AMBUSHED

PRAISE FOR REBECCA YORK

“Rebecca York delivers page-turning
suspense."

—Nora Roberts

“A true master of intrigue.”

—Rave Reviews

A Short Story

by Rebecca York

Published by Light Street Press at
Smashwords

Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York

Copyright 2011 by Ruth Glick

Cover design by Patricia Rosemoor

All rights reserved. No portion of this book
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START OF
AMBUSHED

PRAISE FOR REBECCA YORK

ABOUT REBECCA YORK

BOOKS BY REBECCA YORK

She looked like she was on her way to an
execution
, Jordan Stone thought as he glanced at the
pretty blond woman beside him in the back of the Town Car. She sat
rigidly in her seat, her blue eyes staring straight ahead and her
elegant hands clasping each other in a death grip.

He longed to slip a comforting arm around
her shoulder and pull her close, but he remained still beside her.
As the lead agent on the Decorah Security protection detail, he was
her bodyguard, nothing more and nothing less. That could be their
only relationship.

Elizabeth Bannerman was the key witness
against Kishwar Samara, the man who had plotted to blow up the
National Archives, and Jordan’s mission was to keep her alive long
enough to testify.

Emma Richards, Decorah’s top female agent,
was also taking a major part of the guard duty. Jordan knew the two
women had become friends.

That wasn’t possible for him and Elizabeth.
Not with the sexual awareness crackling between them.

He told himself that it came from the
nerve-wracking confinement and forced proximity. In some hidden
corner of his mind, he knew that was simply a convenient
justification.

He should have asked for another assignment.
And never see her again? That thought made his chest tighten
painfully.

Beside him, Elizabeth stirred. All the way
into D.C. from the safe house in Gaithersburg, he’d known she’d
been working up the resolve to say something.

Now she turned toward him. “Jordan, we have
to talk.”

“About the case?”

“No.”

“Then there’s nothing to talk about.”

“We both know that’s not true.” She laid her
hand over his, making his muscles jump.

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he answered,
his voice low and gravelly.

“By keeping me at arm’s length?”

“Yes.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“They have to be.”

There was a way to settle the matter. All he
had to do was tell her why he was working for Decorah Security
instead of the CIA.

But not now. Ahead of them was the white
stone government building where Elizabeth was meeting the federal
prosecutor. Not in his office, but at a smaller facility the press
didn’t know about. As an additional precaution, they were coming in
on Saturday morning when the building would be almost empty.

A set of retractable barriers halted the big
car at the entrance to the underground garage, and a uniformed
guard approached the driver. “Identification, please.”

Jordan had heard the request every time
they’d arrived here, yet today something was different. Was it the
hint of nerves in the man’s voice? Or Jordan’s super senses warning
him of trouble?

Those senses were one of the reasons Frank
Decorah had hired him. The head of the agency was always on the
lookout for operatives with special talents beyond their quick
reflexes and rigorous training. In Jordan’s case, it was something
he couldn’t explain but had learned to rely on when he felt it. The
ability to sense trouble before it struck. Unfortunately, it
usually gave him only a few moments notice.

Today it was only seconds.

Several things happened almost
simultaneously.

The car phone buzzed. As the driver reached
to answer it, an automatic pistol with a silencer on the barrel
rammed through the open front window of the vehicle.

As Jordan heard the spitting sound of the
gun, he pushed Elizabeth down and pulled out his own weapon.

The driver slumped in a spray of blood.
Jordan fired at the guard, striking him in the center of the chest,
then lunged across the car and opened the opposite door, pushing
Elizabeth out ahead of him.

She made a muffled sound as she landed on
the hard cement just inside the garage. He followed her out,
scooping her up.

“Come on.”

He already had his secure cell phone in his
hand and pressed the automatic dial for Decorah Security.

“Ambush,” was the only word he got out
before a massive explosion threw him and Elizabeth to the ground
and the phone went flying out of his hand.

He rolled on top of her, covering her body
with his as a shock wave hit and debris fell around them, rubble
peppering his back.

When the deadly rain ebbed, he raised his
head and looked around. Chunks of cement had flattened cars to
their right, but they’d been far enough from the blast zone to
avoid the worst of it. Which didn’t mean they were safe.

“You all right?” he asked urgently.

“I think so. Are you?”

“Yeah,” he answered, blinking to clear his
vision.

They had to get out of here. Fast. But when
he scanned the garage exit behind them, he saw armed men racing
toward the car. Unfortunately, they didn’t look like cops or
security guards.

Elizabeth followed his gaze, gasping as she
spotted the men closing in on them.

Their only option was to sprint into the
building.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her up and led
her toward the right, behind a row of cars that gave them some
cover.

But he couldn’t shoot it out with these
guys. There were too many of them, and their UZIs beat out his
SIG.

“This way.”

Hugging the wall, they ran up a ramp to the
next level of the garage where a few more cars were parked. When he
saw the exit was on the other side of the lane, he cursed under his
breath. Speed was of the essence, yet he hesitated to run headlong
across the open space.

