LITMIR.BIZ

      THE WALLS WERE CLOSING IN. Little Tasha pushed against the car seat that pinned her. But she couldn’t move. She tried not to think about the blood, or why her mama and daddy wouldn’t talk to her.

      A big boom shook the car. She shrieked. That one was louder than the first, the one that had smashed the front of the car.

      She saw a flash of light, and then another boom rumbled through her. She couldn’t see! Couldn’t breathe!

      Daddy!

      Natasha sat up, gasping for air.

      Her chest heaved as spasms racked her rigid muscles. Her mind crashed back into her body. She’d been dreaming. Again.

      Where was she? Not in the car where her parents had died. Not buried under mountains of debris in a burned-out building.

      She was inside Dylan Stryker’s secluded estate—in the windowless pitch-dark room. No wonder she’d dreamed of being trapped.

      Quiet and safe. Plenty of fresh air. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

      She kicked at the tangled sheets. She had to get out of there. She’d go sit under the skylight.

      As she stood up, she heard something. It sounded as if it was just outside her door. Silently, she slipped her Glock from under her pillow and slid out of bed, gliding silently along the wall, listening. As she neared the door, she saw the knob slowly turn. The door swung open a few inches, until a pale night-light from the hall sent a long shadow across the floor near the foot of her bed.

      Natasha flattened herself against the wall, her eyes glued to the hand on the knob. She braced herself, then grabbed the wrist with her left hand and yanked, aiming her weapon at the intruder’s neck.

      “Don’t move,” she hissed, her heart hammering.

      A deafening screech split the air. Natasha jerked and almost dropped her gun.

      Sirens.

      Shaking her head, gripping her gun until her hand ached, she shoved the intruder back through the door and against the wall of the hallway.

      A small, feminine grunt reached her ears, almost drowned out by the earsplitting screech.

      It was Charlene. Natasha flipped her around to face her, but she didn’t lower her gun. “What were you doing?”

      Charlene’s eyes were wide with panic. “The sirens. I knew you wouldn’t know what they were. The first time I heard them I nearly jumped out of my skin.” She laughed nervously.

      Natasha stared at the woman for a beat, and frowned. Had the sirens awoken her?

      Just then, Ben’s door opened. Dylan came out, his hair tousled and his trousers wrinkled. He was shirtless and barefoot. He clutched his polo shirt in one hand and his loafers in the other. His sleepy eyes were too bright, burning with azure fire.

      “Charlene, get in there with Ben. Natasha, go back to your room.” He dropped his shoes to the floor and slipped into them.

      Charlene scooted around Natasha, past Dylan and through the door to Ben’s room.

      “What’s happening?” Natasha yelled over the siren’s screech.

      Dylan glared at her. He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. She darted back inside her room for her gear. She grabbed her hiking boots, a black pullover and her leather fanny pack.

      As she stepped back into the hall, the sirens finally decreased in volume and faded.

      Dylan hadn’t bothered to wait for her. He’d already reached the end of the hall.

      She stuffed her weapon into the fanny pack along with her badge and the pass code generator, then hopped on one foot at a time as she pulled on her boots. She caught up to him when he paused to put on his shirt.

      His bare, shadowed shoulders rippled and gleamed in the low light as he tugged the polo shirt over his head.

      It was impossible to ignore the yearning that had taken root inside her when he’d appeared without his shirt—the yearning to touch his hot, smooth skin.

      She didn’t like the way he affected her. It was distracting—and dangerous.

      “What are those sirens?” she asked.

      He vaulted down the stairs. She was right behind him. “Security breach.”

      “Breach? Where?”

      “This way. The west side.” Dylan opened the exit door at the foot of the stairs. Campbell burst into the stairwell from the lab.

      “What are you doing still down here?” Dylan frowned at his bioengineer. Campbell looked as though he’d been in a tussle. His long hair was tangled and loose around his face. He pushed it back with hands that shook.

      “I was shutting down the computers when the sirens went off. Scared the crap out of me.”

      “It’s after four. I thought you were going to bed hours ago.”

      Dylan held the exit door for Campbell and Natasha. As she passed him, she met his gaze with a narrow, questioning look. Was she also wondering why Campbell looked as though he’d just crawled through a fence?

      “I lost track of time,” Campbell said. “Where’s the breach?”

      “Spotlights,” Natasha said, pointing west. She took off toward them at a jog.

      Dylan made sure the exit door was closed securely, and then he caught up with her. Campbell followed more slowly.

      Abruptly, the sirens stopped, leaving his ears ringing.

      Natasha’s long blond hair swung around her shoulders as she settled into a graceful loping stride. Her buttocks and legs were slender, but powerful. Dylan hung back, watching her for a moment before he sped up enough to match her pace.

      “Have you talked to Mintz?” she tossed over her shoulder.

      “Not yet. The sirens go off whenever any significant weight is put on the fence. Usually they only last a few seconds.”

      “How’d you know where it was?” She matched her speech pattern to her pace.

      Dylan ran alongside her, impressed that she wasn’t huffing. She was in damned good shape.

      “The sirens have a different repeat for each area.”

      “Run through them for me.”

      Dylan recited the litany. “And the front gate is a solid whine. It’s the most vulnerable, since it’s closest to the main house. I’ll have Alfred give you a sheet listing them all.”

      “That’s okay. I’ve got them. Thanks.” She glanced behind her. “Campbell works 24-7?”

      Dylan took a quick look back. “He’s almost as anxious as I am to get the interface perfected.”

      “I doubt that.”

      “He’s talented and loyal.”

      “Yeah? If you say so. Not in very good condition, though.” Dylan smiled, hearing Campbell’s labored breathing behind them. “Sitting in front of a computer all day will do that.”

      She sent him a sidelong glance, and then suddenly put out her arm and stopped him. “Hold it.”

      “What?” They were about fifty feet away from the fence.

      “Campbell, stop,” she tossed back over her shoulder as she unzipped her fanny pack and drew her weapon.

      “Natasha, there’s no reason to—”

      She gestured with her head. “Just wait here.”

      Dylan blew out an exasperated sigh. He saw Alfred on the other side of the fence, talking with two of his security guards and two men he didn’t recognize.

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