Chapter 8 - Five Seconds Again
Ruth kicked hard.
Her heel connected with bone.
A man cursed in the darkness, but his grip tightened around her ankle and dragged her behind the stage curtain.
The ballroom had become a storm of screams, running feet, and shattered glass. Emergency lights flashed red along the walls. Ruth clawed at the floor, catching splinters beneath her nails.
Then she remembered the flashlight.
Not the one from her apartment.
The small medical penlight in her dress pocket.
She twisted, yanked it free, and shone it into her attacker’s face.
Milo Grant.
Red crown tattoo at his wrist.
His eyes narrowed.
“You should have stayed under the table.”
Ruth slammed the penlight into his eye.
He roared.
She scrambled away, but he grabbed the back of her dress and hauled her against him. His arm locked around her throat.
Ruth could not breathe.
Panic flashed white.
No.
She had taught patients how to survive panic.
She would not die inside it.
She dropped her weight, drove her elbow backward, and felt him grunt.
Not enough.
His grip tightened.
“You made a powerful enemy,” Milo hissed.
Ruth rasped, “I make those easily.”
Then she pressed the panic button beneath her sleeve.
Once.
Twice.
Held.
Milo saw the movement and tore it away, but it was too late.
Somewhere, Damon had been alerted.
Ruth only needed five seconds.
Again.
She stopped fighting wildly and went limp.
Milo adjusted instinctively, shifting his grip to hold dead weight.
In that fraction of loosened pressure, Ruth turned her chin, bit his forearm hard enough to taste blood, and drove her knee backward.
He released her with a curse.
Ruth ran.
She burst through a side corridor and nearly collided with Sienna.
“Ruth!”
“Move!”
They ran together, heels slipping on polished floors.
Behind them, Milo recovered fast.
Too fast.
Sienna grabbed Ruth’s hand and pulled her through a staff door.
“This way!”
They entered a service stairwell.
Sienna slammed the door and dragged a mop bucket in front of it as if that would stop a killer.
Ruth was already looking for exits.
“Up or down?” Sienna asked.
“Down goes outside?”
“Parking garage.”
“Bad. Up?”
“Roof.”
“Also bad.”
The door handle rattled.
Sienna’s face went white.
Ruth spotted a fire hose cabinet. She opened it, grabbed the metal nozzle, and wrapped the hose around the stair rail.
“What are you doing?”
“Improvising.”
The door burst open.
Milo charged in.
Ruth swung the metal nozzle with both hands.
It cracked against his shoulder. He staggered but did not fall.
Sienna screamed.
Milo lunged.
Ruth ducked, but his hand caught her hair. Pain exploded across her scalp. He yanked her backward.
Then the stairwell door below opened.
Damon Crane looked up.
There are faces people wear in public and faces they carry in the dark.
Ruth saw Damon’s dark face then.
Not cold.
Not controlled.
Terrifyingly alive.
Milo pressed something sharp against Ruth’s side.
“Stop,” he shouted.
Damon stopped.
So did Marcus behind him.
Ruth felt Milo’s breathing hot against her ear.
“Let me walk out,” Milo said, “or she dies.”
Damon’s eyes moved to Ruth.
For half a heartbeat, the entire world narrowed to the space between them.
Ruth saw calculation.
Fear.
Fury.
And something else he had no right to feel so soon.
“Ruth,” Damon said quietly.
She knew what he was asking.
Could she move?
Could she drop?
Could she trust him?
Milo tightened his grip. “I said let me walk.”
Ruth looked at Damon and did the smallest thing.
She blinked once.
Then she drove her heel down onto Milo’s instep and dropped.
Damon moved.
Not like a wounded man.
Like a storm given shape.
Marcus fired one clean shot into Milo’s weapon hand. The blade clattered down. Damon reached them before Milo could recover, slamming him into the wall with his good arm.
Milo fell to his knees.
Ruth scrambled back, gasping.
Sienna dropped beside her. “Are you okay?”
Ruth touched her throat and nodded, though she was not.
Damon stood over Milo, breathing hard.
Milo laughed through blood. “Vale isn’t finished.”
Damon crouched slowly.
“No,” he said. “But you are.”
Ruth grabbed Damon’s sleeve.
He looked at her.
The stairwell held its breath.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
Damon’s jaw flexed.
Milo smiled, sensing weakness.
Ruth’s grip tightened. “Don’t become him in front of me.”
For several seconds, Damon did not move.
Then he stood.
“Marcus,” he said. “Federal custody. Alive.”
Marcus nodded.
Milo’s smile vanished.
Damon turned away from him and knelt in front of Ruth.
His hand hovered near her face but did not touch.
“May I?”
The question nearly broke her.
She nodded.
Damon touched her cheek gently, as if she were made of something more precious than power.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
“So are you.”
His shoulder stitches had torn. Red spread beneath his coat.
Ruth almost laughed. “You are the worst patient I’ve ever had.”
“I’ve been told I’m difficult.”
“By everyone?”
“Mostly.”
Sienna gave a shaky sob that became half a laugh.
Then federal agents filled the stairwell, and the moment shattered.
Victor Vale was arrested before midnight.
So were two judges, a police captain, and three businessmen who suddenly remembered urgent medical conditions when handcuffs appeared.
The news called it the largest corruption exposure in Colorado in a decade.
They called Sienna brave.
They called Damon strategic.
They called Ruth a hero again.
Ruth ignored all of them.
At Crane Rehabilitation Lodge, she sat beside her sleeping mother and finally let herself shake.
Damon found her there after doctors restitched his shoulder.
He stood in the doorway.
“You should rest,” he said.
“So should you.”
Neither moved.
Finally, he entered.
“I almost killed him,” Damon said.
“I know.”
“You stopped me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ruth looked at him. “Because I’m not saving your life just so you can lose your soul.”
Damon’s expression changed.
For a man like him, the word soul should have sounded foolish.
It did not.
He sat beside her carefully.
“What if it’s already gone?” he asked.
Ruth looked at his wounded shoulder, then at his eyes.
“Then why did you listen?”
Damon had no answer.
Evelyn stirred in the bed but did not wake.
Ruth leaned back in her chair, exhausted beyond pride.
After a long silence, Damon took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
May you like
She should have refused.
She did not.
