pocket so they wouldn’t rattle, then backed up the stairs.
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“No. I swear.”
“What about the girl we saw? What does she know?”
“She’s, uh, upstairs. She looked at them, but that’s all,” Bo said.
Piper’s heart constricted. Why had Bo implicated her in this? She had at least two stolen credit cards in her apartment, and she wondered if they’d go there and search it.
“Get the computer.”
“Hey— Look. I’m erasing it. See? You don’t need to take that.”
“What the— Get that computer. Shut it off.”
Suddenly a hand clamped down on Piper’s mouth. Someone pulled back, hard. She waited for her neck to snap, wondered if she’d feel it. Her pulse thundered in her ears as he clamped tighter.
A gunshot echoed through the warehouse.
And before she could even grasp that Bo had been shot, that she was next, her captor put his mouth next to her ear, whispering, “I’d like for us to get out alive. So don’t make a sound.” He lowered his hand.
She was almost afraid to turn, but her would-be rescuer took her by the hand, pulled her to the kitchen area. She caught a glimpse of someone tall and broad-shouldered, in black clothing. “On the counter,” he whispered.
This didn’t make sense. She eyed him, and he pointed up. She looked, realized he was going to lift her into the rafters. Her gaze swung to the open window, and suddenly things started to make sense. And here she thought she was the cool thief. He’d climbed in the window, had hidden in the rafters, and had probably watched her when she’d walked upstairs to get the money.
He took her by the waist, lifted her onto the counter, followed, then hoisted her so that she could grasp on to the lower crossbeam in the rafters.
What she couldn’t do was pull herself up beyond hanging there with the beam beneath her armpits, and then she heard that voice from the office. “Look for the girl upstairs. I’ll look down here.”
“Right.”
Her rescuer was unfazed. He gave a hop, grasped the lower beam, pulled himself up, swung one leg over so that he was straddling it, reached down and pulled her up the rest of the way. And then, as if he did this all the time, he stood, held on to the rafter, and reached out to help her to her feet.
She looked down, her heart racing as she heard the heavy footfalls of someone on the stairs. A moment later, the gunman was there in the loft, a flashlight beam bouncing around as he searched the walls. She kept waiting for it to aim upward, reveal them, and she glanced at her rescuer, surprised to see a gun in his hand. Was he a cop? The two men who shot Bo obviously weren’t. Or if they were, they sure as hell weren’t on the side of the law.
What had Bo gotten into?
The gunman’s flashlight swung up and she gripped the wood tighter, certain he was going to shoot them, but then heard a soft click as he turned on the light in the main living area.
He shoved the flashlight in his pocket, and gun in one hand, he walked toward the kitchen. She glanced down, saw her reflection in the mirrored tray right beneath her where Bo’s wallet sat, and she prayed the intruder wouldn’t notice.
“Find anything?” the other called from below.
“Nope.”
“You see any computers up there?”
The man stopped, looked around. “Not a one. The window’s open. She musta gotten out that way.”
“Let’s go. We’ve spent enough time here.”
He moved to the window, looked out, then returned the way he came, shutting off the light before heading downstairs. She didn’t dare move, barely dared to breathe, until she heard the swoosh of the warehouse door as the intruders left.
Suddenly she felt sick, the adrenaline starting to flush from her system, and she barely had the strength to hang on to the rafter. She looked at the man standing in the shadows across from her, his gun still pointed toward the stairwell.
“Who are you?” she asked softly.
He held
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“No. I swear.”
“What about the girl we saw? What does she know?”
“She’s, uh, upstairs. She looked at them, but that’s all,” Bo said.
Piper’s heart constricted. Why had Bo implicated her in this? She had at least two stolen credit cards in her apartment, and she wondered if they’d go there and search it.
“Get the computer.”
“Hey— Look. I’m erasing it. See? You don’t need to take that.”
“What the— Get that computer. Shut it off.”
Suddenly a hand clamped down on Piper’s mouth. Someone pulled back, hard. She waited for her neck to snap, wondered if she’d feel it. Her pulse thundered in her ears as he clamped tighter.
A gunshot echoed through the warehouse.
And before she could even grasp that Bo had been shot, that she was next, her captor put his mouth next to her ear, whispering, “I’d like for us to get out alive. So don’t make a sound.” He lowered his hand.
She was almost afraid to turn, but her would-be rescuer took her by the hand, pulled her to the kitchen area. She caught a glimpse of someone tall and broad-shouldered, in black clothing. “On the counter,” he whispered.
This didn’t make sense. She eyed him, and he pointed up. She looked, realized he was going to lift her into the rafters. Her gaze swung to the open window, and suddenly things started to make sense. And here she thought she was the cool thief. He’d climbed in the window, had hidden in the rafters, and had probably watched her when she’d walked upstairs to get the money.
He took her by the waist, lifted her onto the counter, followed, then hoisted her so that she could grasp on to the lower crossbeam in the rafters.
What she couldn’t do was pull herself up beyond hanging there with the beam beneath her armpits, and then she heard that voice from the office. “Look for the girl upstairs. I’ll look down here.”
“Right.”
Her rescuer was unfazed. He gave a hop, grasped the lower beam, pulled himself up, swung one leg over so that he was straddling it, reached down and pulled her up the rest of the way. And then, as if he did this all the time, he stood, held on to the rafter, and reached out to help her to her feet.
She looked down, her heart racing as she heard the heavy footfalls of someone on the stairs. A moment later, the gunman was there in the loft, a flashlight beam bouncing around as he searched the walls. She kept waiting for it to aim upward, reveal them, and she glanced at her rescuer, surprised to see a gun in his hand. Was he a cop? The two men who shot Bo obviously weren’t. Or if they were, they sure as hell weren’t on the side of the law.
What had Bo gotten into?
The gunman’s flashlight swung up and she gripped the wood tighter, certain he was going to shoot them, but then heard a soft click as he turned on the light in the main living area.
He shoved the flashlight in his pocket, and gun in one hand, he walked toward the kitchen. She glanced down, saw her reflection in the mirrored tray right beneath her where Bo’s wallet sat, and she prayed the intruder wouldn’t notice.
“Find anything?” the other called from below.
“Nope.”
“You see any computers up there?”
The man stopped, looked around. “Not a one. The window’s open. She musta gotten out that way.”
“Let’s go. We’ve spent enough time here.”
He moved to the window, looked out, then returned the way he came, shutting off the light before heading downstairs. She didn’t dare move, barely dared to breathe, until she heard the swoosh of the warehouse door as the intruders left.
Suddenly she felt sick, the adrenaline starting to flush from her system, and she barely had the strength to hang on to the rafter. She looked at the man standing in the shadows across from her, his gun still pointed toward the stairwell.
“Who are you?” she asked softly.
He held
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