“I’m not who you think I am,” he growled

If she hadn’t been so terrified, Emily might have laughed. “Next you’re going to tell me you’re innocent.”

“Honey, I’m a long way from innocent, but I don’t belong in this hellhole any more than you do.”

His voice was like a low rumble of thunder announcing the approach of a violent storm. Emily was aware of his body pressed firmly against hers. She could feel the high-wire tension in his muscles.

“Not another word,” he whispered. “Or I swear I’ll kill whomever walks through that door.”

His gaze fastened on hers and she saw a flicker of an emotion she couldn’t quite identify.

“Unless you want me to pull this trigger, I suggest you follow my cue.”

Before she could answer, he slid his hands to either side of her face and lowered his mouth to hers.

Operation: Midnight Tango
Linda Castillo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For George

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Linda Castillo knew at a very young age that she wanted to be a writer—and penned her first novel at the age of thirteen. She is the winner of numerous writing awards, including the Holt Medallion, the Golden Heart, the Daphne du Maurier and received a nomination for the prestigious RITA® Award.

Linda loves writing edgy romantic suspense novels that push the envelope and take her readers on a roller-coaster ride of breathtaking romance and thrilling suspense. She resides in Texas with her husband, four lovable dogs and an Appaloosa named George. For a complete list of her books, check out her Web site at www.lindacastillo.com. Contact her at books@lindacastillo.com Or write her at P.O. Box 670501, Dallas, Texas 75367-0501.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Zack Devlin—A risk taker by nature, the charming undercover operative thrives on danger and isn’t afraid to put himself on the line. But he has one weakness—and it could destroy everything he loves.

Emily Monroe—The corrections officer never let down her guard, until the fateful night she encountered Zack Devlin and became his hostage.

Adam Monroe—Emily’s father has been dead for fifteen years. He disgraced the uniform he wore and then got himself killed in prison. Or was it all a cover-up?

Warden Clayton Carpenter—Fifteen years ago, he was Adam Monroe’s best friend. Is he Emily’s only hope of getting to the bottom of what’s really happening at the Bitterroot Super Max Prison?

Marcus Underwood—Does the prison administrator know what’s going on inside the prison? Or is he part of the problem?

Lieutenant Riley Cooper—Marcus Underwood’s right-hand man, the head corrections officer, is willing to take extreme measures to keep the secrets at the Bitterroot Super Max Prison buried deep.

Dr. Lionel—His job is to keep the inmates healthy. But then why are the inmates dying while in his care?

Kendra Michaels—A MIDNIGHT operative, she is sent in as an administrative assistant as extra eyes.

Jake Vanderpol—Dispatched to the prison as a corrections officer, the undercover MIDNIGHT operative has an uncanny knack for anything electronic.

Avery Shaw—He is a veteran MIDNIGHT agent in charge of the mission. He will do anything to keep his operatives safe. But he has his own secrets.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Prologue

The scream echoed off the concrete walls, giving the prison the aura of a medieval castle where unspeakable acts of torture were routine. The prisoner lay on the narrow gurney, struggling against the nylon straps securing his arms and legs, drops of blood staining the sheet covering him from the hips down.

Pain and terror contorted his features. “No more,” he whimpered. “Please…”

The doctor in the white lab coat looked down at his charge and reminded himself that the man was a murderer who didn’t deserve compassion. But the knowledge didn’t make what he was about to do any easier.

Steeling himself against the prisoner’s agonized shrieks, he reached for the tiny vial marked RZ-902. “It’s almost over,” he said. “Just try to relax.”

His hand froze on the vial when the door swung open. Tension knotted his stomach when the man in the custom-made suit walked into the examination room.

“For God’s sake, I could hear him all the way to the infirmary.” The man scowled at the prisoner. “Shut him up or you’re going to have people asking questions we don’t want to answer.”

“I was just about to sedate him before putting him into the testing chamber.”

“Do whatever it takes. Just shut him up. I don’t want questions from some do-good corrections officer.” Spotting the clipboard on the counter, the man in the suit picked it up and began to read. “How did the patient respond to the RZ-902 treatment?”

Both men knew the words patient and treatment were euphemisms for something far more sinister. Pushing that thought away, the doctor concentrated on answering the question. “Better than expected.”

“The mortality rate?”

“Ninety-eight percent.”

“Time frame?”

“Less than five minutes.”

“Excellent,” the man said, smiling with satisfaction. “I want a full report on my desk within the hour.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m meeting with our client at noon. I want all phases of product development detailed.”

“I’ll get right on it.” The doctor nodded as he lifted the syringe to sedate the prisoner.

“No. Please.” The prisoner struggled against the straps. “Don’t hurt me any more.”

The doctor and the man in the suit exchanged looks. The doctor couldn’t meet his patient’s eyes as he administered the powerful sedative. “Just a little something for the pain,” he said as he slid the needle into the man’s arm.

“Can’t…murder…” The prisoner’s voice trailed as the drug seeped into his system.

The man stared coldly at the sedated prisoner. “You made sure he has no ties?”

The doctor nodded. “Just like the others. No family. No friends. He’s a lifer and hasn’t had a visitor in two years.”

“The Bitterroot Super Max has been fertile ground for patients. Make sure it stays that way.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m having another prisoner delivered to you. He should be here within the hour.”

“Another patient? Tonight? But it wasn’t—”

“I want him given the treatment. Full dose. Make sure the outcome is fatal,” he said icily. “Nobody will care if he passes away unexpectedly.”

The doctor felt as if a noose were slowly tightening around his neck. “Yes, sir.”

“Once you’re finished here I want you to take the data you need for the report and destroy everything else. I don’t want anything left behind.”

Understanding all too well what the man meant, the doctor nodded. “I’ll notify the crematorium right away.”

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the sensitive nature of this project.”

“I don’t need to be reminded.” A man didn’t forget about something that tormented him day and night.

When the man left, the doctor wheeled the prisoner into the testing chamber and tried hard not to brood about what he’d done. He tried even harder not to consider what he had to do next.

Chapter One

Zack Devlin jolted awake to the clanging of steel against steel. He was on his feet in an instant, his every sense honed on the two corrections officers standing outside his cell.

“Stand down, convict.”

Stand down was the term officers used when they were about to enter a cell. It was a safety procedure that called for a convict to lace his fingers, then put his hands behind his head. What were two corrections officers doing in his cell in the wee hours of morning?

Zack assumed the position, his heart racing. “Isn’t it a little early for tea and scones?” he asked.

The first corrections officer was Mitchell. He treated the convicts with a firm hand but never unfairly. The other officer was about as pleasant as a bad case of the flu. He liked to tear down a man’s dignity. Maybe even hurt a man if he got the chance.

Mills’s keys jangled as he unlocked the cell door. “Step back.”

Zack did as he was told, but his nerves were on edge. Both men entered his cell. “If I had known you were coming, I would have tidied the place up.”

“Shut your smart mouth and show me your wrists,” Mills said sharply.

The Bitterroot Super Max Prison was a place of routine. Day after day after day that routine never altered. Two corrections officers coming into his cell at four in the morning and cuffing him was definitely not part of the routine.

“What’s this all about?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Turn around,” Mills repeated. “Now.”

Knowing he didn’t have a choice, Zack turned and offered his wrists for Mills to snap the nylon restraints into place. The thought that his cover might have been compromised floated through his mind. But he knew that was impossible. The agency had been meticulous in setting up the assignment and his background. There was no way anyone could know.

“Spread your legs.”

Zack wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just a pair of wrinkled drawstring pants that were issued to all the inmates for sleeping. “Not much room to hide a weapon,” he said.

“Just following procedure. Do it.”

