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He runs us out the back door, scanning the area and rooflines as he navigates us through a small back lot and past a stinking dumpster.
I gag, the reek of grease and rotting meat catches in my throat and churns the half-digested boxty and Merlot sloshing around in my belly.
At the end of the alley, we are blocked by a chain-link fence about six feet high.
Dead end.
I spin to look back the way we came, terrified I’ll find Irish goons racing after us.
Thankfully, there are none.
“Up and over, luv.” Tag’s voice is quiet and controlled, yet laced with so much menace it sends a chill up my spine. “Now would be good.”
I peg him with a look. “You’re insane.”
“Feckin’ hell! I left my men to get you away from the trigger-happy, blood-thirsty arseholes that will come for us, and you’re fighting me? It’s not me that’s gone screwy.”
My fight-or-flight response is raging inside me, and fighting is getting me nowhere. I push down the terror in my guts and switch tactics. “Fine, but you’ll have to let go of me so I can climb.”
I try not to make it obvious that getting free from him is currently higher on my list than avoiding the blood-thirsty arseholes he mentioned.
His gaze narrows on me but then he spins me to face the fence, grabs me by my hips, and dead lifts me two feet into the air. From there, all I have to do is grab the top rail and, with a few quick toes in the chain link, I’ve got my leg thrown over and I’m dropping on the other side.
He’s only getting started his climb, so I have a split-second to decide…
There’s no decision to make.
The moment my rubber soles hit the asphalt, I’m gone. I sprint away from the dead-end alley with my survival instincts and adrenaline fueling every step forward.
The darkened streets loom ahead like a labyrinth of shadows and uncertainty.
Which way is the Gilford?
I have to get away from this and find a cop or someone who can help me.
There’s no time to pause, to catch my breath, or to get my bearings. In the middle of the city, I can’t tell east from west and though I turned right at the church to come down to the pub?—
Wait! The church!
Finding the spires in the distance, I run into the street and race back toward my hotel. I run as fast and as far as I can, sticking to the shadows at the side of the road until a stitch grips my side and I need to slow down.
A quick glance over my shoulder gives me hope.
Did I lose him?
With men actively gunning him down, he’s got bigger worries than me. I swipe at the hair sticking to my face with sweat and rain and slip into a shadowed doorway to catch my breath before running the rest of the way to my hotel.
If I survive this, I’m definitely going to hit the treadmill more often.
I’ve barely sucked in a breath of damp night air when he’s on me like a stupidly sexy stalker. I lurch to break free, but he expects my reaction and forces me into the dark confines of the doorway.
I twist and fight, but he’s fit and unbelievably strong. In two quick moves, I’m pinned, with both of my arms secured at my shoulders and his chest pressed against mine.
“Ah…luv, don’t be like that.”
“Get off me!” I shout.
I bring up my knee to go for gold, but he shifts to avoid the hit. I connect with the solid muscle of his thigh and though it doesn’t faze him, I get one hand free. His reflexes are crazy fast, and he fends off my blows without effort.
