He made more room for her by moving the laundry to one side.

  The last thing he saw before he covered her completely with a handful of towels was her golden eyes gazing at him with such hope he felt it clear to his chest.

  “I’ll get out of your way and show myself out,” he said loudly for anyone listening. Pushing the cart out of the room, he stopped to close the bathroom door, as if she remained inside and said, “Enjoy your bath, miss.”

  He went through the motions of the pantomime even though they were in China and the security team watching the monitors—if there even was someone watching—might very well speak only Chinese.

  It didn’t matter. He spoke the words anyway. It might not help, but as long as it didn’t slow down their exit, it couldn’t hurt.

  Speaking of a slow exit… Christ. This one had turned out to be the slowest.

  He’d cleaned out enemy strongholds of both fighters and intel in less time than it was taking to get this one woman out of a hotel room. He was way over the time he’d allowed for this portion of the escape. They needed to move. Now.

  After propping open the door, he pushed the cart out of the room and relocked the door as he’d found it. He forced himself to move quickly but not rush toward the freight elevator.

  The cart was much heavier than when he’d arrived. He tried to make it look like it wasn’t to anyone who might be watching the feed from the hallway cameras.

  He’d transport the cart, and its human cargo, in the freight elevator all the way down to the basement. There they should be able to slip out the delivery entrance and into the street.

  After she put on the sunglasses he had in his bag and raised the hood on the sweatshirt over her hair, even if street cameras picked up her image and someone tried to run identification software, it wouldn’t identify her. That was one huge flaw in the technology. A shortcoming he was grateful for at the moment.

  He held his breath as he waited at the end of the hall for the freight elevator, half expecting to hear running footsteps, breathing again when the doors whooshed open and he saw the car was empty.

  Humming, to calm both himself and her, he pushed the cart inside and hit the button for the maintenance level.

  This was too easy. Too smooth.

  Adrenaline flooded his veins as, outwardly calm, he remained braced, waiting for the storm.

  They reached the selected floor and he stood with his hands on the cart, but poised and ready to draw his weapon if needed.

  The hall wasn’t clear. A man in a uniform similar to his nodded as he walked past. Adam returned the nod and walked faster toward the service exit.

  That was close. Too close. Too risky.

  What if the man had spoken to him? He was sure the hotel employed those who spoke multiple languages for the convenience of their many international guests, but he seriously doubted they’d hire him for their maintenance team—an American who spoke no Chinese at all.

  Time to get the hell out of there.

  The door to their safe escape didn’t seem to be getting any closer, but farther away as his anxiety created some kind of surreal, Matrix-like effect.

  He was either going crazy, or his sixth sense was warning him danger was on the horizon.

  The threat of being caught hung in the air like a visceral specter. But he’d be damned if he dropped the ball in the end zone.

  He’d performed the miracle of getting her out of a locked room on the top floor of a soaring skyscraper. He wasn’t going to lose her now.

  The cart was too cumbersome. It was slowing down their escape. Not to mention it was too damn big to hide quickly. And way too frigging noisy. Wheeling it down the hall sounded more like a freight train.

  He skidded to a stop by a door maybe thirty feet from the exit and used his key card to open it.

  It looked like a storage room for cleaning supplies. Good enough—and big enough to accommodate the cart.

  He pushed it inside, closed the door and said, “Come on out.”

  He reached down to pull the towels off her when she didn’t move. He didn’t blame her for hesitating. But he did need her to move.

  Fishing around beneath more laundry, he located his backpack and unzipped it.

  He tossed the sweatshirt to her when she managed to crawl her way over the high sides of the cart.

  “Put this on and pull the hood up over your hair.”

  As he spoke, he’d stripped off the uniform, tossing the pants and shirt into the laundry bin.

  She reached for the sweatshirt but froze, her eyes pinned to his waist.

  Glancing down, he remembered the gun. He pulled his shirt out and over the holster, covering the weapon.

  “Hurry. We gotta go.”

  His order knocked her out of her stupor. She struggled to put on the twisted garment while he moved to the doorway and eased the door open.

  “It’s clear. Let’s go.” He glanced back and saw her pulling the hood over her head.

  She moved forward and after one more look to make sure the coast was clear, he swung the door wide and steered her out into the hall with one hand pressed firmly against her back.

  He pulled the sunglasses out of the front pocket of the backpack that was looped over one shoulder and handed them to her. “Put those on.”

  Silently, without question—thank God for that—she did as he’d said.

  Now to get the hell out of there. Grasping her elbow firmly in his hand he guided them toward the door and freedom.

  Shouts from the other end of the hall alerted him first. He didn’t understand the words but the tone was clear. That, and the shouts were accompanied by the sound of more than one set of feet pounding against the floor.

  “Run!” he shouted.

  Half dragging her, he broke into a sprint.

  They crashed through the door, but safety was still a distance away. He should have gotten a car instead of counting on getting to the boat on foot.