Never taking his eyes from Mills, Zack did as he was told. He ground his teeth as Mills’s hands moved swiftly and roughly over him.

“He’s clean.” Mills grasped the restraints and shoved them up and between Zack’s shoulder blades. “You’re going to the infirmary.”

Zack’s heart rolled into a fast staccato. He was all too aware what went on in the prison’s infirmary. What the hell was going on? “I’m not sick.”

“Doc says you need a blood test.”

“I don’t need a blood test.”

Mitchell tapped the clipboard he held. “Got the order right here, partner. Let’s go.”

“What’s the blood test for?” Zack asked, his mind spinning through all the scenarios that could be waiting for him in the infirmary. None of them were good.

“You can ask the doc when you get there. Now move it.”

The instinct to fight was strong, but any attempt to make a stand or run would be futile. He’d learned to choose his battles since arriving at the prison four months ago. Experience told him this wasn’t one he would win. He couldn’t stop remembering all the other inmates who’d gone into the infirmary and come out bloody or burned—or not at all.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. In another hour he was supposed to rendezvous with his contact from MIDNIGHT. Zack had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to make it. When it came to the prison infirmary, a single hour could mean the difference between life and death.

As they guided him down the corridor, he figured he had about two minutes to come up with a plan. But then, he’d always been able to think fast on his feet.

He only hoped he came up with something fast enough to save his life.

AT FOUR IN THE MORNING, the prison corridors were as dimly lit as an underwater cave. Emily Monroe’s boots echoed off of concrete and steel as she hurried toward the infirmary. Her shift didn’t begin until five, but she’d come in early to do some poking around in the infirmary. She had plenty of questions that needed answering. Like what had happened to the two inmates who’d gone into the prison infirmary and never returned to their cells. Since Dr. Lionel didn’t seem disposed to explaining, she figured she’d just have to get the answers on her own.

At the end of the corridor, she swiped her security card, then punched the four-digit code into the keypad set into the wall. The steel lock snicked, and she shoved the door open.

The prison infirmary was as dark and silent as a tomb. Odd, since the facility was manned twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The utter quiet gave her a prickly sensation on the back of her neck.

Puzzled, she tiptoed to the second door that would take her to the inmate receiving area, the procedure rooms and inmate holding cells. She swiped her card, watched the red light change to green and opened the door. She found the interior as still and dark as the rest of the place. At the very least she’d expected Dr. Lionel’s graveyard-shift assistant to be in her office, working on her computer. Where was everyone?

Growing increasingly apprehensive, Emily rested her hand on the pepper-spray canister clipped to her belt and started down the hall. The soft thud of her boots kept perfect time with her heart, which was beating far too quickly.

She passed exam room one and flipped on the light. She saw an examination table, stainless-steel counters and a pull-down light. But not a soul in sight.

Emily didn’t scare easily, but in the three years she’d worked as a corrections officer in Idaho’s Bitterroot Super Max Prison she’d learned to trust her instincts. Right now those instincts were telling her something was terribly wrong.

Shoving open the door to exam room two, she turned on the light and spotted the outline of a man beneath a sheet splattered with blood on the examination table. Crossing to the table, she peeled away the sheet. Apprehension zinged through her when she saw the waxy flesh of the prisoner’s face. His blue lips. A thin line of blood had trickled from his nostril and dried black. His eyes were partially open. He was dead.

Queasy with fear, she touched his face. His body was still warm. What was going on here? Where was Dr. Lionel and his assistant? What had happened to this inmate?

She thought again of the other inmates who’d gone into the prison infirmary and vanished. For weeks she’d been asking questions and making inquiries, but no one in a position of authority had given her a straight answer. This morning she’d taken matters into her own hands and come here to have a look around. She hadn’t expected to find a dead body….

Struggling to remain calm, Emily tugged her radio from its sheath. “This is zero-two-four-niner. I’ve got a code—”

Movement from behind her cut her words short. She spun. The blue steel of a gun flashed. She saw black hair. Dark eyes. An unshaven jaw. A hot jet of adrenaline burned through her. Gripping the radio, she brought it to her mouth. “Code—”

A hand snaked out and ripped the radio from her grasp. In her peripheral vision she saw it sail through the air. She lunged toward the door, but in an instant the man was upon her, his hands encircling her biceps before the radio even hit the floor.

“Don’t make a sound if you want to live,” he said, his eyes glittering with threat.

Emily broke his hold and jumped back. “Stand down, convict! Do it now!” She tried to sound authoritative, but her voice held a damning quiver of fear.

“Stay calm and don’t fight me.” He started toward her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She didn’t know if it was the gun in his hand or the look in his eyes, but for a single, terrible instant she was frozen with fear. An inmate armed and desperate with absolutely nothing left to lose was every corrections officer’s worst nightmare.

She stepped back, raised her arms to stop him, knowing they wouldn’t. “Get away from me.”

He didn’t stop. “Just do as I say and you won’t get hurt.”

She barely heard the words over the rapid-fire beat of her heart. She looked at the gun in his hand, measured the distance between them, the distance to the door. She wondered if she could reach her radio on the floor before he shot her in the back.

An instant later her training kicked in. Springing forward, she kicked the gun from his hand. The weapon clattered to the floor. Before he could pick it up, she tried a palm-heel strike to his face, but he blocked it. Spinning, she lashed out with her left foot, landing a kick to his abdomen. Grunting, he reeled backward. She then reached for the canister of pepper spray clipped to her belt. She brought it up while simultaneously diving for her radio. She had to get to that radio!

He moved with the speed of a big, hungry cat taking down its prey. In a single smooth motion he scooped up the gun and spun toward her. With his free hand he slapped the canister of pepper spray from her grasp. The next thing she knew, his hands were on her shoulders, digging into her flesh, and she was being shoved backward into the examination room.

“For a corrections officer, you don’t take orders worth a damn,” he growled.

“Get your hands off me!”

“Calm down and listen.”

A yelp escaped her when her back hit the wall. She was pinned. She tried to use her knee, but he shifted sideways, blocking her attempt to disable him. She squirmed, but his body was as hard and unyielding as a brick wall against hers. “Unless you want to end up like that man on the table, don’t try that again,” he warned.

His voice was low and dangerous. She detected an accent. Irish maybe. But she was too scared to think too hard about it. His face was only inches from hers. So close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. She stared into eyes the color of dark-roast coffee, saw deadly intent and desperation and realized he wasn’t the kind of man who made idle threats.

“You can’t possibly think you’re going to get away with this,” she said breathlessly.

“That’s exactly what I think.” Every nerve in her body jangled when he shifted away and leveled the gun on her chest. “Get your hands up.”

Emily raised her hands to shoulder level. “I’m not armed.”

“Nothing personal, but I’d rather make that determination myself.” Never taking his eyes from hers, he ran his hands quickly and impersonally over her body, pausing when he discovered the extra canister of pepper spray strapped to her ankle. Damn.

“Guess you forgot about this.”

“I like to be prepared in case I get jumped by some piece-of-scum convict.”

She spotted blood on the underside of his wrist as he tossed the canister into the trash container. Not an abrasion he might have sustained in a scuffle but a clean slice. The kind of incision a doctor would make for a surgical procedure. She wondered if he’d overpowered Dr. Lionel during some kind of minor surgery.

“Where’s Dr. Lionel?” she asked.

“We don’t have time for questions.” He motioned toward the door with the gun. “You’re coming with me. Let’s go.”

“Where are you taking me?”

He was wearing only a pair of prison-issue drawstring pants. No shirt. No shoes. He was built like a distance runner, with long limbs and an abdomen that looked as if it had been carved from stone. His chest was rippled with muscle and covered with a sprinkling of black hair. He was grace and power rolled into a single disturbing package.

