“Darker?” She looked down at her yellow hoodie. Did the color really matter? “Um…no?”
“It’ll have to do then. Are you ready to leave?”
“With you?” She gripped the bed rails at her back to keep herself steady.
The corner of his lips lifted into a half-smile. “I can hardly let you go on your own.”
Either she was missing something or this guy was in the wrong room. “Who are you?”
He moved past her to where her things were strewn on the bed and started collecting her books. “If you hurry up, I’ll tell you.”
A mysterious guy no one else could see wanted her to come with him? That sounded like a great idea.
She grabbed the plastic cup from the table and drank until the cool water was gone. “As intriguing as your offer is,” she said, feeling steadier, “I’m going to stay here and wait for the doctor.”
Instead of leaving, he continued tucking things into her backpack. When he had finished, he gripped her wrist firmly with his cold, slender fingers.
“What the heck?” When she tried to pull away, his hold tightened.
Tossing her bag over his shoulder, he yanked her toward the door as if she was a second piece of luggage. He poked his head into the hall—presumably checking for witnesses—then towed her into the stairwell.
“Let. Me. Go!” She tugged free and stumbled backwards. Her shout echoed in the hollow space.
“You can go if you’d like.” He waved his hand toward the door before checking the silver watch at his wrist. “The so-called specialist they’re sending you to is going to kill you. But you can absolutely go.”
Did he say someone was going to kill her? That couldn’t be true. She was a boring, seventeen-year-old kid from Ohio. Why would anyone want her dead?
“Or”—he pulled up his hood and winked at her—“you can come with me.”
She didn’t believe him, but going back to the room didn’t sound very appealing either. “How do I know you’re not going to kill me?”
“Because I’m trying to save you.”
“So, what? You’re like…my guardian angel?”
The grin he gave her was full of dark promises. “Something like that.”
She only followed him up the next three flights of stairs because she was curious.
The higher she climbed, the more her head spun, and the more her head spun, the more she felt like she was going to pass—
Her shoe caught on a stair, and she crumpled onto the landing. The cold floor felt good against her overheated cheek. If she kept her eyes closed, maybe the water and chicken tenders in her stomach wouldn’t make a second appearance.
The guy cursed. “Are you all right?”
“No.” If she moved, she was going to get sick. And she refused to puke in front of him.
“Are you nauseated?”
She nodded.
“Here.” There was a crinkling sound, and he pulled a peppermint candy from his pocket. “Eat this. It should help.”
“Taking candy from a stranger? No thanks.”
“My name is Deacon.” He forced the candy into her palm. “There. We’re no longer strangers.”
Despite her reservations, she unraveled the candy and popped it into her mouth.
“Better?” he asked a moment later.
“A bit. Thanks.” She ignored the hand he offered and rose unsteadily to her feet. Her stomach revolted, but her dinner stayed down.
“Do you think you’ll manage,” he asked, nodding his chin toward the next flight of stairs, “or do you need me to carry you?”
“Yeah…you’re not carrying me.”
“Not yet anyway.”
“Not ever”
A smile. “Not yet.”
Vivienne rolled her eyes and told him that she could make it on her own. She clutched the handrail through another wave of dizziness, then resumed climbing. They had to be getting close to the roof. “I don’t have a lot of experience escaping murderers or anything,” she said, stopping to catch her breath, “but if we’re trying to get away, shouldn’t we be going down instead of up?”
“One would think so.”
“Where will we go when we get to the top?”
“You’ll see.” A chuckle. “Actually, you won’t see. But I’ll tell you about it later.”
Before she could ask what the heck that meant, they reached the emergency exit. Deacon ignored the red and white warnings posted everywhere and shoved the door open.
Yellow lights attached to the brick walls eased the severity of the falling darkness, and cool September air filled her lungs. She followed Deacon past the helicopter resting on the helipad.
“How do you feel about heights?” he asked casually.
She wasn’t particularly fond of them, but she didn’t have a phobia. “Why does it matter?”
He glanced back at her, and his lips curled into a smile. “Because we’re going to jump off the roof.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
He dropped to his knees and peered over the ledge.
Wait. Was he being serious? No . . . that was crazy. That was . . . Why was he looking down? Her arms started to itch, and her head felt loopy as she crouched beside him. “What are you looking at?”
“The people who are trying to kill you.”
She steadied herself against the wall and gripped the bricks until the grittiness cut into her fingertips. Two black vans waited at the main entrance, along with several men in black suits. Two more men ran out the door, followed by a woman in purple scrubs. After a brief conversation, one man went back into the hospital while a second set off around the building. The rest of them looked like they were guarding the automatic doors.
It was strange, but that didn’t mean they were trying to—hold on. Was that guy looking at her?
She ducked back down.
Deacon touched her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I think one of them saw me.”
He swore under his breath and started digging through his pockets. “Then we’ve run out of time.”
She pressed her fingertips to her temples and tried to make sense of the last fifteen minutes. “What the heck is— Why are you taking off your shirt?” she choked.
The black T-shirt showcased his toned arms and chest. “Take yours off as well.”
“If you want to get me undressed, you’re going to have to ask nicer than that.”
His grin flashed in the darkness. “Please?”
She slipped out of her yellow sweatshirt and handed it to him. The air chilled her bare arms.
“Here.” He tossed his balled up top at her, told her to put it on, and then stuffed her sweatshirt into the backpack.
She pulled Deacon’s hoodie over her head, thinking the whole time how she should not be wearing some stranger’s shirt, but also . . . Wow. It smelled amazing. “Happy now?”
“Immensely.” He motioned for her hand. “Now give me your arm.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re wearing pants.”
Could this day get any weirder? “You know that makes no sense, right?”
“It does to me.” Deacon yanked on her wrist and shoved the sleeve over her elbow. She felt a sharp pinch, and a bead of dark blood welled in the crook below her bicep.