Chapter 99

 

 

“I need the best electronic door hack you can tap, and in twenty, Jack.”

Jack shot toward Nash as he stepped on the lower floor, alarm evident in his eyes. They could hear Calla’s moans.

“Jack? Nash?” she called.

Jack tapped away on his phone and keyed in three digits. The elevator continued its descent.

“I can’t stop it, Nash.”

“How long has she got?”

“Fifteen.”

“Cal!” Nash called.

No answer.

 

 

 

 

The steel box continued its rapid slide.

“Jack. Give me light!” Calla called.

“Give her some light down there,” Nash said.

Jack glared at Nash, a helpless streak crossing his face. They forced open the elevator doors as the lift made its descent above them.

Nash took hold of his phone, and switched on the flashlight. He leaned into the shaft for a split second and tossed it down the length of the shaft. “Cal, I’m sending you light.”

She read his intention and glanced up as the phone slid faster than the shaft, flooding a streak of light in its wake. She calculated and edged as far back against the wall as she could.

There wasn’t much room but it was worth a shot. She waited till the elevator was a foot overhead and closed her eyes. She drew in strength from deep inside her genes, her every muscle coming alive.

She lay flat on the floor her eyes fixed on the boxed structure as it flew at her.

With knees bent midair, she waited then thrust her bare feet upward until the bottom of the elevator smashed into her, swallowing her frame.

The crashing metal was more than she could bare, as she endured the thrashing and twisting of wire. She dodged a sharp jutting rod as shards failed to penetrate her skin.

Then as soon as it began it stopped.

 

She took a deep, grateful breath. Calla crawled into the elevator’s tusk of twisted steel and iron. Nash and Jack threw themselves over the elevator’s level floor opening and Calla rose, blood dripping from a small scar on her forehead. The men reached for her and hoisted her onto the floor beside them.

She collapsed on the carpet and was silent for several seconds. “Looks like you were right, Nash?”

His brows drew together. “Right?”

“You said one hour and I said two. You were right.”

His hand covered hers possessively. “Did I?”

“You predicted this dress wouldn’t stay in place for more than one hour. So much for vintage.”

He tossed her a cocky smirk.

“We don’t have the briefcase,” Jack said.

Calla cast them a lazy smile. “Don’t always blame the dress. This time, I think my wardrobe came in handy.”

She reached for her thigh. “This little guy is all we need,” she said, cradling an electronic data chip. “You have great taste in clothes, Nash, and practical. I removed this from miss thing’s briefcase. It’s the case’s braincell and motherboard. And it fits perfectly in a Dior vintage corset. And,” Calla said, tossing a briefcase on the floor, “I think our hostess tonight won’t miss this piece of luggage I swiped from a descending elevator.”

Calla pulled at a torn piece of her dress that she’d laced through Alex’s case handle.