“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t—” Heart pumping overtime, he cursed when he saw the problem. The concrete wall had come down on his left foot, pinning him beneath it.
Funny how wounds don’t hurt until you see them. True to form, the second he noticed, his foot began to throb.
“I’m trapped.”
“Oh, God.” Natalie’s eyes widened, but she didn’t waste time on small talk. “If I lift, can you try to wiggle out?”
He clenched his teeth. “No way you can lift this. Even if you could, my foot’s probably broken. I couldn’t go far.”
She shook her head. “No is not an option. I want you to try.”
Team-leader words. He pondered this for half a second before giving her a cursory nod. “Go for it. If you can manage to lift the pillar, I can certainly manage to move.”
Straining, she grabbed the concrete and gave it her best shot.
Nothing. Not even a minute bit of movement.
“Damn it all to hell.”
Natalie continued to strain, pushing at the concrete. “Stop,” he ordered. “You need to go. Save yourself.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Her fierceness surprised him. Where was the timid mouse he remembered?
“You have to. If you stay, they’ll kill us both.”
“If I go, they’ll kill you. That’s not acceptable.”
He put all his frustration into the look he gave her. “Listen to me—”
“No!” She threw herself against the concrete again. This time, he could swear the damn thing moved, even if only a fraction of an inch.
“Nat—”
“You’ve got to help me!” Eyes bright, she shoved again. Another infinitesimal movement.
Not enough.
“I can’t.”
“Do you want to die for real?” She shoved her face close to his, nose to nose. “Is that it?”
“No.” He ground out the word, surprised to realize he spoke the truth. Even the dark secret he’d been carrying since before he’d met her wasn’t enough to make him want to give up his life. Especially not since they were together again.
“Then help me!”
Pushing himself to a sitting position, he tried. Bracing his arms against the cement, he used every bit of his strength.
“Bingo.”
The gunfire came again, louder. Closer.
“One more time,” she urged. “You can do it.”
“Rah, rah, rah,” he muttered. Still, he was willing to try.
One more shove did the trick. Together, both their efforts succeeded in moving the concrete off his foot.
“Can you stand?”
“I don’t know.”
She held out her hand. “You have to. Come on.”
Grimacing, he ignored her outstretched fingers and tried to get up on his own.
Though already swollen, it seemed his foot would support him. For now.
Standing, he tried to flash a triumphant smile but ruined the effect the moment he attempted to put weight on his injured foot. Staggering, he nearly fell.
With a loud sigh, she grabbed him. “We don’t have time for this.” Arm around his waist, she half pushed, half lifted, and helped him back to his feet.
“Come on.” Heading toward what had been the back of the alley, she helped him over chunks of cement, twisted metal and smoldering hot spots.
Dust choked him—them—but still she pushed on. He found himself admiring her determination.
“The explosion blew a hole in the backs of both neighboring buildings. The whole area could tumble down like a stack of cards. I’m hoping they don’t know it yet.”
Jaw clenched, Sean nodded. Sweat ran down his face and his foot hurt so badly he was half-afraid he might pass out.
Couldn’t do that. Had to keep Natalie safe.
Or was it the other way around?
His field of vision narrowed, then went gray. Blinking furiously, he tried to keep his focus, fought to keep putting his uninjured foot in front of the other. He knew his wife’s slender shoulders couldn’t support his full weight.
The effort had him panting.
“Easy now.” Nothing but cool satisfaction rang in her voice as she helped him over a large piece of concrete. She didn’t, he noted sourly, even sound winded.
Away from the alley, the smoke-clouded air felt a fraction better. Cleaner. He tried to take a deep gulp and choked.
“Hurry,” she whispered, trying to pull him forward. “We’ve got to move faster or they’ll catch us.”
He was doing the best he could, but she didn’t need to know the extent of his weakness. Pushing himself, he struggled to lengthen his shaky stride and to keep from muttering curses each time he came down on his injured foot.
Natalie led him down a twisted alley, turning left then right and left again—so many different directions that he lost track of them. Finally, they arrived at the back of a pipe shop housed in an ancient stone building.
“In here. Auggie’s one of my contacts. He’s also a friend. He’ll help us.”
Her friend? Since when did contacts become friends? Allowing connections to become personal could be dangerous. That was one of the first things Corbett had taught Sean when he’d begun training many years ago. Natalie should know that—she’d had intensive training when she went to work with SIS.
Sean had actually opened his mouth to caution her when he realized he had no right. She didn’t even consider him her husband anymore. After all, as far as she knew, he’d been dead for the last two years. By choice.
The back door was unlocked. Moving carefully, Natalie let herself in.
Sweating profusely, Sean leaned against the wall, drawing ragged breaths, trying to stay conscious.
“Are you coming?” she asked. If he detected a trace of impatience in her voice, it vanished when he raised his head and she got a good look at his face.
He must look even worse than he felt.
“God, Sean. You need a doctor.” Slipping her arm around him once again, she helped him up the steps and into the back of the shop. Once he was inside, she closed and locked the door behind her.
“There. We should be safe for a bit.”
A moment later, a bearded giant of a man came around the corner. He lifted one bushy brow when he saw Sean.
“Auggie!” Smiling, Natalie hugged him, her arm barely able to circle his neck. “This is Sean. He, uh, does the same line of work I do.”
For some reason, the fact she didn’t name him as her husband rankled.
“I’m her husband,” he said, holding out his hand.
As Auggie’s huge paw engulfed Sean’s, Natalie crossed her arms. “He’s not my husband,” she told the giant man. Then, letting her gaze drift over to Sean, she gave him a hard look. “Not anymore, you’re not. You’re dead.”
“Come on, Nat. I’m not dead.” His protest sounded weak, he knew, but it was difficult to talk