Tearing her gaze away, she tossed a covert glance at her fallen radio a few feet away. If she could reach it, all she needed to do was hit her personal alarm button and alert dispatch that she was in trouble….

“Don’t even think about going for that radio,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you force my hand, I will.”

She met his gaze levelly. “You don’t want to do this.”

“What I don’t want is to become one of Dr. Jekyll’s guinea pigs.”

Dr. Jekyll’s guinea pigs? Emily didn’t know what he meant by that. The guy was obviously delusional. She knew better than to engage him, but if she could talk him down, she stood a better chance of coming out of this unscathed. “You don’t stand a chance of getting out of here. Even if you make it out of the building, the tower guards will be all over you.”

“I’ll take my chances with the guards. They’re a hell of a lot less lethal.” He gestured with the gun toward the door. “Let’s go.”

She led him from the exam room to the interior door, but her hands were shaking so violently she could barely swipe her security card. Once the green light flickered, she tugged open the steel door and took him into the darkened hall. She sensed the presence of the gun as she walked, the almost tangible aura of danger surrounding the man as she took him into the main corridor.

“I need a uniform and coat,” he said.

She started to protest, but he raised the gun and aimed it at her face. “Get them for me,” he said. “Now.”

In his gaze she saw violence and unpredictability and understood that if she didn’t do exactly as he said he would kill her. “The locker room,” she said.

“Take me there—and make it fast.”

They took the corridor at a run with Emily in the lead. She hoped desperately for a fellow corrections officer to appear, but the shift hadn’t yet ended and this particular corridor was deserted.

By the time they reached the locker room, she was breathing hard and sweating—partly from the exertion, partly from fear. The locker room was a narrow tiled room that smelled of dirty socks. One wall was lined with a double row of slate-gray lockers, the other with stainless-steel shelves, matching hooks for towels and coats and gear. A wide doorway opened to the shower room.

“Find me a uniform.”

Emily crossed to one of the lockers. The convict stood behind her while she removed a uniform and shoved it at him. “Take it and go.”

He took the neatly folded shirt and pants, then stepped back and set the gun on the bench. Never taking his eyes from hers, he hooked his thumbs around the waistband of his own pants. “Don’t even think about running,” he said. “I shoot just as well naked as I do clothed.”

Ridiculously embarrassed, she averted her gaze as he stepped out of his pants. Clothing rustled. For a crazy instant she considered making a run for it. But while Emily was fast, she wasn’t fast enough to get through that door without risking a bullet in her back.

She stole a look at him out of the corner of her eye. He’d picked up the gun and was buttoning the shirt with his left hand, holding the gun on her with his right. The shirt was a tad too large but passable. In the darkness of early morning, he would pass as a corrections officer.

“Put on your coat,” he said.

She jolted at the sound of his voice. He was dressed now, right down to the cap and boots. Only he had a gun. A gun he’d vowed to use if she didn’t do exactly as she was told.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

“Put it on,” he snapped.

Emily didn’t want to go with him. She sure as hell didn’t want to help him escape. It went against everything she believed in, everything she’d been trained for. Worse, it triggered memories of what her father had done, and she’d sworn she would never disgrace herself the way Adam Monroe had.

She watched as he began searching through the coats hanging on the racks. Her eyes flicked past him to the alarm panel set into the wall near the door. Panic-button panels were located throughout the prison and available for officers to use in the case of an emergency or crisis—such as the one she was facing now. If she could reach it…

Emily stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was standing midway between him and the alarm. If she moved quickly, she could slam her fist down on the button before he could stop her. Within minutes a dozen corrections officers would descend, and this man would have no choice but to surrender.

Crossing him was dicey. There was the very real possibility that he would kill her. After all, the federal government didn’t put nice guys in the Bitterroot Super Max. This prison was reserved for the most violent, dangerous prisoners.

Her vision tunneled on the protruding red button. Her pulse skittering wildly, she sidled closer, one inch at a time. With four feet to go, she launched herself at the alarm.

An instant before her fist made contact with the button, viselike arms wrapped around her waist. “Code three!” she screamed and rammed her elbow into his gut.

A hand over her mouth cut off her words, then he pulled her away from the alarm and swung her around. Emily used every ounce of strength and every self-defense tactic she’d learned over the last three years. But he was incredibly strong and overpowered her with an ease that amazed her.

The next thing she knew, her back connected with the lockers. The breath left her lungs in a rush of air that was part growl, part scream. “Get your hands off me!”

“If you want to live, you’ll shut your mouth and listen!” Holding her against the lockers, he glanced over his shoulder toward the door, as if expecting someone to rush them at any moment. When he turned back to her, his eyes were dark with anger. “What are you trying to do? Get someone killed?”

“I’m trying to keep a dangerous convict from escaping,” she said.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he growled.

If she hadn’t been so terrified, Emily might have laughed. “Next you’re going to be telling me you’re innocent.”

“Honey, I’m a long way from innocent, but I don’t belong in this hellhole any more than you do.”

His voice was like the low rumble of thunder announcing the approach of a violent storm. Emily was aware of his body pressed firmly against hers. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the quiver of nerves raw with adrenaline.

The thud of shoes against concrete sounded outside the door. His body went rigid. “Not another word,” he whispered. “Or I swear I’ll kill whomever walks through that door.”

She could feel the butt of the gun against her belly. “Don’t,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

His gaze fastened on hers, and she saw a flicker of an emotion she couldn’t quite identify. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, leaving her to wonder how this was going to end. If he was going to kill her. If he was going to kill one of her co-workers. If she would have that death on her conscience the rest of her life.

He stared at her for an interminable moment, his expression a disturbing mix of fear and very dark intentions. “Unless you want me to pull this trigger, I suggest you follow my cue.”

Before she could answer, he slid his hands to either side of her face and lowered his mouth to hers.

Chapter Two

Emily was so shocked by the sudden intimate contact that for a moment she could do nothing but stand there and try to absorb what was happening. She was keenly aware of his mouth against hers, of the forbidden rush of pleasure that surged from her lips all the way to her toes.

Somewhere in the back of her mind an internal alarm wailed. Some small voice of reason telling her to shove him away. But the heat of the kiss was interfering with the synapses firing in her brain. Every impulse to scramble back and forget this had ever happened was tempered with a stronger impulse to kiss him back and worry about the consequences later.

His mouth was firm and breathtakingly talented against hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. The scratch of his stubble against her cheek. When she opened her mouth to voice the protest caught in her throat, he deepened the kiss.

Her protest came out as a sigh. She could feel her body melting. She knew it was the worst thing she’d ever done in her life. But the sensations coursing through her overwhelmed her, made her think maybe kissing him was a mistake worth making….

“Monroe?”

With a strength that surprised her, she shoved the inmate away, appalled by what she’d done, stunned by what she felt, mortified by how this would appear to a fellow corrections officer.

That officer was standing at the locker room doorway, his gaze sliding from her to the inmate and then back to her. “Is there a problem here?”

“No,” the convict said.

The young officer addressed Emily. “Where’s your radio?”

Heat infused her cheeks. She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to feel. Barely able to meet the other man’s gaze, she stepped away from the inmate. “I—I must have put it in my locker.”

The officer glared at the inmate with narrowed eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

The convict grinned like an idiot and stuck out his hand. “Zack Devlin,” he said.

Reluctantly the officer took his hand. “You new or what?”

“First day on the job.” Devlin whistled. “Hell of a facility you’ve got here.”

