Primal Law (Alpha Pack #1)(3)

Heart in her throat, she considered her options-find a spot to hide and hope the guard moved on, or stroll nonchalantly from the room and try to fool him into thinking she had every right to be here. Play it cool, and then get lost.

A sinking feeling in her gut told her the second choice was out of the question, and that the cops were the least of her worries. Glancing around the lab, she zeroed in on the long worktable built on a solid base, the only object large enough to shield her from view. After switching off the light, she skirted the edge, moved to put the table between herself and the door, and crouched. Just in time.

The door swung open, the light flipping on again. The guard paused and she could picture him eyeing the area, trying to decide if anything appeared out of place. His boots scraped the floor as he moved inside a bit farther, and she huddled like a frightened rabbit in a hole, certain that any moment he'd decide to step around the table. Catch her there and call her boss, Dr. Gene Bowman. And if the pompous prick knew she was snooping, what was in her possession, and what she suspected . . .

Go away, please. Please. Her pulse hammered at the hollow of her throat and she was certain he could sense her fear. Smell it, sour and thick in the dank air.

Gradually, his steps retreated after he flipped the lights off again, and closed the door. Only when his tread faded down the corridor did she slump in relief, dragging a hand through her hair. Taking a few deep breaths, she stood, the temporary reprieve at an end. She still had to get out of the damned building unseen, though at almost midnight with nothing but a skeleton crew, the odds were slightly better.

Right. Keep telling yourself that.

Clutching her purse straps in a death grip, she eased toward the door. Turned the knob and slowly inched the weighty metal door open. A bit at a time, just enough to slip out and close it again. Her patience was rewarded with the tiniest squeak of hinges, but even that small noise sounded like a trumpet blast to her ears.

The corridor was clear. Of course it couldn't be dimly lit with lots of inky shadows to hide in, like in the movies. The tunnel-like space was as brightly lit as a football field at halftime, and if the guard came back, she was toast. At least the lack of cover meant no one could sneak up on her, either.

Walking fast, she forced herself not to break into a run. Just a few more yards and-

"Nooooo!"

She froze, heart thundering, eyes wide. "Jesus Christ," she whispered.

Straining her ears, she listened. Nothing. The faint wail of despair might've been her imagination-the product of nerves and too little sleep. For a crazy second, she felt compelled to turn around and search for the source. To find out once and for all whether the spirit that constantly begged for help at all hours of the day and night was real, or if she was out of her mind.

A door opened at the end of the corridor and a burly guard stepped into view. "Hey! What're you doing down here? I need to see some ID."

Kira turned and ran, ignoring the man's angry shout. Fast as her feet could carry her, scrambling to think of another way out, she hit the door at the far end and kept going. A service elevator loomed ahead, which she assumed was for deliveries, being located at the back of the building and away from the general staff.

And if it was for deliveries, it should open near the parking lot.

She punched the button, nearly frantic. The elevator doors slid open, but the guard wasn't far behind. Leaping inside, she hit the button marked L-oh, God, let it mean "Loading Zone"-then the one to close the doors, slapping it repeatedly.

The fat guard rounded the corner, belly jiggling, face red, hand on the butt of his gun. "Stop!" He drew the weapon, kept coming, one pudgy hand reaching out to catch the doors.

Too late. He missed, ruddy mug disappearing from view, and the box lurched, started upward. According to the panel the ride was only one level, but it seemed an eternity. Right now, the guard was probably on his radio calling for backup to stop her from getting away with . . . whatever it was she had in her purse.

And if her suspicions were correct, and she was apprehended? Bye-bye Kira, never to be heard from again.

The elevator stopped, and she held her breath as the doors opened. Nothing but dark, empty space greeted her and she hurried out, scanning the large area. It did, in fact, appear to be some sort of loading area, or garage. A couple of vans emblazoned with the NewLife Technology logo sat empty on the far left. Those were pretty much the contents of the cavernous space, save for a few discarded boxes.

Across the way, there were two big bay doors wide enough for just about any kind of truck to pull through, and to the right of those, a regular door with a lit EXIT sign above it. She took off, not caring how much noise she made. She had to get the hell out of there and to her car, now.

She pushed outside, into the night, the heat of June in Las Vegas hitting her like a slap. The still-soaring temperature, however, was the least of her worries. As she ran around the corner of the building toward the main employee parking lot, shouts sounded from just ahead and to her right.

"Shit!"

Two guards, including the burly one, burst from a different exit, clearly intending to cut her off. Her old Camry was just a few yards ahead, and she sprinted faster, fumbling with her key chain, pressing the button to unlock it. As she yanked open the driver's door, a series of loud pops rang out, pelting the side of her car.

"Oh, God!" Jumping inside, she slammed the door, tossed her purse onto the other seat, shoved the key in the ignition, and fired it up.