Under Fire. Carol Ericson

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       Chapter Three

      Simon was back—in stereo. Ava caught a glimpse of two men with guns pointed at her for a split second before Max snatched her from behind, lifting her off her feet and jerking her to the side.

      At the same instant, she heard a pop and squeezed her eyes closed. If the men had shot Max, she was finished.

      An acrid smell invaded her nostrils and she opened her lids—and regretted it immediately. The black smoke pouring from her front door stung her eyes and burned her throat.

      “Hold your breath. Close your eyes.” Max lifted her and tucked her under one arm as if she were a rag doll.

      She felt like a rag doll. The jolt of fear that had spiked her body when she saw the gunmen had dissipated into a curious out-of-body sensation. A creeping lethargy had invaded her limbs, which now dangled uselessly, occasionally banging against Max’s body.

      If she was lethargic, Max was anything but. His body felt like a well-oiled machine as he sprinted for the car, still clutching her under one arm. He loaded her into the front seat and seconds later the car lurched forward with a shrill squeal.

      “Get your seat belt on.”

      Her hand dropped to the side of the seat, but her fingers wouldn’t obey the commands of her fuzzy brain. At the next sharp turn, she fell to the side, her head bumping against the window.

      A vise cinched her wrist. “Snap out of it, Ava! I need you.”

      How had Max known that those three little words amounted to a rallying cry for the former Dr. Ava Whitman?

      She rubbed her stinging eyes. She sniffled and dragged a hand beneath her nose. She coughed. She grabbed her seat belt and snapped it into place.

      Without taking his eyes from the road, Max asked, “You okay?”

      She ran her hands down her arms as if wondering for the first time if she’d been shot. “I’m fine. Did they shoot at us? How did they miss...unless...?”

      “I’m okay. They didn’t get a shot off.”

      “I thought— What was all that smoke? The noise?”

      “I was able to toss an exploding device at them before they could react. I don’t think they were expecting you to have company.”

      “Let me get this straight.” She covered her still-sensitive eyes with one hand. “Two men had guns pointed at us when we walked through the door and you were able to pull me out of harm’s way and throw some smoke bomb into the house at the same time?”

      “I had the advantage of surprise.”

      Her hand dropped to her throat. “Did you know someone would be there waiting? Because I was sure surprised to see them standing there.”

      “Let’s just say I had a premonition.”

      She shook her head. “Superhuman.”

      Max jerked the steering wheel and the car veered to the right. “Why’d you say that?”

      She tilted her head. Why the defensiveness?

      “When I saw those guns, I thought we were both dead. Somehow you got us out of there alive. Did I ever thank you? Did I ever thank you for what you did at the lab?”

      “Not necessary.” He flexed his fingers.

      “Are you going to tell me what those men were doing at my house? Are they with Simon? Did they come to finish the job he started?”

      She held her breath. If she had a bunch of covert ops agents after her, what was her percentage of survival? Especially once Max Duvall left her side, and he would leave her side—they always did.

      “I’m not sure, Ava.”

      The name sounded tentative on his lips for a man so sure of himself. Agent Max Duvall had always been her favorite patient and it had nothing to do with his dark good looks or his killer body—they all had those killer bodies.

      Most of the agents were hard, unfriendly. Some wouldn’t even reveal their names. Max always had a smile for her. Always asked about her welfare, made small talk. She looked forward to the quarterly visits by Max—and Simon.

      Smashing a fist against her lips, she swallowed a sob. Simon had been friendly, too. He’d even admitted to her that he was engaged, although such personal communications from the agents were verboten. Where was Simon’s fiancée now?

      Did Max have a wife or a girlfriend sitting at home worried about him, too?

      “Are you sure you’re okay?”

      She blinked and met Max’s gaze. They were back on the desolate highway through the desert, and Max’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. A trickle of fear dripped down her back. Maybe those men back at her house were there to save her from Max. Maybe Max and Simon were in league together.

      “Are you afraid of me?” His low, soft voice floated toward her in the cramped space of the car.

      “N-no.” She pinned her aching shoulders back against the seat. “No, I’m not. You saved my life—twice. I’m just confused. I have crazy thoughts running through my head. Do you blame me?”

      “Not at all.”

      “If you could tell me what’s going on, I’d feel better—as much as I can after tonight’s events. I deserve to know. Someone, something is out to extinguish my life. I need to know who or what so I can protect myself.”

      “I’ll protect you.”

      “From what? For how long?” Her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his thigh. “You have to give me more, Max. You can’t keep me in the dark and expect me to trust you. I can’t trust like that—not anymore.”

      Tears blurred her vision, and she covered her face with her hands. Hadn’t he just told her to snap out of it? If she wanted to prove that she deserved the hard truth, she’d have to buck up and quit with the waterworks.

      “You’re right, Ava, but I have a problem with trust, too. I don’t have any.”

      “You don’t think you can trust me?” Her voice squeaked on the last syllable.