Midnight Hero - By Diana Duncan Page 0,44

together like other couples on New Year’s Eve.

Instead, they might die together.

A wave of dizziness washed over her and she staggered.

“Hey, you okay over there? I was teasing before, but if you really need help…”

If he joined her in the cubicle, she’d wrap her arms around him and never let go. The last thing he needed was a clingy, whiny woman. “I’m doing fine.” She wiped off the vinyl bench with her blouse, then sat and tugged on the jeans, turtleneck and sweatshirt. She loosened the black velvet ribbon securing her hummingbird charm and retied it over the turtleneck, and then donned socks and boots. “What should we do with our wet stuff?”

“Leave it. We don’t need anything else to haul around.”

They exited the fitting room. “Except for these.” Con grabbed three comforters sealed in vinyl bags on the way out of the store. “We need something dry to picnic on.” He reached for her hand.

Her chilled fingers tucked securely in his big, already warm ones, she walked beside him toward the food court. “I feel so small and insignificant in this huge, eerie bubble of silence. Just the two of us, trapped inside, like caterpillars in a jar.” A tremor shivered up her spine. “Only there are praying mantises on the loose.”

Con squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. Dozens of patrol cars will respond to the call-out. They’ll import an army of cops.”

But up here, they were alone. At least she hoped they were. The eerie thought sent goose bumps prickling along her skin. “Are you sure no one else is up here?”

To her left, a sudden movement, followed by a resounding crash sent her heart leaping into her throat.

Before she had time to form coherent thought, Con dropped the blankets, shoved her to the floor and flung himself on top of her. “Don’t move!”

Chapter 8

6:00 p.m.

Adrenaline rocketed from Bailey’s toes to the top of her head, and her heartbeat exploded in her ears. “What was that?” she whispered.

“Stay put.” Con eased off her and drew a squirt gun from the back waistband of his jeans. Appearing surprisingly deadly considering he was packing plastic instead of steel, he pivoted in a half crouch and pointed the makeshift weapon toward the crash.

Nothing happened. No movement. No sound. The taut moment stretched out, enveloped in heavy silence.

He noiselessly prowled across the floor toward Outdoor Outfitters. Squirt gun sweeping from side to side, he crept inside the store. Then he disappeared from sight.

She held her breath and prayed.

Suddenly, his laughter rolled out the doorway and over her. The low, husky chuckles undulated inside her, both stirring and confusing.

Laughter? “Con?” she called. “Who is it?”

“Maxwell Moose.”

“What?”

“Outdoor Outfitters mascot, Maxwell Moose. There’s a huge replica of him in here. Got wet in the sprinkler storm like everything else, and toppled over, taking a couple tents down with him. Looks like the collapsed tents have been holding up his considerable weight for a while. The fabric finally tore.”

“Gad. Moose-induced heart attack. A unique cause of death for the coroner to list on my certificate.” As the adrenaline tide swept out, she sat up and pressed her palm over her galloping heart. “So, other than Maxwell, we really are alone up here?”

He emerged from the store and returned to her side. “As reasonably sure as I can be. Three spread-out floors is a lot of territory for six or eight…” He grinned. “Now reduced to four or six…guys to track.”

“I’d be happier if there were less.”

“If I have anything to say about it, there will be. Eventually.” He offered his hand and helped her up. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.” She glanced at the floor. “Fortunately, I landed on the packaged comforters. Geez, Officer Sexy, I don’t mind if you throw me down and leap on me, but issue a warning first.”

“Sorry, no time for a warning. Or to cushion your fall. Good thing the blankets dropped where they did.” His grin broadened, white and wicked in his beard-stubbled face. “I promise next time I jump you, it will be under more pleasant circumstances.”

She’d give her right arm for Con’s confidence. Armed only with a squirt gun and his wits, he was sure he could handle anything that came their way. Had no doubts they’d escape in one piece. At least no doubts he was sharing. She’d caught glimpses of the doubt he’d tried so hard to hide. After the fright, his good humor was appreciated…and contagious. She chuckled as her heart lightened. “Something