The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,4

to agree, and without a way to end the conversation, Amanda turned and rushed away.

CHAPTER THREE

Hagan sprinted up another flight of stairs. His muscles burned as he concentrated on the endless slap of his running shoes. Sweat poured down his neck as he climbed the closed-for-renovations skyscraper. His vision tunneled. This wasn’t just another workout. It was a regimen capable of clearing his mind days after the conversation with the woman in Lebanon. He still couldn’t shake the sadness. Damn, he missed his brother.

Hagan growled and gulped for oxygen, pushing his body until darkness shadowed over memories of his death. Hagan re-focused on running. He could do another flight. “Push.” Push through the pain and aging memories. Push until he couldn’t do anything except breathe.

He powered onto the next stairwell landing. Lungs burning, light-headed, and depleted, he didn’t have the strength to stop his momentum. Hagan slammed into the cinder block wall like a runaway bulldozer. His pulse pounded in his ears. His forehead pressed to the gritty coarseness, and he rolled his head back and forth against it like it was an icepack.

For a blissfully delirious moment, he couldn’t recall what had started him up the tower stairs. He basked in the endorphins that pummeled through his veins, furiously releasing their high and leaving every thought from the past in the distance. “Thank God.”

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. Finally, Hagan wiped the sweat from his forehead, straightened, and rolled his shoulders. Lactic acid would knot in his muscles if he didn’t move soon. With his breathing semi-controlled, he descended the first flight of many.

The hollow, metallic click of a stairwell door opening preceded a boom as it shut. Hagan froze, sure he’d been the only person in the unfinished tower. The construction crew had left hours ago. His teammates had no reason to be in this building. Hagan listened for Boss Man’s hefty steps, but instead of the footfalls from a military muscle hound, Hagan detected a light, smooth gait rushing from above.

Curious, he backed to the wall and peered up. “Hello?”

The unknown person stopped, not answering.

Well, hell. His curiosity upgraded to suspicion. He climbed another flight and moved into a corner for a different angle, but he couldn’t get a bead on the other person. He crept up another flight and kept to the corners—still no sight or sound from above. The rogue trespasser was a problem, and he was unarmed and unable to call for backup. Hagan had no choice but to investigate.

He edged up the stairs, forcing himself to move cautiously. He ignored the lactic acid coiling in his muscles and the dizzying need for water and calories. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Hagan slapped his hand over the exercise watch and muffled the notification announcing his heart rate had returned to a normal range. The gift from his sister, Roxana, had lit up his location like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Finally, the notification stopped, but the damage was done. He remained still and listened. The intruder had the same wait-and-listen plan. Hagan shifted to keep his muscles from locking when he heard the unmistakable sound of a round entering a chamber followed by quiet steps.

Anticipation prickled down his neck. Hagan pressed against the wall and positioned for a better spot at the same moment that he registered a woman with a gun trained at his center mass. He pulled back.

“Stay where you are,” the woman called. “Don’t move.”

Damn. Unlike the nanny in Lebanon, this woman’s voice didn’t hold a thread of uncertainty. With his location blown, no weapon or backup, and an inability to run away in his own damn house, Hagan didn’t have many options. “I’m unarmed.”

She moved into his line of sight, weapon still up, then eyed his clothing. “Why are you creeping in the stairwell?”

He scowled. “I wasn’t creeping any more than you were.” Her weapon didn’t waver from its target. He extended his palms slowly in a show of good faith. “I could ask you the same question.”

“Don’t bother. Why are you dressed like that?”

He dropped his hands and pulled at the shirt sticking to his chest. “The local gym doesn’t do it for me.”

“Do not move,” she ordered like she owned the place as much as he did.

Hagan clamped his molars and tried to recall mention of a new teammate. Surely, he would’ve remembered hearing about a woman on their team. Especially a woman with dark hair and stealthy eyes that would’ve made any man take a second