Damien landed with a thunk on the top of the elevator car that, thankfully, had been stopped only one floor below him.
Unfortunately, that left him too close for comfort when the man above—Barclay, he assumed—got off a round of bullets. Ping! Ping! Metal hit metal, and Damien rolled to the side, clinging to the edge of the car to avoid the spray, his legs dangling in the shaft and the two stories below him. Survivable, but he’d likely end up with broken bones—and then he’d be no help to Nikki at all.
The firing stopped, and he heard a laugh and a sharp, “Good riddance.”
Damien waited, then waited a bit more, his arms starting to shake from the effort of holding him up. Only when he knew he had to either move or fall did he risk pushing his head back from where he’d been pressed against the car’s metal exterior. The doors were closed again; Barclay probably presumed he’d been hit and had fallen. Good.
Except now, of course, he had to get out of the shaft, get to the bar, and save his wife.
He hoisted himself back onto the car’s roof, his muscles straining. He paused, considering his options. If he went out through the fourth floor elevator doors, it’s likely that he’d just end up shot. For all he knew, Barclay was waiting. Or there was yet another thug who wasn’t part of Damien’s count assigned to watch and make sure he didn’t make it back up.
Not that he could stay in the shaft forever, but better to go down. All the way to the first floor where he could exit through the utility door, then climb up the stairs and catch them by surprise.
Fortunately, he had a rope.
He secured one end to the elevator cable, then tossed the other over the side. It was a long coil, and though it didn’t reach the floor, from his perspective it looked like it came pretty damn close.
He gripped the rope, thought of Nikki, then started to slide down through the inky dark toward ground level, every muscle in his body aching. He reached the end of the rope, then dropped down, trusting the ground to be reasonably close.
It was, and as soon as his feet hit the ground, he used the light on his phone to search for the door. Finding it, he slowly pulled it open. All clear.
And—bonus—he now had reception.
He called Ryan. “I’m heading to Nikki,” he said as soon as he’d explained the situation. “Get a team in here—be stealthy—and get to the vault. They can’t blow it—I ditched their C4. But if they forced the combination out of Aubert, they’ll be trapped inside. He would have given them Jackson’s failsafe.”
“Or hit the button on his watch,” Ryan agreed. “Sweet. I’m on it. We’re in the air, but we’ve got Dallas and a team he’s worked with on the ground organizing the op.”
Damien ended the call, then hurried up the main stairs to the fourth floor. He was almost certain that all the thugs were accounted for, but he wasn’t going to take anything on faith. He kept his eyes open and moved only as fast as he dared. Below, he knew that Dallas’s team and local SWAT would be entering the building. They’d handle this on their own, not trusting anyone else to act with the stealth required.
When he reached the fourth floor, he rushed to the bar, slowing only so that he could ensure silence as he crept around the corner and into the main area.
She was safe.
She was standing beside the bartender, Malone in front of them, his back to Damien.
She saw him, and her eyes widened. Just barely, but it was enough that the man holding the gun noticed. He started to twirl around, and, goddammit, Damien couldn’t risk the shot—not when he might hit Nikki.
But then—almost simultaneously—the bartender took Nikki’s arm and pulled her to the ground.
Damien fired. Once. Twice.
And as his ears rang and his blood pounded, he watched as the bastard who’d threatened his wife fell to the floor, his life’s blood oozing out of him along with his last breath.
Then—he didn’t even know how—they were in each other’s arms, and he was holding her, kissing her, feeling her against him.
“Damien, Damien, oh, God, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Sweetheart, I’m fine.”
He gently pushed her away, looking her up and down, then pulled her hard to him again. “Thank God.”
“I knew you’d come. I knew it.”
He didn’t want to ever let her go, but he needed to address the others, and so he gently released her, then let his gaze rake over the group. “There’s a team outside,” he said. “The perimeter’s secure. And two of the good guys are heading to the vault. They’ll apprehend the last of the men who did this.” He offered the shell-shocked group a small smile. “It’s over.”
He saw the couple celebrating their anniversary sag with relief as Aubert stood and started toward him. “Thank you. You’re Damien Stark, right? He—” Aubert pointed to the body on the floor, the watch Jackson had described confirming his identity as the owner and jeweler, as if there was any doubt. “He said it was you.”
“It’s me,” Damien said.
“I can’t thank you enough. They were—”
Ryan’s unique ringtone interrupted Aubert, and Damien pulled out his phone as he held up a finger in apology. “What’s the status?”
“The team got them. The vault was open, and they started to fire, but they took them down. Paramedics on their way and a team searching the building for more perps.”
“Glad to hear it. We’re secure here.” He ended the call, then turned to Aubert. “The two in the vault have been apprehended. They—”
He stumbled over his words as the realization hit him, then wanted to kick himself for reacting. Because Aubert saw the reaction, and in that moment he knew.
And even as Damien lifted the Glock again, Aubert pulled his own weapon, hidden beneath his jacket. He aimed, and as Damien fired, Aubert did, too.
Only Aubert was firing at Nikki, the bullet grazing the shoulder of Red, the bartender who had leaped on top of her and slammed her to the ground.
“Nikki!” Damien’s voice filled the room, overpowering even the explosive sound of the bullets. He kicked Aubert’s gun away from where the jeweler had fallen, then slid to Nikki’s side.
“She’s okay,” Red said as Damien pulled her into his arms.
“I’m fine,” she affirmed. “Damien, I’m fine.”
His heart pounded in his ears as he looked to Red, who’d moved to Aubert and was securing the injured man. “Your shoulder.”
Red shook his head. “Had worse, believe me. Worked SWAT before I gave up police work. But seriously, man. What the fuck? Aubert had a gun? How did you know?”
“The vault. Jackson—this place’s architect—told me that Aubert had a failsafe combination that would drop another wall. Lock them in. And if he was nervous and gave the real code, he could use his watch to drop the wall.”
“He was in on it,” Nikki said, catching on. “Hired someone to steal the stone, collect the insurance money, and a cut of the money from the buyer.”
“That’s about it,” Damien agreed, then held out a hand for her as Ryan and Liam entered the bar.
“Take care of these folks,” Damien said. “I need a moment with my wife.”