“Yeah, well, if you want to keep your job, I suggest you keep your mouth to yourself.” The man disentangled his hand and glared at Emily. “The sergeant has been trying to reach you on the radio. We’ve got a situation in Cell Block 2-W. Code yellow for now, but I expect them to crank it up to red if the second head count comes up short. Sarge has asked every officer on duty to stay until they find the missing inmate.”

“Oh…uh…sure. I’ll just…get my radio and meet up with you in the briefing room.”

“And bring the new recruit with you.” Sending a final scathing look at Zack, the officer turned and left the room.

Emily’s knees went weak the instant the other man disappeared, and she sat down hard on the bench. She couldn’t believe what she’d done. Couldn’t believe one of her co-workers had seen her do it. What had she been thinking letting an inmate kiss her?

Groaning, she put her face in her hands. “I’m finished as a corrections officer.”

“Look, if I hadn’t done what I did, you would have brought down the wrath of God knows how many corrections officers, and I’d be on the floor getting a mouthful of concrete about now.”

Raising her head, all she could think of was that she was twenty-eight years old and she’d never been kissed like that in her life. Suddenly she felt as much contempt for herself as she did for the inmate.

He glanced toward the door. “Look, things are about to get nasty. I’m going to go while the going is good. I appreciate the help.”

“Don’t thank me for something I didn’t do,” she said, giving him a seething look. “I’m going to hit the alarm the moment you walk out that door.”

“Just remember that things aren’t always what they appear,” he said. “No matter what you hear about me later, don’t forget that.”

No, Emily thought, she didn’t think she would ever forget this night no matter how much she wanted to.

“Watch your back.” Giving her a mock salute, he slid through the doorway with the soundless grace of a panther and disappeared into the dimly lit corridor.

For several seconds Emily sat motionless on the bench and listened to the hard pounding of her heart. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. Couldn’t believe levelheaded Emily Monroe had fallen for the oldest con in the book. She’d dishonored herself, jeopardized her job and compromised everything she’d ever believed in.

Just like her father.

She rose on trembling legs and started for the alarm panel. She was midway there when movement at the doorway drew her attention. For an instant she thought Devlin—or whatever his name was—had returned. She was surprised to see, of all people, Marcus Underwood, the administrator of Lockdown, Inc., the private corporation that ran the Bitterroot Super Max. What on earth was he doing at the prison this early in the morning?

“Mr. Underwood,” she said. “I was just—”

“Officer Monroe.” He crossed to her, followed by another man. “We caught part of what happened on the security cameras from the command center. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You’re aware that we’re currently under a code yellow.”

“Yes, sir. I was about to hit the alarm. An inmate overpowered me in the infirmary less than ten minutes ago.” Her voice shook as she described the situation she’d walked into at the infirmary. “He identified himself as Zack Devlin.”

The two men exchanged a look that sent a chill up her spine. “Devlin has a long and violent history,” Underwood said.

“Did he get away?” she asked.

“Nobody gets away from Lockdown, Inc.” The second man came up beside Underwood. The stripes on his shoulders told her he was a lieutenant, but she’d never met him. “We’ll get him.”

Underwood addressed Emily. “Did he tell you anything? Mention where he was going?”

She shook her head. “All I know is that he’s wearing a Lockdown, Inc. uniform and coat and that he’s armed with a semiautomatic pistol.”

“How did he get a weapon?” Underwood asked no one in particular.

“Evidently he had help,” the lieutenant said. “Someone must have smuggled it in.”

“Zack Devlin could talk a nun into lying for him.” Underwood looked grim. “Put out a code red.”

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant reached for his radio and began barking orders.

Hearing the squeak of rubber against concrete, Emily turned to see a man in a white lab coat standing in the doorway.

“Ah, Dr. Lionel,” began Underwood. “Before we take Officer Monroe to the debriefing room for a statement, we thought it would be a good idea for you to look her over, make sure she’s all right.” He turned his attention to Emily. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal with a very dangerous criminal. Lockdown, Inc.’s policy requires you to be thoroughly checked out by one of our medical personnel.”

“I’m fine.” She just wanted to get the paperwork finished so she could go home and forget this ever happened.

The three men were staring intently at her. Emily started to tremble when she noticed the syringe in Dr. Lionel’s hand. “What’s that for?” she asked.

Underwood gave her a reassuring smile. “I can see that you’re upset. You’re still shaking. Dr. Lionel is just going to give you a little something to help you relax.”

“I don’t need to relax.” Emily didn’t know what was going on, but there was something very wrong with this picture. As crazy as it sounded, she couldn’t shake the suspicion that these men hadn’t appeared out of nowhere to help her or debrief her. But why would they harm her? What could they possibly have to gain?

“What’s this all about?” she said. “What’s going on?”

Underwood spoke. “Did Zack Devlin tell you anything, Emily?”

Warily she glanced from man to man. “I’ve already told you everything that happened.”

“Everything, Emily? Are you absolutely certain? We were watching you on the security cameras, you know. You and Devlin seemed to be quite…close for having just met.”

The kiss, she thought and closed her eyes briefly. Dear Lord, they think I helped Devlin escape. “I— I can explain what happened.”

“Please do.”

“H-he surprised me. I was so…stunned, I couldn’t react.”

“Do you have any idea what the penalty is for aiding and abetting an escaped convict?” the lieutenant asked.

“I…didn’t,” she said breathlessly. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Your father did.”

Humiliation cut her at the mention of her father, but she kept her shoulders square, her chin up. “I know how this might look, but I did not help that man escape.”

“Someone did,” the lieutenant said.

“I followed policy and procedure,” she maintained.

“Of course you did.” Underwood assumed the classic good-cop role. “And now you’re going to tell us what Devlin told you.”

“He didn’t tell me anything.”

Sighing as if she’d disappointed him, Underwood nodded at the doctor.

“What are you doing?” she asked as the doctor approached her.

His grim expression raised gooseflesh on her arms. “We’re going to give you a little something to help you remember.”

Emily couldn’t believe this was happening. She stared at the syringe in Dr. Lionel’s hand, her heart pounding like a drum. The three men stood squarely between her and the door. There was no way she could get by them. Her hand went to the canister of pepper spray that should have been clipped to her belt only to find it gone. Damn. Damn. Damn.

“I want to speak to Warden Carpenter.” She’d known Clay Carpenter since she was a teenager. He’d worked with her father a decade earlier. The two men had been friends. He’d helped Emily get her job at the prison. He would never approve of what these men were about to do.

“I’m afraid the warden is unavailable,” the lieutenant said.

“Stay away from me,” she warned.

In tandem the lieutenant and the doctor closed in on her. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is,” the doctor said.

Emily lunged toward the alarm panel. Two sets of hands closed around her biceps and yanked her back.

“Let go of me!” She lashed out with her feet.

“This will be easier for you if you cooperate,” Underwood said. “Tell us what Devlin told you.”

She looked over to see Dr. Lionel thumb the cap off the syringe. “Keep that away from me!” she yelled, hoping she didn’t sound as terrified as she felt.

“We’re not going to hurt you, Emily. This is just a little thiopental sodium to help you tell the truth.”

Truth serum, she thought with a burgeoning sense of horror. “You can’t do this.”

Grabbing her arm, the lieutenant shot an irritated look at the doctor. “Inject her, damn it. We don’t have much time.”

The doctor raised the syringe. Emily had worked for Lockdown, Inc. for three years. She had two commendations in her personnel file. Why didn’t they believe her? Why would they go to such great lengths to extract information when she didn’t have a clue what they wanted from her? What could possibly be important enough to risk Lockdown, Inc.’s reputation? Or even her life?

Just remember that things aren’t always what they appear.