Still, he knew they had to chance it.

He pointed toward the door. “We’ve got to
get over there. Crouch low. Run as fast as you can.”

He went first, to draw fire. Every second
they were out in the open had his nerves screaming, but they made
it across. Easing the door open, he checked to see that the
stairwell beyond was empty, then drew Elizabeth inside. Too bad the
flimsy lock wasn’t going to stop the guys with the guns. When they
didn’t find him and Elizabeth in the garage, they’d start searching
the building.

“Do you have your cell phone?” he asked.

She dug into her purse, pulled it out and
handed it to Jordan.

With a sigh of relief, he dialed the Decorah
Security’s emergency number. Frank Decorah answered, and it was
clear he already knew what was happening.

“Jordan. Tried to warn you.”

“Too late,” he clipped out.

“Is Elizabeth Bannerman all right?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“North stairwell. Hostiles blocking the
garage entrance.”

“Teddy Granada just intercepted a coded
e-mail.” Decorah named one of the company’s computer geeks. “The
terrorists have at least ten men in the building.”

“Shit. Can you get us off the roof?”

“Negative. Unless we get clearance for a
flight into DC. Emma Richards and Cole Marshall are on their way
down there, along with the FBI . . .”

A burst of gunfire from below interrupted
the conversation. The bad guys had busted through the locked
door.

“Gotta go.” Jordan clicked off and turned to
Elizabeth. “Come on.”

They raced up two more levels of the
stairwell. Cautiously Jordan opened the door and looked out.

“Clear.” Except for the dead body on the
floor, he silently added.

He tried to steer Elizabeth away, but it was
impossible to avoid the limp form and the pool of blood.

She made a strangled sound when she saw him.
“It’s Nelson Andrews.”

The federal prosecutor she’d come to
meet.

“I’m sorry.”

“He was good man.”

The exchange was cut off when they heard
footsteps pounding up the stairs.

With no options, he ushered Elizabeth into
an empty office a few doors down the hall. The blinds were
partially closed, and he looked around in the dim light for cover.
The desk was too obvious, but a bank of storage cabinets blocked
the view from the door. When he gestured toward them, Elizabeth
wedged herself into the corner and he stepped in front of her, gun
drawn.

Of course, if he had to shoot, he’d alert
every terrorist in the building.

“Jordan?” she whispered as she pressed
against his back.

“It’s going to be all right.”

“Maybe.”

Down the hall, he could hear doors opening
and slamming shut again. When the door to their hiding place
opened, every muscle in his body tensed. He saw a man’s shadow
flicker on the wall, but the searcher was in a hurry and only came
partway into the room, then ducked out again and went on to the
next office.

Elizabeth breathed out a sigh. “Will they
come back?”

“Yeah. But not right away.”

He turned to face her and caught his
breath.

“What?”

“Blood. Are you hurt?

“I don’t think so.”

Cautiously he inspected the spatter on her
face and found no wound.

There was a carton of water bottles on the
floor beside the desk. He grabbed one and a wad of tissues from a
nearby box. After washing her face, he stuffed the tissues into his
pocket.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He answered with a tight nod.

She kept her gaze on him. “You’re all
business. All the time. I should be glad of that.” As she spoke,
she reached for him, clasping him to her.

He’d never allowed himself to hold her in
his arms. Now when she pressed against him, a blaze of sensation
radiated to every cell of his body. As his arms came up to embrace
her, he absorbed the feel of the intimate contact. Just for a
moment.

When he started to ease away, she raised her
face and met his gaze.

“We could die here,” she whispered.

“Not if I can help it.”

“So much we haven’t said. Haven’t done.”

“We will.”

Astonishment filled her voice. “That’s a
promise?”

“Yes.”

He knew she wanted to say more, but a door
slammed nearby. The terrorists were going to be more thorough when
they came back.

Hoping he had an answer to that problem, he
took two strides across the room and climbed up onto one of the
chairs, then onto the desk. From there, he reached up and pushed a
large ceiling tile aside, peering into the darkness beyond.
Hopefully there was enough room for two people to squeeze
inside.

When he motioned for Elizabeth to join him,
she shot a quick glance at the door, then did as he asked.

“I’m going to lift you. Grab onto the
support beam and pull yourself up.”

As she reaching toward the ceiling, he
holstered his weapon and grasped her hips, ignoring the intimacy as
he raised her.

He saw her hands find something solid to
grip before she pulled herself into the tight space above the
office, wiggling her way around a cable that led to a light
fixture.

As she moved, the ceiling tiles buckled.
They weren’t meant to hold a person’s weight, let alone two
people.

The noise in the hall was coming closer. No
time left. And unfortunately Jordan wasn’t quite tall enough to
pull himself up.

For a sickening moment he thought he would
have to take his chances on the floor. Then Elizabeth eased forward
and reached for him.

Praying he wouldn’t drag her back down, he
clasped her hand, using the leverage to boost himself into the
space.

He scrambled through the opening, but not
without making a heaving sound.