  He hadn’t… but they didn’t know that. He steered her toward the parking lot where they disappeared between the rows of vehicles.

  “Get down,” he said before pivoting to change direction, weaving between cars, heading toward the river front while the shouts of the pursuers searching for them could still be heard in the distance.

  Crouched low as they continued to run as best they could while in that awkward position, she amazingly kept up with the fast pace he set. There was a thousand feet between them and their means of escape. So close yet so far. A thousand feet in which they could be captured or killed.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “The river,” he answered. There wasn’t time for more.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Can you swim?” the stranger asked while still dragging her to some undisclosed destination.

  “Yes.” She didn’t know anything else but she knew that.

  Who was he? Why was he saving her? Was this a rescue or had she just jumped from the pot into the fire?

  “Good.” He said it as he unzipped the backpack he’d dropped to the ground and pulled off his boots before tossing them inside.

  “Strip off anything heavy,” he said, glancing around the corner of the building where they hid before he pulled his shirt up and over his head. That too got shoved into his backpack but she was more concerned about what that shirt coming off exposed.

  The rock hard muscles of his torso couldn’t hold her attention against her second glimpse of the gun buckled into a holster at his waist.

  He saw the direction of her gaze. “We go in that water now or we get caught. We’ve gotta move fast and you’re not going to be able to with all that on once it’s wet. My bag’s waterproof.”

  His logic knocked her out of her indecision. She pulled off the sunglasses then the sweatshirt and thrust both toward him. As he stashed them in the bag, she kicked off her sneakers, socks and yoga pants and handed those off to him too.

  She saw his gaze cut to her as she stood there in nothing but a tank-top and underwear before he concentrated on securing the zipper, then Velcro closures on the backpack.

  He looped it over his arms and tightened the strap across his bare chest to secure the bag to his back. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” she asked as he pulled her toward the river’s edge.

  “I got us a boat.” As he stepped over the low railing, he pointed to a small speedboat anchored maybe two hundred feet from the riverfront between two cruise ships that dwarfed it so much she wouldn’t have noticed it there if he hadn’t pointed it out.

  She sat on the railing and swung her legs over. She was still staring at the boat, estimating how long a swim it would be to reach it, when he grabbed her hand and tugged, sending them both over the edge and into the river ten feet below.

  They entered the water with a splash. She resurfaced, sputtering to find him already glancing back in the direction from where they’d come.

  “I don’t see them. But we gotta get moving.” He started swimming, only pausing to glance back to see if she was following.

  The memory of the men chasing them from the hotel was enough to set her in motion.

  Years of swim team practice in high school came back to her as muscle memory took over. She caught up with him ahead of her, pulling aside to keep pace with him as his arms cut through the water in steady powerful smooth strokes.

  At the boat, he swam to the far side so the vessel was between them and the shore, blocking the view of anyone looking for them. She followed.

  He unhooked the backpack and tossed it inside, then reached for her.

  “I can get in.” She paddled to the back of the boat and braced both hands on the frame as she managed to get her foot onto the rung of the ladder.

  Even with so little clothing on, the drag of the weight of the water worked against her as she hoisted herself up.

  “Get down low so no one can see you.” He scrambled inside right after her.

  “Because I’m half naked?” she asked.

  “Because they’re looking for two people,” he said, ignoring her poor attempt of a joke as he reached beneath the seat and emerged with a key.

  Sitting in the captain’s chair, he leaned low and worked to open the backpack, pulling out a baseball hat and the sunglasses but remaining shirtless. Interesting choice.

  He tossed her pants and shoes back to where she cowered low.

  “Socks?” she asked.

  As he turned the key in the ignition, the cocked brow he shot over his shoulder told her he didn’t consider socks a priority, but at least he swung the bag toward her so she could look herself.

  After a brief moment of sputtering, the motor fired to life. He pivoted between watching the waterfront behind them and the boat traffic in front, reminding her they weren’t safe yet.

  He inched the throttle forward while still keeping their speed fairly slow, when she thought they should be hauling ass to get away from there. But who was she to question him? Whoever he was.

  She knew one thing though. If they were going to be caught, she’d rather not be in her underwear when it happened. She pulled on her pants and then went back to searching for those socks so she could put on her sneakers.

  Reaching into the bag, she encountered his big work boots first.

  How the hell did he swim with those monsters in the bag strapped to his back?

  Odd what mundane thoughts struck her as fear of capture and adrenaline from the escape had her hands shaking.

  She fished around some more blindly as she tried to stay out of sight on the floorboards of the boat. She froze when her hand hit what felt like the sharp edge of a knife.

  Her hiss of a breath had him glancing back. “What?”

  “Is there a knife in here?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Two actually. Get them out. We might need them.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Her voice shook and she couldn’t attribute it to the chill of the water.

  She got onto her knees and, staying low, crawled forward while she pushed the first knife along the floor, closer to him.