Devlin’s words scrolled through her mind. She glanced at Dr. Lionel. The needle was about to penetrate her skin. Oh, dear God…

“The first man that moves gets a bullet for his trouble.”

The doctor froze. All eyes swept to the doorway. Zack Devlin entered, his gun leveled on Underwood. He looked at Emily. “You okay?”

“No.” She scrambled back, looked from Zack to Underwood, then back to Zack. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“You were about to become Lockdown, Inc.’s latest victim.” His gaze cut to Underwood. “Killing your own people now?”

“You’ll never get out of here alive,” the lieutenant sneered. “Nobody has ever escaped this prison and lived to tell about it.”

“I’ve always had a knack for breaking protocol.” Devlin’s mouth curved in a dangerous imitation of a smile. “Get facedown on the floor. Hands behind your backs. All of you. Now.”

“He’s a killer,” Underwood said to Emily as he got down on the floor. “Don’t believe anything he says. You’re through, Devlin!”

Ignoring him, Zack crossed to her and held out his hand. “Give me your cuffs.”

Numb with shock and the knowledge that she was about to cross the point of no return, she removed three nylon restraints from her belt and handed them to Zack. She watched as he secured the men’s hands behind their backs.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Saving your life.” He shot her a sober look. “And mine. Come on.”

Underwood raised his head. “Don’t ruin your life, Emily. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. Zack Devlin is an Irish terrorist. A very dangerous man who’s murdered dozens of innocent people.”

Zack reached for her hand, but she stepped back, out of his reach. “I’m not going anywhere until I know what the hell is going on,” she said.

“They think I told you something.” He gazed levelly at her, his expression unreadable. “They were going to pump you full of truth serum.”

“Why did you come back?”

“Because after they injected you, they were going to kill you.”

Shuddering, Emily looked at the three men lying facedown on the floor. She’d known Marcus Underwood for three years. She couldn’t understand why a man of his stature would resort to such tactics. What could she possibly know that could be of value to him?

On the other hand, she’d seen the syringe. There was no doubt Dr. Lionel had been about to inject her with truth serum. Did they suspect Zack had given her some sort of sensitive information? Did they think she had smuggled that gun in and helped him escape? How was she supposed to make sense of any of this?

“You have to trust me.” Zack said the words with cold calm, but she heard the skitter of nerves just beneath the surface. “They’ll kill you if you stay.”

“Give me one good reason I should go with you,” she said.

He shot a pointed look at the clock on the wall. “For starters, in about thirty seconds all hell is going to break loose.”

Emily was absolutely certain all hell had already broken loose. She was wondering how the situation could get any worse when an explosion rocked the building.

Chapter Three

“Run!”

Zack didn’t wait for her to obey his command. Grabbing Emily’s hand, he dragged her from the locker room and into the main corridor.

A deafening alarm screeched intermittently, keeping perfect time with the blinking red strobes that ran along the walls. He tightened his grip on her hand and tugged her toward the personnel tunnel that would take them to the parking lot where a four-wheel-drive SUV waited, compliments of his contact at MIDNIGHT—a man Zack would happily kiss right now if he were around.

Unfortunately Emily was more interested in answers than running. Digging in her heels, she yanked her hand from his and turned on him, her expression frightened and angry. “What did you do?” she demanded. “What did you blow up? If you hurt someone—”

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” he cut in.

“I heard the explosion, damn it.”

“You heard a variation of a concussion grenade. All I did was add the timer. A lot of noise and smoke but no fire. It’s a diversionary tactic.”

“Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Maybe you prefer to go back in there with those nice men who were about to inject you.” Turning to her, he put his hands on her shoulders. When she tried to pull away, he squeezed just hard enough to make her hold still, listen to him. “Look, we don’t have time to discuss this. All you need to know is that you’re in danger. If we don’t get out of here pronto, they’re going to kill us.”

“Why?”

Because of me, he thought bitterly, and a hefty dose of self-recrimination rose inside him. The memory of Alisa’s death pressed into him with sharp, cruel fingers.

Shoving thoughts of the past back, he looked over his shoulder. “In a few seconds this place is going to be teeming with men who’ve been given orders to kill us on sight. If we don’t get through the personnel tunnel now, we’re toast.”

She looked pale and shaken despite the tough veneer she wore like a coat of armor. He could feel her shaking beneath his hands. Zack couldn’t blame her for being afraid, for not believing him. She thought he was a convict trying to escape. But he could tell she had good instincts. That those instincts were telling her to believe him. If he could only get her to listen to them.

“Trust me,” he said urgently. “I’ll tell you as much as I can once we’re safe.”

She didn’t pull away when he reached for her hand. They sprinted down the corridor at a reckless speed, rounded a corner and entered another hall. Ahead, two corrections officers manned the metal detector all personnel had to walk through to reach the tunnel.

Stopping abruptly, Zack lurched back, out of sight. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Metal detector.” He tugged the gun from his waistband, looked at it longingly, then tossed it into a darkened corner. “Let’s hope this goes the way I want it to.”

Both men looked up as Zack and Emily approached. A quiver of fear went through him when they raised their shotguns.

“Hold it right there,” the first man ordered. “Show me your badges. Now.”

Zack reached into his coat for the ID he’d stolen back at the infirmary. The photo on the badge didn’t look anything like him, but all he could do now was hope the officer didn’t notice.

“Hell of a night for a code,” he said casually.

“Ain’t that the truth,” officer number two muttered.

Vaguely Zack was aware of Emily holding out her badge, the officer looking closely at it, his shotgun ready at his side. Zack unclipped his own badge and held it out. He tensed as the officer looked at it, then at him. “That’s not your photo,” he said.

“Sure it is,” Zack returned smoothly.

The second officer came around the metal detector. “There a problem?”

Zack laughed. “Says this photo doesn’t look like me. Guess I’m too good-looking for my own good.”

The man eyed him suspiciously. “Where you headed?”

For the first time Emily spoke up. “Sarge sent us to do a perimeter patrol of the parking lot. Keep an eye on the vehicles.” She glanced at her watch. “We gotta run, boys, so make up you minds if that looks like him or not.”

Frowning, the officer passed the badge back to Zack. “Go.”

Zack didn’t have to be told twice.

THE PERSONNEL TUNNEL TOOK them to the employee exit. Emily hit the push bar on the double door and shoved it open. The cold predawn air hit her like a blast from a freezer, and she shivered.

“Where to now?” she asked.

“Keep walking.”

But midway to the parking lot Devlin stopped, as if listening, and looked over his shoulder toward the prison. “This is too easy. They had to have seen us on the cameras.”

“If they’d seen us, we’d be in custody already,” she said. “The SORT team doesn’t mess around.” The SORT team was the prison system’s version of a SWAT team.

“Unless their intent isn’t to take us into custody.”

For a moment the only sound came from their boots sinking into snow as they jogged across the parking lot. Around them the January night was bitterly cold. The occasional snowflake fell from a black sky, but the air was heavy with moisture, a precursor to a heavy snowfall.

“Over there.” He pointed toward a big white SUV parked in the far corner of the lot.

“Now you’re adding grand theft auto to your repertoire of charges?”

“My contact left it for me. There’s a GPS chip and a few other useful items hidden inside the wheel.” Taking her hand, he started toward the vehicle at a dead run. “Hurry.”

Contact? GPS system? Useful items? A dozen alarms were blaring simultaneously inside Emily’s head, most of which were warning her not to believe a word he said. She didn’t know what was going on or who to trust. The one thing she did know for certain was that this man was a convict. That he was escaping. That her employers at Lockdown, Inc. presumed she was helping him.

