“Xander, listen. This is all a huge misunder—” she started, but he silenced her with a finger against her swollen lips.
“I know,” he assured her. “We’ll talk later.” The relief to have her standing in front of him, alive, was indescribable.
A moan made them both snap their heads toward Jones, who was struggling to push himself up on his elbows, and the moment of relief vanished.
Shoot the jerk. Shoot him now.
Xander flexed his fingers around the gun. This was his chance. Leila shifted behind him, her hand gripping his free one, her fingers ice-cold.
Jones coughed, then spit a tooth onto the floor. He would need a few seconds to get back on his feet. They could still get out of here before he knew which way they went.
Xander shook his head at the pathetic sight. Shooting the man like this would be cold-blooded. Xander wasn’t like Jones. Xander walked up to the agent and kicked him in the ribs. While Jones was still groaning, Xander pulled the man’s hands behind his back and slapped the handcuffs on his wrists. Then Xander pivoted on his heel and dragged Leila from the room. Each inhalation was like breathing fire as he bounded up the stairs, two at a time.
They reached the top within seconds. Xander stopped, making sure the hallway was empty before they started toward the door. They made it halfway down the corridor when footsteps pounded behind them.
“Harrison, stop!”
Robinson. Xander didn’t turn to look. He kept his focus on the door, his hand tight around Leila’s.
A gun went off and wooden splinters showered down around them. Xander whirled around, swinging Leila behind him.
“Go. Just go,” he hissed over his shoulder, releasing his grip on her wrist.
Her eyes widened in panic. “What about you?”
“Harrison,” Robinson panted. He stood in the center of the hallway, pointing his handgun at them. His hands remained amazingly steady despite the blood that stained his neck. “You’re making a mistake.”
Hawkins appeared behind him, her gun at her side, disappointment etched into her features.
“We’re on the same team,” Xander reminded them, taking a step back, pushing Leila toward the door.
“If you walk out that door,” Robinson said firmly, “you’re no longer on our side.”
“I’ll figure this out. I can’t…” Xander slowed to a stop. Robinson was right. He was no longer on their side. The moment they wouldn’t let him talk to Leila; the moment they decided it was okay for Jones to torture her had changed everything. They’d hurt her enough already and he wasn’t going to give her back. His eyes flicked around the hall, then landed on the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall.
“Did you see what he did to her?” he asked, his voice ragged. “How he burnt her?”
“Harrison, please. Not like this,” Hawkins said. A faint hint of sympathy shimmered in her eyes.
“Drop the gun.” Robinson took a step forward. Xander looked Robinson in the eyes, understanding the flash of rage he saw in them. Xander would probably feel the same if he were in his position.
“I said I’ll figure it out.” He gave Leila another push toward the door, aimed his gun at the fire extinguisher, and pulled the trigger.
With a blast, smoke and foam exploded in the hall, obscuring the two agents from view.
Xander whirled around and propelled Leila toward the door. Gunshots rang out behind them, bullets whizzing past their heads and hitting the walls. A cloud of smoke billowed at their sides as they burst through the door. More shots rang out behind them. Without looking back, they broke into a run and fled down the street.
CHAPTER 11
Leila ran. Gunshots cracked behind them as Xander overtook her, then suddenly darted to the left into a narrow alley. She followed, her heart pounding in her ears. Keeping her gaze on Xander’s back, she struggled to breathe evenly. Her side already stung, intensifying with each stride, but she pressed on. They zipped past an overflowing trash can, then turned right onto a residential street.
What on earth happened back there? The thought reverberated in her mind. She was still in shock that Xander was actually here. Where on earth had he come from? Had those people called him and asked him to be there? Her interrogator seemed to know him, in any case. Actually, all the agents seemed to know him.
Xander slowed to a jog, then stopped at the curb of the sidewalk and dropped to the ground.
Panting, Leila lingered beside him and switched between looking over her shoulder and watching him curiously. Should they be stopping? The gunshots had faded, and the street was quiet, but how much of a head start did they really have? Probably only seconds.
Xander tugged a brick loose from the curb and tossed it to the side. It rolled with a clatter. He slipped something from the hole and grasped it in his fist. Not bothering to replace the brick, he jumped to his feet, grabbed her hand, and they broke into another run.
Too out of breath to ask any questions, Leila sprinted beside him. He seemed to know where he was going, like he already had a plan.
Xander ran up to a motorbike parked on the side of the road. It was covered in dust and the seat was faded as if it had been sitting there for months. Without explanation, he swung one leg over the machine and stuck a key into the ignition. Leila climbed on behind him as, surprisingly, the engine sputtered to life.
Leila wrapped her arms around his firm waist, swearing to herself she would never let go. Not even when it was safe. He’d saved her yet again. How, she didn’t know, but she knew he had risked a lot to do it. The bike jerked forward, and she pressed her cheek against his back. With the warm wind whipping through her disheveled hair, their bodies dipped into each turn in unison.
The streets seemed normal—full of cars, scooters, and buses brimming with people going about their business. They weren’t safe by any means, and nagging thoughts began to surface in Leila’s mind. Now she wasn’t the one in trouble; they both were. What would happen to Xander if they got caught? Her stomach churned. She should have stopped him. She should have stayed. If only she hadn’t been so stubborn. She should have just told them what they wanted to hear, and she would deal with the Medjay later. Tears burned in her eyes, and she squeezed Xander a bit tighter.
As they sped down the street, passed the newly built Seoudi supermarket, and took the first exit in the traffic circle to get onto the highway, she realized where they were going.
This can’t be right. Why are we heading toward Saqqara? He couldn’t be thinking about going home, could he? No, he wouldn’t do that. That would be insane.
If escape was what he was after, they were going to have to go into hiding. Become desert nomads. Vanish into one of the bordering countries. Give up their careers and the life they’d worked so hard to build together. To what end?
They streaked down a road that followed the straight, stone-lined banks of a shimmering blue canal. Leila didn’t need to look at the speedometer to know they were way over the speed limit. Billboards and palm trees flashed by as they slipped between cars driving three abreast on the two-lane highway. Xander dodged clusters of people waiting to dash across, and the occasional donkey cart. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled off the highway and snaked the motorbike through the winding roads of Saqqara.
Leila bit her lip as Xander took a right turn onto her street. This wasn’t a good idea. Chances were that agents were already waiting for them at the apartment. A few houses down from the apartment building, he guided the motorcycle between two parked cars and cut the engine.
Xander must have lost his mind.
