He heard them, too. His body tensed. “Get on the bike!”
She’d just broken the no-hesitation rule of his again. Tina jumped on the motorcycle just as someone threw open the door to the garage.
“What the hell?” the guy in the doorway demanded. “Stone?”
Drew revved the motorcycle’s engine. Because of their linked hands, Tina had to stretch her arm out next to his and had to press her body intimately close.
“Hold on,” Drew told her.
She already was. For dear life.
The bike leaped forward, heading straight for the man in the doorway. Tina clamped her lips together so that she wouldn’t scream.
After all, there was no need for her to scream. The man in the doorway was doing plenty of screaming.
Then that man was diving out of the way. Drew drove the motorcycle right through the door and out into the night.
Wind whipped against Tina’s body, her hair flying behind her and— Oh, no, she realized that she’d dropped the gun.
Not exactly the pro move of an agent.
But then, she wasn’t an agent, and she needed both hands to hold tight to Drew because he wasn’t heading for some nice, paved road.
He was heading straight for a fence. One that had barbed wire at the top.
“Uh, Drew...”
“Don’t worry, Doc. I got this.”
At least, that was what she thought he said. It was hard to tell for certain over the roar of the bike. They were going faster and faster and— Was that a ramp? No, no, that was just boards, propped up against the fence. He couldn’t possibly ride up on those—
He could.
He did.
They hurtled over the fence, clearing the barbed wire with inches to spare, even as voices shouted behind them.
When the bike touched down, Tina nearly flew right off the cracked seat. Luckily, the handcuff—and her death grip on Drew—had her jerking right back down.
The motorcycle’s wheels spun. Dirt flew in the air. But Drew righted the bike before they could crash.
They hurtled forward once more.
Bullets thudded into the ground behind them.
Drew didn’t stop. He gunned the engine and they raced off into the night.
Tina clung tightly to him. Breathe. Just breathe. The nightmare had to end—sooner or later.
* * *
“WE HAVE A PROBLEM.”
Dylan Foxx glanced up at those quiet words. Rachel Mancini stood just inside the doorway of the small office. Her dark hair fell in a perfect, straight line to her chin. Her eyes—a bright blue that always seemed to look through him—reflected worry.
Rachel didn’t worry often. There wasn’t much that could make the ex-Marine worry.
“Another one?” Dylan muttered as he yanked a hand through his hair. He’d just finished a second phone call with Bruce Mercer. The big boss was furious and demanding action.