But she couldn’t explain what had taken place back in that locker room. Would Marcus Underwood and his men have hurt her if Zack hadn’t shown up when he did? What information could he possibly have that would be so valuable? Emily didn’t know the answers, but the possibilities chilled her to the bone.

When they reached the SUV, Zack went directly to the right front tire and knelt to open a small hidden compartment set into the wheel. Emily stared in shock as he withdrew a good-size drawstring satchel and a set of keys. She’d never seen a key holder like that before. “How did you know that was there?”

Grinning, he tossed the keys into the air and caught them with one hand. “Must be my lucky day.”

The tinny thwack! of a bullet penetrating steel punctuated the statement. Thwack! Thwack!

“Get down!”

The next thing Emily knew, she was being shoved to the ground. She got a mouthful of snow, and then Zack was on top of her. Thwack! Thwack! His body jerked with each gunshot. She could feel her own nerves jumping, terror beginning to flood her. Thwack!

“Damn it!”

She looked up to see the right front tire explode. Then her hand was locked within his and she was being dragged to her feet. “Run!”

She heard fear in his voice. Felt that same fear galloping through her own system. Adrenaline fed her muscles and within a few steps she was running full-out.

“Where to?” Zack shouted.

“My car. In the lot.”

“We’re sitting ducks in the lot.”

The pop of gunshots sounded behind them. Floodlights as bright as the sun flashed on. The outdoor sirens began to wail. Emily looked over her shoulder and saw a dozen men silhouetted against the prison walls.

“They’re shooting at us!” she said.

“I don’t know why that would come as a surprise.”

Something that felt like a red-hot baseball bat traveling at the speed of sound slammed into her upper arm. She yelped at the sudden burst of pain. The impact knocked her off balance. Her legs tangled. Zack’s hand was torn from hers as she went down hard on her stomach.

“Emily!”

She lifted her head, saw him rushing toward her, his face taut with horror. She had snow in her eyes. In her mouth. In her hair. Down the front of her shirt. For some reason, her arm was burning like the dickens.

“Are you hit?” He went to his knees beside her, reached for her, pulled her toward him. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think—”

“Damn it!”

She looked over to see his fingers probing the tear in her coat. Now how had that happened? Weren’t the SORT team marksmen supposed to be shooting at Zack? Since when had she become a target? “Oh, my God.”

“You’ve been shot.” He glanced over his shoulder, cursed. Four men in full SORT team assault gear were two hundred yards away and closing fast. “Can you run?”

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

Pulling her to her feet, he looked around. “We need a vehicle.”

“The utility garage.” She pointed with her good arm. “Over there.”

“Let’s move.” Taking hold of her uninjured arm, he tugged her into a run toward the corrugated-steel utility garage.

One of the four overhead doors stood partly open. Emily and Zack ducked under the door and burst into the building. Country music billowed from a radio atop a toolbox. Two ATVs were parked near the first bay. A small yellow bulldozer hulked in the corner. Two four-wheel-drive trucks with the Lockdown, Inc. logo on the doors sat at bays two and three.

A scrawny young man wearing insulated coveralls looked up from the engine he was working on. His face blanched at the sight of Zack. “You’re the escapee,” he said.

“I’m your worst nightmare if you don’t find us a vehicle pronto,” Zack said.

The young man looked as if he were about to swallow his tongue. “Take whatever you want.” He pointed. “If it were me, I’d go for the snowmobile. Weatherman says we’re going to get dumped on.”

Wondering what else could go wrong, Zack darted to the snowmobile, shot a hard look at the kid. “Where are the keys?”

The young man raised a trembling hand and pointed. “O-on the bulletin board,” he squeaked.

Emily crossed to the bulletin board, snatched the keys off a hook and tossed them at Zack. He caught them with one hand, then said, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll run out that door and forget you ever saw us.”

The wrench the kid was holding clattered to the floor. Backing away, he spun and sprinted through the door without looking back.

Emily watched him disappear into the falling snow. She could hear voices and shouting coming through the open door. No doubt the prison SORT team and tower guards were assessing the situation. It was only a matter of minutes before they stormed the place.

Somewhere in the distance an engine fired. She watched Zack pull a small bundle from the satchel and set it on the floor beneath one of the trucks.

“Give me that gas can,” he ordered.

Emily spotted the red can next to the workbench, picked it up and handed it to Zack. “What are you doing?”

“Just taking out a little insurance.” He placed the can next to the bundle, then dashed to the snowmobile, picked up two helmets and slid onto the seat. “Come here.”

She met him at the snowmobile. Her arm was burning and throbbing. Light-headed, she wondered if the wound was more than just a graze.

“You okay?” Eyeing her intently, he lifted one of the helmets and slid it gently onto her head.

“Oh, I’m just peachy. In the last half hour I’ve been taken hostage, shot at, lied to by people I thought were the good guys. No, I’m not okay! I want to know what the hell is going on.”

His eyes met hers as he fastened the strap beneath her chin. “Look, I didn’t mean to involve you. But I can’t leave you here. And there’s no time for me to explain right now, okay?”

It wasn’t okay, but she didn’t think it would help the situation if she started demanding answers now. She looked down at the hole that had been torn in her coat. Her stomach clenched when she saw the blood seeping through the sleeve.

As if reading her thoughts, Zack reached out and touched her arm. “As soon as we get out of here, I’ll find a place to stop and take care of your arm. I’m an EMT. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

It was ridiculous, but looking into his eyes, she believed him. “I can’t believe they shot me.” Of all the things that had happened, that was the one that bothered her the most. She’d been a member of the Lockdown, Inc. corrections team for three years. Her teammates were her friends. Her family. Surely the prison marksman had been aiming for Zack.

Hadn’t he?

His eyes darkened as he slid his own helmet over his head and fastened the strap. “I’m going to drive this thing like a bat out of hell. Put your arms around my waist and don’t let go. You got that?”

The motor purred like a big, wild cat as she slid onto the seat behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

An instant later the snowmobile’s steel shoes dug into the concrete. Sparks flew as the machine shot out the open door like a cannonball.

Once outside, Zack looked behind him toward the utility garage, holding what looked like a tiny television channel-changer in his hand. He depressed a button, then dropped the device into his coat pocket. “Hang on!”

The snowmobile took off like a racehorse out of the gate. Emily tightened her arms around Zack’s waist. She heard gunshots and shouting over the roar of wind coming through her helmet. Zack veered sharply, barely missing a light pole. They were heading toward a line of trees that would take them to the foothills of Idaho’s Bitterroot Mountain range when the garage exploded.

Even from a hundred yards away Emily felt the hot breath of the explosion. She glanced over her shoulder to see a ball of flames billow like a giant orange mushroom into the early-morning sky.

“I take it that wasn’t a concussion grenade,” she shouted to be heard over the whine of the engine, the roar of wind around her helmet.

“No,” he shouted over his shoulder. “But it might buy us some time if we’re lucky.”

“If we’re lucky?”

“Yeah.” He muttered a curse. “We’re about to run out of gas.”

“HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?” Marcus Underwood furiously paced the briefing room.

Standing a few feet away, Lieutenant Riley Cooper looked everywhere but into his superior’s livid eyes. “We didn’t anticipate an inmate getting inside help,” he said.

“Didn’t anticipate? It is your job to anticipate!”

The other man swallowed hard. “I understand.”

“I want them caught or dead—and I want it done yesterday!”

“Y-yes, sir.”

The seven men who comprised the prison SORT team shifted uncomfortably in their chairs while their team leader was grilled to a crisp.

“The woman, too?” one of the men asked after a moment.