  At the same time, he chose that moment to slam the throttle forward as he navigated straight toward the middle of the river.

  She’d barely remained on all fours after the sudden increase in speed, but she managed it. Until he cut the wheel sharply to duck behind a ship cruising in the center.

  That sent her and the bag sprawling across the floor.

  It wasn’t until after he pulled back on the throttle to match the speed of the ship shielding them from view did he glance down at her.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She figured she could sit up now, except that half of the contents of his bag had spilled out.

  She stayed where she was and started to gather them.

  The clip filled with bullets almost had her freezing again. She tried to hide her surprise and tossed it inside like it was nothing. As if she kept her clips in her bag too.

  Guns. Knives. Jeez. Although, what did she expect?

  She’d been taken against her will. Knocked out and held for weeks. Whoever had done that wasn’t going to let her go without a fight. And this mystery man was prepared for one.

  She found the second knife and moved to hand it to him.

  He shook his head. “No. You keep that one. In case.”

  Her brows rose as she glanced up at him and found his gaze on her. “Um. Okay.”

  What he thought she could do with it, was another question. Her experience with knife fights equaled that of her experience with guns.

  If—when—she got out of this mess, she was going to remedy all that. Shooting lessons. Jujitsu—or whatever the most popular self-defense martial arts du jour was.

  She didn’t even know where to put the knife. In her waistband seemed like an accident waiting to happen. After a second of consideration she put it down and grabbed the socks she finally spotted in the bag.

  “I’ll take my boots though,” he said, keeping his hand on the wheel and his eyes on the river as they slipped along next to the larger vessel.

  “Sure.” And since she knew the importance of socks, she handed his to him first, before the boots.

  Getting off the floor, she moved to the seat next to him, her hands filled between her sneakers and socks and the knife she still didn’t know what to do with.

  As her butt hit the vinyl she glanced over at him. “I can get off the floor now, right?”

  “Yeah. It should be fine,” he said as he pulled on one boot.

  “Thanks.” What polite conversation they were having about absolutely nothing that mattered while her head teemed with a dozen questions. Make that two dozen.

  She frowned as she watched him don the other boot and slip the knife inside the ankle.

  “Is there a reason you’re staring at my boot?” he asked with a surreally humorous and inhumanly calm tone.

  “Is there a special pocket or something in there? Why doesn’t the knife cut you?” Still having nowhere safe to put the one he’d issued her she leaned forward, trying to see.

  When she glanced up again, she could see his straight white teeth as he smiled.

  “There’s a sheath inside my boot. It’s made for knives. I’d offer you my other one but I don’t think it’s going to work with those.” He tipped his chin to indicate her sneakers.

  “No,” she agreed.

  He dug for a second inside the bag and emerged with something small and square, extending it to her. “Here.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Taser. I’ll trade you for the other knife. You’re less likely to accidentally hurt yourself with this.”

  She took it, turning it over in her hand after she rid herself of the deadly-looking blade by handing it back to him.

  He slid it inside his other boot, adjusting his pantleg to cover it before glancing up at her.

  “Know how to use that?” he asked.

  “No.” The list of things she didn’t know was mounting.

  She scowled at the thought. It was amazing she’d lived this long on her own given her skillset encompassed spreadsheets and business plans and zilch in the area of survival skills.

  If it weren’t for this stranger, she probably—no, definitely—wouldn’t have made it out. Her grand plumbing sabotage plan had failed. She let out a deep sigh.

  “You did well.” The sound of his voice brought her gaze up.

  “Did I?” She let out a short humorless laugh.

  He flashed that panty-melting smile again. “Yes.”

  Damn. Central Casting couldn’t have chosen a more fitting hero to swoop in and save her. Which raised the question one more time…

  “Who are you?” she asked

  Sandy-colored brows rose. “Actually, I’ve been wondering the same thing about you.” He drew in a breath and let it out, before saying, “I’m Adam.”

  That didn’t fill in a whole lot of blanks. “I’m Angela.”

  He nodded but didn’t comment.

  It was becoming obvious she was going to have to drag information out of him one piece at a time.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Somewhere safe.”

  She let out a huff, beginning to tire of this question and answer tango. “Do you have a cell phone?”

  “I do.”

  “Can I use it to call home?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Why not?” she asked, surprised at his dictatorial tone.

  “Your home phone could be monitored.”

  Her office phone too, now that he mentioned it. She hadn’t thought of that, which annoyed her. But he had. Which raised the question one more time—who was he? Besides just plain Adam.

  “You don’t work for the hotel, do you?” The question sounded even more ridiculous when she said it aloud.

  He hadn’t cleared a clog in the room below hers and found her note in the tampons and rushed to her rescue. That much was clear.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  He laughed at that. A full hearty belt. “I wish I knew.”

  More confused than before, she said, “Don’t you think you should call the police? Or the US embassy? I was held against my will.”