the darkness. He pushed open the door of the building and a blast of air peppered with sand needled his face. He ducked and put an arm around Dr. Whitman as he hustled her to the vehicle.
She hesitated when he opened the passenger door. The wind whipped her hair across her face, hiding her expression.
It was probably one of shock. Or was it fear? “Get in, Dr. Whitman. They’re here.”
This time she didn’t even ask for clarification. His words had her scrambling into the passenger seat.
He blew out a breath and lifted the bulletproof vest over his head. Would Simon have turned the gun on him after everything they’d gone through together? Sure he would’ve. That man in there who’d just committed mass murder bore no resemblance to the Simon he knew.
He threw the vest in the backseat and cranked on the engine. He floored the accelerator and went out the way he came in—through a downed chain-link fence.
He hit the desert highway and ten minutes later blew past the small town that served the needs of the lab. The lab didn’t have any needs now.
After several minutes of silence, Dr. Whitman cleared her throat. “Are we going to the police now? Calling the CIA?”
“Neither.”
Her fingers curled around the edge of the seat. “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“Home?” She blinked her long lashes. “Whose home?”
Without turning his head, he raised one eyebrow. “Your home. You have one, don’t you? I know you don’t live at the lab—at least not full-time.”
“Albuquerque. I live in Albuquerque.”
“I figured that. Once I drop you off, you’re free to call whomever you like.”
“But not now?”
“Not as long as I’m with you.”
She bolted upright and wedged her hands against the dashboard. “Why? Don’t you want to meet with the CIA? Your own agency? Tell them what happened back there?”
“What do you think happened back there?” He squinted into the blackness and hit his high beams.
“Simon Skinner lost it. He went on a murderous rampage and killed my coworkers, my friends.” She stifled a sob with the back of her hand.
She showed real grief, but was the shock feigned? Extending his arms, he gripped the steering wheel. “How much do you know about the work you do at the lab?”
“That’s a crazy question. It’s my workplace. I’ve been there for almost two years.”
“Your job is to treat and monitor a special set of patients, correct?”
“Since you’re one of those patients, you should know.” She dragged her fingers through her wavy, dark hair and clasped it at the nape of her neck.
One soft strand curled against her pale cheek. Whenever he’d seen her for appointments, her hair had been confined to a bun or ponytail. Now loosened and wild, it was as pretty as he’d imagined it would be.
“And the injections you gave us, the vitamin boost? Did you work on that formula?”
She jerked her head toward him and the rest of her curls tumbled across her shoulder. “No. Dr. Arnoff developed that before I arrived.”
“Did he tell you what was in it?”
“Of course he did. I wouldn’t inject my patients with some mystery substance.”
“Were you allowed to test it yourself? Did you work in that lab?”
“N-no.” She clasped her hands between her bouncing knees. “I wasn’t allowed in the lab.”
“Why not? You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
“I...I’m... The lab requires top secret clearance. I have secret clearance only, but Dr. Arnoff showed me the formula, showed me the tests.”
He slid a glance at her stiff frame and pale face. Was she still in shock over the events at the lab or was she lying?
“Now it’s your turn.”
His eyes locked onto hers in the darkness of the car. “What do you mean?”
“It’s your turn to answer my questions. What were you doing at the lab? You weren’t scheduled for another month or so. Why can’t we call the police or the CIA, or Prospero, the agency you work for?”
“Prospero?”
She flicked her fingers in the air. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Nobody ever told me the name of the covert ops agency we were supporting, but I heard whispers.”
“What other whispers did you hear?” A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“Wait a minute.” She smacked the dashboard with her palms. “I thought it was your turn to answer the questions. What were you doing there? Why can’t we call the police?”
“You should be glad I was there or Skinner would’ve gotten to you, too.”
Folding her arms across her stomach, she slumped in her seat, all signs of outrage gone. She made a squeaking noise like a mouse caught in a trap, and something like guilt needled the back of his neck.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease out the tension that had become his constant companion. “I was at the lab because I found out Skinner was going to be there. We can’t call the police for obvious reasons. I’m deep undercover. I don’t want to stand around and explain my presence to the cops.”
“And your own agency? Prospero?”
“Yeah, Prospero.” If Dr. Whitman wanted to believe he worked for Prospero, why disappoint her? The less she knew the better, and it sounded as if she didn’t know much—or she was a really good liar. “I’ll call them on my own. I wanted to get you out of there in case there was more danger on the way.”
“You seemed convinced there was.”
“We were in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night at a top secret location with a bunch of dead bodies. I didn’t think it was wise for either of us to stick around.”
She leaned her head against the window. “What should I do when I get home?”
He drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel. If Tempest and Dr. Arnoff had kept Dr. Whitman in the dark, she should be safe. Tempest would do the cleanup and probably resume operations elsewhere—with or without Dr. Ava Whitman.
“Once I drop you off and hit the road, you can call the police.” He frowned and squinted at the road. “Or do you have a different protocol to follow?”
She turned a pair of wide eyes on him. “For this situation? We had no protocol in place for an active shooter like that.”
Maybe the whole bunch of them out there, including Dr. Arnoff, were clueless. No, not Arnoff. He had to have known what was going on, even if he didn’t know the why.
“Then I guess it’s the cops.” Even though the local cops would never get to the whole truth. He pointed to the lights glowing up ahead. “We’re heading into the city. Can you give me directions to your place? Is there someone at home?”
She hadn’t touched her cell phone once since they escaped from the lab. Wouldn’t she want to notify her husband? Boyfriend? Family?
“I