“She is an accomplice and is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous. For God’s sake, she smuggled a firearm into the prison for him.” Underwood’s gaze scanned the faces of the team he’d gathered to hunt down and kill Zack Devlin and Emily Monroe. “All of you saw the security-camera video. She and Devlin have evidently been planning his escape for quite some time. He is armed with explosives, antipersonnel devices and at least one semiautomatic weapon. I don’t need to remind any of you what this man is capable of.”

Nobody had anything to say about that. Underwood had made certain each man on this handpicked team had seen the file he’d built on the infamous Irish terrorist, Zack Devlin. As far as they knew, Devlin had spent the last ten years murdering indiscriminately. Men. Women. Children.

“This is a race against time, gentlemen,” Underwood said. “It is your responsibility to stop this murderer and his accomplice before they kill again. It is your responsibility to bring them back to me dead or alive. Am I clear?”

Silence shrilled for the span of a full minute.

“This briefing is over,” Underwood snapped.

The team members rose quickly, gathered their weapons and gear and filed out the door.

Dr. Lionel was in the process of gathering his notes when Underwood approached him. “Were you able to locate and remove the GPS device before he got away?” Underwood asked.

“It had been implanted just under the skin.” The doctor pulled a sealed plastic bag from the file and held it up. “I extracted it just a few minutes before he overpowered me.”

Underwood took the bag and studied the tiny device. “Looks to be state of the art.”

“It is. But without it, whatever agency he’s working for won’t be able to locate him.”

The lieutenant approached the two men. “Devlin doesn’t stand a chance in a storm like this with seven of my best men tracking him.”

“You had better be right.” Underwood looked at Dr. Lionel. “I do not want our progress on RZ-902 interrupted.”

The doctor nodded. “We’re moving on to the next phase as planned.”

“Excellent. You know how I feel about delays.” Dropping the GPS device on the floor, Marcus Underwood crushed it with his shoe. “I hate waiting almost as much as I hate loose ends.”

Chapter Four

Zack pushed the snowmobile to a dangerous speed, zipping between trees and treacherous outcroppings of rock. The machine beneath him screeched like a mechanical banshee. Wind and snow battered his body and face shield. Even over the roar of wind he could hear the rotors of the helicopter overhead. He could see the spotlight sweeping down like a white tornado. If they were spotted, it would be over. Not only for him but for the woman he’d dragged into this.

Cursing beneath his breath, he punched off the single headlight. Behind him Emily tensed. “You can’t drive this thing without headlights!”

There was no other choice. The headlights made them sitting ducks. Blanketed in darkness, it took all his concentration to steer around the trees and jutting rock. He silently prayed he wouldn’t run them into some immovable object. At this speed, an accident would be fatal.

“I know what I’m doing,” he said.

He remembered from the map he’d studied of the area surrounding the prison that the main road leading to the small, rural town of Salmon was straight ahead. He was familiar enough with law-enforcement tactics to recognize they were setting up a perimeter. That there would be roadblocks. The map had shown a less-traveled dirt road that would take them west into the Bitterroot Mountains. The terrain would be rough, but with a chopper hovering just a few hundred yards away, Zack didn’t have a choice but to take it.

The road forked. Without slowing down or hesitating, Zack veered left. Trees and rock formations blew past as he pushed the snowmobile at a reckless speed down the narrow road. He was putting them in a perilous position, but getting shot at seemed even more dangerous, so he leaned forward and put the pedal to the metal.

There were no towns to the west. Just the vast wilderness of the Salmon National Forest. If they were lucky, they might be able to find a ranch and get to a phone. But even if they did, Zack wasn’t sure whom to call. Clearly someone at the agency had sold him out. He didn’t have a clue who or why. But he was going to find out. And then he was going to take great pleasure in breaking every bone in their body.

Of course, before he could do that he had to stay alive. That meant losing the chopper.

He ducked instinctively when the powerful spotlight swept over them. He twisted the throttle, trying to squeeze more power from the snowmobile, but the engine was running at its peak. Damn it!

The spotlight swept over them again, only this time it held.

“They’ve spotted us!” Emily cried.

“Not for long,” Zack fired back. “Hold tight.”

He swerved right and for an instant they were hidden beneath the canopy of pines that grew along the road. But the spotlight latched onto them again when they burst from the cover of the trees.

Snow being kicked up from the chopper’s rotors blinded him, but Zack held the handlebars steady and managed to keep the snowmobile on the road using the treetops as his point of reference. The chopper was flying low and bearing down on them, getting closer and closer….

Suddenly a bullet blew a hole through the Plexiglas windshield. Fear notched up into cold, hard terror at the realization there was at least one sharpshooter on board the chopper. And that he and Emily were in his crosshairs. He didn’t know if there were enough trees up ahead to provide ample cover. If he didn’t do something quickly, they would be shot….

Then the windshield exploded. Plexiglas blew back, pelting his face shield and chest. Through the driving wind and snow Zack spotted an opening in the trees off to his right. “Hang on!” he shouted and drove off the road.

The snowmobile bumped over some fallen logs and snow-covered rocks the size of basketballs. He felt Emily tighten her grip. Even through the pandemonium of the out-of-control ride and the knowledge that certain death was only a tiny miscalculation away, Zack vowed to keep her safe. She might be employed by Lockdown, Inc., but he didn’t think she was involved with the RZ-902. She sure as hell hadn’t asked for this.

A rock the size of a Volkswagen came at them seemingly out of nowhere. Zack turned hard to the left. The snowmobile tilted at a precarious angle, but he leaned into the turn and managed to keep it upright. He glanced behind him, looking for the chopper, and saw with some surprise that it was nowhere in sight.

“Do you see the chopper?” he shouted.

“I think it went straight when we went into the trees,” Emily answered.

That wouldn’t last long. Chances were, the Lockdown people were equipped with night-vision equipment. They probably had infrared technology, as well, which worked much the same way only using body heat instead of light. In the snow, he and Emily would stand out like neon beacons.

Zack glanced down at the gas gauge, which had been on E since leaving the prison maintenance building. The best he could hope for would be that they had enough to get them out of the immediate area.

The trees had opened up and Zack drove the snowmobile like a madman. Even though the headlights were off, he could see that they’d entered what looked like an old ski slope. The terrain was sloped severely, but it was clear of trees for the most part. He took the snowmobile up the mountain at an angle.

The snow was coming down in earnest now. If the bad weather continued, there was a good possibility the chopper would be grounded. If they could reach a house or flag down a passing motorist, they might just get out of this alive.

The hope evaporated like a snowflake in the sun when the snowmobile jerked violently. Too late Zack saw the looming cliff. He applied the brake and yanked the handlebars hard to the right. Snow spewed high into the air as the big machine pivoted. To his left he saw the black vastness of space, but they were still on solid ground. For a moment he thought they were going to make it. Then the snow crumbled beneath them.

“Jump!” he shouted to Emily.

The warning came too late. The snowmobile plummeted downward. The engine whined as the machine went into a free fall.

Emily screamed. The terror in her voice pierced him like a dagger. He wanted to turn to her, tell her he hadn’t meant for this to happen. He hadn’t meant for her to get hurt….

Then the snowmobile tumbled into a nosedive, and Zack couldn’t do anything but pray.

EMILY WASN’T SURE how or when she’d lost her grip on Devlin; she’d been holding on tightly just a moment before. Now she was flying through the air, barreling toward an inevitable impact that would surely kill them both. Damn convict. If she’d had a gun, she would have pulled it out and shot him.

She slammed into the ground hard and lost her breath. She heard a crash nearby, then the world went silent and still. For several seconds she lay there, trying to get oxygen into her lungs. When she opened her eyes, she saw heavy snow swirling down. The tops of the pines were swaying. She could hear the wind whistling through the branches.

