“I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Ian.” It was no secret that Lara had to work harder than most Labyrinth operatives. Not because she was a woman, but because up until a few months ago, her father, Jonathon Mercer had been their boss. Now, he was the Vice President of the United States. “I don’t need you to pull this off.”
“Wanna bet?” Ian asked, hesitating, while he adjusted his own line, long enough to shoot her a sideways glance. “A small wager, just to make things interesting.”
“No wager. No nothing. Just get the hell away from me.” Haven’t you done enough? Her mind screamed the question.
“What’s the matter? Afraid?”
The taunt hit home, an arrow piercing the deepest part of her heart and feeding the rage at her own insecurities. Deftly, she attached a small portable winch to her cable and started tightening the gear. Within seconds, her line was taut. “First one in the building wins,” she said, her voice flat, businesslike. But the air between them crackled and this time it wasn’t the storm that created the electricity.
“Winner chooses the prize, Red?” His voice dipped into a slow, smoky burn that touched off a fire in her belly. Damn it. Only Ian MacAlister would consider seducing a woman dangling hundreds of feet above concrete.
“Yes,” she accepted, knowing she’d left herself no other option. It had been months since he’d last worked with her. In that time her skills had sharpened, her strength grown.
A sudden rush of adrenaline shimmied up her spine. Ian was in for the surprise. Lara replayed the mission points in her head. Already, her little interaction with him had cost her time.
It took a few seconds for Ian to secure his line. In those moments, she’d thought about taking a head start, but it wasn’t her way to cheat. She didn’t want to give him any reason to cry foul when she won.
“Ready, sweetheart?”
Lara’s nod was quick, decisive. “Go!”
Air blasted her face, hitting her with bits of ice and snow. Lara tuned it out along with the whine of Ian’s cable beside her. Instead, she focused on her point of contact a few yards ahead.
Without warning, his cable jerked then dropped. He grabbed for his harness lock, catching the mechanism a split second before he dived into a sudden free fall.
The line snapped. An insidious crack exploded against the steel and glass. In the back of her mind, she registered the fact that she had yelled his name into their transmitter. He slammed against the window, took the impact with his shoulder, absorbing the punch with a grunt.
“Damn it, Ian,” Lara bit out. “Hold on, I’m coming down.”
“Stay there. I’m okay.” A quick glance showed the end of his cable lashing through the air like a whip. “My line broke loose from the winch. If I use my suction cups, I should be able to minimize any more vibrations.”
“How hard did you hit the glass?”
“We’ll find out, won’t we?” They both knew he could’ve already set off the silent alarm. “Check the perimeter.”
“I am.” Lara tugged her mini computer out of her utility belt and scanned its screen. “So far we’re secure,” she advised, her tone flat but not convinced. “No hostile movement toward our position.”
Ian grabbed the suction cups from his utility belt. A combination of rubber-rimmed steel and polyurethane, the suction cups locked over hands and knees allowing an individual to scale any smooth surface within minutes.
“Hurry up, Ian.”
“I am—”
Ian dropped another floor. But this time when he grabbed for the rope, the suction cups fell to the street below. “Lara, my anchor slipped. I’m guessing my fall broke it free of the cement. It must have caught on the roof’s railing. If I’m right, the anchor’s not going to hold for long.”
Lara swore. “Just hang tight. I’m repositioning myself, then I’m going to cut my cable.”
“No! I’ll climb my line. I think I can make it before—”
Time took the luxury of rapelling out of the equation. Ignoring him, she unlocked her cinch and plunged into a free fall.
Seconds later, Ian dangled only a few feet away. “Take my hand!” she yelled.
He reached, grabbed. His anchor gave way. Lara braced her legs and absorbed the jerk of his fall.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” She ignored the painful burn in her shoulder and reached for her knife. Quickly she cut him loose from the damaged cable.
His upper body flexed, then strained with the reach. He clipped his harness to her line. “I need to get above you for better traction. Slide onto my back.”
She sheathed her knife. Using her free hand, she grabbed his shoulder and levered herself onto his back. Her fingers dug into his flesh, the firm muscles beneath soothing her fear.
In the distance, thunder rumbled and Lara froze recognizing the sound for what it was. “Chopper.”
“Get in front of me, Red.”
“No.” She was literally covering his back, and from his tightened muscles against her chest, he wasn’t pleased about it.
Ian swore. “That aerial’s coming in fast. You can bet that any ammo it shoots will be armor piercing and kill us both, whether you’re on my back or not. These bulletproof suits won’t protect us one bit.” Ian shifted, using one free hand to hike her higher on his hips. The whop, whop of a helicopter rose behind them. “On my shoulders! Now!”
Quickly, she hoisted herself up his back, knowing with each move, she left bruises. Sitting on his shoulders, she slid her harness up her rope, locked it in place above his harness, then braced her feet against the glass.
“Run!” Ian ordered before bumping her off her perch. Both sprinted using the rope tension to keep them perpendicular to the building.
Bullets strafed behind them, blowing out windows in their path.
“Jump!” he yelled.
The couple leaped in unison, the momentum creating a pendulum out of the rope, swinging them back behind the line of fire. Lara threw out one of her suction cups and anchored it above one of the blown-out windows.
Without words, he caught the edge of the sill. Muscles straining, he pulled himself up and in.
“He’s coming around again,” Lara shouted.
Ian hoisted her in next to him. She flopped, belly first to the floor.
Neither spoke. Shards of glass bit her hands. Ignoring it, she dived with Ian behind a huge oak desk. Bullets peppered the ground around them.
“Get ready.” Lara palmed her gun and waited. Soon the helicopter hovered in front of the blown-out window.
Ian grabbed a miniature rocket from his utility belt, attached it to his cable pistol and fired. The whine of the missile pierced the air, hanging only a brief moment before it hit.
The helicopter exploded in a rush of flame and heat. Fireworks of metal and sparks rocketed through the room.
“So much for the silent approach,” Ian yelled over the din, ignoring the spew of smoke already receding from the shattered window. “You okay?”
“Yes,” Lara answered. Alarms sounded—huge foghorns that blasted through, shaking the floor beneath them.
She scanned the room, ignoring the howling gusts of wind from the missing windows. Like most executive offices, the decor was no more than sterile layers of chrome, leather and glass. Double doors in