She’d fallen into deep snow, which had cushioned her fall. Shifting slightly, she took a quick physical inventory and ascertained she was relatively injury-free. Groaning, she rolled onto her side, sat up and looked around.

She was sitting on a steeply sloped incline in two feet of snow next to a broken sapling pine and a big chunk of the snowmobile’s fairing that had been ripped off in the fall. Twenty feet away the snowmobile lay on its side, the engine sizzling and smoking like an overcooked steak.

Slowly Emily got to her feet. Her arms and legs shook as she brushed the snow from her clothes. She glanced up and saw they’d gone off the cliff and down about twenty feet. A long way to fall. She was fortunate to have survived unscathed and wondered if Devlin had been so lucky.

“Devlin?” she called out.

She stood motionless and listened for a response, but none came. Even though Devlin was an escaped convict who had taken her hostage and nearly gotten her killed, the thought of being out here in the middle of nowhere all alone was unnerving. Especially since she was becoming more and more certain there was something sinister and deadly going on at Lockdown, Inc.

She was going to have to climb down to where the snowmobile lay to check on Devlin. Emily started toward the ledge. “Devlin, you had better be alive,” she muttered beneath her breath as she plowed through deep snow. “Because I’m going to wring your neck with my bare—”

The sound of a breaking twig cut her words short. Gasping, Emily spun—and found herself staring into Zack Devlin’s eyes. For the first time since he’d taken her hostage, he looked shaken. His face was pale against his dark hair. Blood was trickling down from a cut at his temple. How badly had he been injured?

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

The question took her aback. She didn’t expect him to be worried about her well-being one way or another. “Considering you just tried to kill me by driving off a cliff, I’d say I’m doing better than expected. What the hell were you trying to pull?”

“Maybe you’d rather take a bullet in the back.”

She didn’t have a comeback for that. Whomever had been in that chopper had been shooting at them. And they hadn’t seemed too concerned about which of them they hit. A deeply disturbing fact.

“If it hadn’t been for me, your pals back at the prison would have turned you into Swiss cheese,” he said.

“They were shooting at you,” she said. “In case you’re wondering, that’s standard operating procedure when an inmate takes an officer hostage and escapes.”

He glanced away from her and looked up at the sky as if gauging the storm. He had a strong profile with a straight nose and chiseled mouth. Emily wasn’t sure why, but the sight of his lips made her think of the kiss in the prison locker room. Remembering it right now was ridiculously inappropriate considering the situation. But neither of those things changed what the kiss had done to her….

Tearing her gaze away from him, Emily brushed the last of the snow from her coat and slacks and looked around. Under different circumstances she might have enjoyed the beauty of the night. The heavy snowfall was lovely against the backdrop of the mountain forest and night sky. But standing out in the middle of nowhere with an escaped convict who’d nearly gotten her killed removed any discernible pleasure.

“We lucked out,” he said. “The chopper must have been grounded because of the storm.”

“Oh, yes, I’m feeling luckier by the second,” she said dryly. “If we’re really lucky, we’ll be buried alive with snow by morning.”

The look he gave her caused the hairs on her arms to prickle. A different kind of uneasiness rose inside her. Emily wasn’t familiar with his background or what he’d done. It had to be brutal, savage, for him to end up in the Bitterroot Super Max. She didn’t want to think about what he was capable of. Or what he might do to her…

Refusing to let the thought spook her, she stuck out her chin and gave him a hard look. “So what do you propose we do now, Einstein?”

“First and foremost, we stay alive.”

That might be very difficult under the circumstances. Emily refused to go there.

He sighed, motioned toward the tear in the sleeve of her coat. “At some point I’ll need to take a look at that bullet wound.”

Between dodging bullets and crashing the snowmobile, she’d pushed the pain in her arm to the back of her mind. But now that he’d mentioned it, she could feel the stinging and burning of the bullet wound, the wet stickiness of the blood.

“Why don’t you just make a run for it while you can?” she said.

Her heart sped up when he stepped close to her. “Because I didn’t risk my life breaking out of that hellhole to run.”

“You don’t need me,” she said. “Just go and leave me here.”

“If they find you here or anywhere else, you’re as good as dead.”

“They wouldn’t—”

“They would,” he said sharply. “Do you think that bullet wound in your arm was an accident?”

“I think the SORT team marksman was trying to stop you. I got in the way.”

“In case you’ve forgotten what happened in the locker room, let me refresh your memory. Three men. One of them had a syringe with your name on it. He was going to shoot you up with some kind of truth serum, for God’s sake. Then who knows what was next on the agenda.”

Emily wanted to deny it but couldn’t. She’d seen the syringe. She’d seen the looks on the men’s faces. And she’d known what they’d been about to do. But why?

“They think I helped you escape,” she said dully.

“They think you know something you shouldn’t.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like why inmates at the Bitterroot Super Max have been dying under mysterious circumstances for the last six months.”

Something was going on at the prison. In the last six months, she’d personally known of at least two inmates dying unexpectedly. That was why she’d been asking questions. That was why she’d been in the infirmary that morning to begin with.

But to believe the people she’d worked with for the last three years were capable of murder was unthinkable. How did Devlin know about it? There appeared to be a lot more to Zack Devlin than met the eye.

“How do you know inmates have been dying?” she asked.

“I know because for the last four months I’ve watched men systematically disappear. Healthy men who are sent to the infirmary. Most come back to their cells deathly ill. Some of them don’t come back at all.”

Was Devlin just a smooth-talking liar whose very freedom hinged on manipulating her into helping him?

But in her heart Emily knew something was going on at the prison. She just didn’t know what.

Things aren’t always what they appear….

“What’s happening to them?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

He turned his gaze to hers. She saw a weariness that hadn’t been there before and wondered about its source. “Horrors you can only imagine in your worst nightmares,” he said.

Emily stared at him, aware that she was frightened. And that the fear didn’t have anything to do with the man standing so close she could see the stubble on his cheek. Deep inside she knew that despite whatever this man might have done, he was not lying about Lockdown, Inc.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m the man who’s going to try to save your life, if you’ll let me.”

“You’re a dangerous fugitive. You’ve taken me hostage—”

“And you’d be dead right now if I hadn’t gotten you out of there.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“They would have killed you the same way they’ve killed countless others in the last six months.”

Looking suddenly tired, he raised his hand and touched the cut on his temple. His lips pulled into a frown when his fingertips came away red. He wiped it on his slacks and looked around. “Look, we need to put some distance between us and that prison. Then we need to find shelter. I have a feeling the weather is going to get worse before it gets any better.”

“I deserve an explanation.”

“You deserve to stay alive.” He turned to her, his expression tense. “They’re probably putting together a search team as we speak.”

“No professional in his right mind would send out search teams in this storm.”

“No, but a madman would. The people at Lockdown, Inc. have too much at stake to let us get away.”

“You keep using the term us,” Emily choked out. “Unless you have a mouse in your pock—”

“Like it or not, you are now on Lockdown, Inc.’s most-wanted list. Your only chance of coming out of this alive is to stick with me. If the storm doesn’t get too much worse, we might be able to outdistance them. Then maybe I can get us some help.”

“Help from whom?”

He looked away, his jaw flexing, as if her question had more ramifications than she’d intended. “We’ve got to go,” he said. “In another hour there may not be any visibility at all.” He shot her a look that made the hair at her nape prickle. “That’s the best-case scenario, Emily. If the weather improves, this area is going to be crawling with heavily armed cops with itchy trigger fingers. If they get their hands on us, we’re going to wish we hadn’t survived the plunge off that cliff.”

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