San Antonio Secret. Robin Perini

friends’ sisters were off-limits for one. Secondly, and more immediately, Archimedes liked to play deadly games, and he didn’t give a rip about collateral damage. He might just murder Sierra for the satisfaction of proving he could.

      Rafe palmed his Kimber 1911 and slipped through the warehouse door. He eyed a camera and ducked behind a large concrete support in a visual dead zone. That ominous and all-too-familiar tingle skittered down Rafe’s spine. He had no doubt Archimedes was watching. The man was a sick voyeur, and the moment Rafe showed himself, the serial killer would know.

      “We’re clear,” a worker in a yellow hard hat called across the room to the blaster.

      “Then let’s get out of here. This sucker’s going to collapse like a pancake.”

      The men hurried out, slamming a metal door behind them. The clang echoed through the empty building.

      Rafe checked his GPS and surveyed the open area. Yep. Drilled holes stuffed with dynamite dotted columns throughout the place. No one knew the order was on hold.

      They had to keep it that way. Until he found Sierra.

      He followed the trail from one of the dynamite cluster’s detonation cables until a second set of wiring caught his attention.

      Well, damn and double damn.

      Archimedes had been here.

      Military grade dets, not used for civilian demolition. No wonder the serial killer had oozed that smug, I-know-more-than-I’m-telling arrogance during their last communication. He’d rigged the existing wire to give him complete control. Even if the demolition expert didn’t set off the charge, Archimedes could. And would.

      Sierra.

      Rafe’s heart thudded hard against his chest. He glanced at his watch. Hell, no. Five minutes.

      If he shot out the cameras, Archimedes might detonate early. Rafe tapped his earpiece. “Zane, you’re sure about those coordinates?”

      “Unless Archimedes spoofed them. And he could have. I’d give it fifty-fifty.”

      “Not good enough.” CTC’s surveillance expert was the best Rafe had ever worked with. There had to be a way. “If the place doesn’t blow, Archimedes is going to set off the dynamite. Can you jam the detonation signal?”

      “I don’t have the time to crack his encryption.” A curse erupted from Zane. “He’s one step ahead of us. Again.”

      “What about the cameras?”

      “If I disrupt them, he’ll know.” A drumming sounded through the phone. “Maybe...okay, it’ll just be a minute, but I have an idea.”

      “You don’t have a minute,” Rafe snapped.

      A blur of tapping sounded through the phone. “If I loop the camera feed—”

      “He won’t know I’m here. Very Hollywood thriller of you.”

      “I try. It’s not going to be pretty, though. If he’s watching closely enough, he’ll be able to tell.”

      “Do it.”

      “I already started,” Zane said. “A half minute more.”

      The seconds ticked by. Rafe studied the path to Sierra’s coordinates, timing it in his head.

      “That’s as good as it’ll get,” Zane said. “Go.”

      Rafe catapulted from his hiding place and raced across the large concrete building. He skidded to a halt in front of a closed metal door and turned the knob. Locked. “Sierra. I’m coming for you,” he shouted.

      He backed up and slammed his foot against the barrier with all his weight behind him. The door bent, but didn’t open. Another kick. A third. A fourth. It wouldn’t give way.

      A loud ticking echoed in his head, his internal clock counting down the seconds. This wasn’t working, and Archimedes could discover the deception at any moment.

      A large spread of debris littered the floor nearby. A piece of rusted rebar stuck out from one heap. Rafe clutched it in his hand and wedged the end in a small crack created by his assault. With a loud groan he pried the door open.

      “Sierra?”

      He peered through the opening.

      Empty. A mound of wiring and debris filled the small room.

      What the hell?

      “She’s not here, Zane. Am I even in the right warehouse?”

      “According to my data, she has to be within a few feet,” he said.

      Ninety seconds.

      Normally Rafe’s body grew ultracalm the more perilous the operation, but this was Sierra. His palms grew damp, a bead of sweat trailed down his temple. Where the hell was she?

      He rounded a corner and on the opposite wall facing the room he’d just entered, he found another door. The metal was bent, slightly off center.

      He jammed in the rebar and pried it open. Sierra lay in the small, cramped closet, feet bound, mouth duct-taped, her shirt splayed open, and blood trickling from a carving of the infinity symbol on her upper left breast.

      Her eyes widened.

      “Got her,” he said into his comm. He knelt beside her, tugging her shirt closed and slicing through her bindings with his Bowie. “You’re one tough woman to find.”

      Her body trembled, and she shrank from his touch.

      “Easy does it.” As carefully as he could, he pulled off the tape. “Can you walk?”

      “I can try,” her husky voice croaked. She swiped at her eyes and fought to sit up.

      “We can’t wait to find out.” He scooped her into his arms and pushed out of her tiny prison. He bolted toward the door. She clung to his neck. A few feet from the exit a loud explosion shuddered the building. Smoke billowed at him, rolling in the waves of a nightmare.

      Visibility went nil.

      Rafe felt for the handle of the door and clutched the metal. He yanked it open. The ground shook beneath him. Legs pumping hard, he carried Sierra as far as he could.

      They wouldn’t make it.

      The building pancaked behind them, a sonic boom knocking him off his feet. The force slammed them to the ground.

      He landed on top of her, and she grunted at the force of his weight. Before he could check on her injuries, a deluge of debris shot out with the force of an artillery bombardment. Rafe shielded her with his body, hoping his Kevlar was enough protection. Dirt, dust, metal and glass battered them both, pummeling them as if they’d been tossed into the heart of a tornado.

      The world had turned to hell, and he had no idea if they’d survive or end up buried alive.

      Archimedes might very well get exactly what he wanted.

      * * *

      THE MOTEL ROOM was a dump. Clean, but still a dump. Rafe lay on the rickety, regular-size bed and stared at the water-stained ceiling, his Kimber within reach on the bedside table. A glint of early-morning light peeked between the cheap blinds, providing just enough visibility for Rafe to study, yet again, the odd patterns the discolorations had created. He needed the distraction.

      His body thrummed with tension, with unrelenting longing. Sometime during her sleep, Sierra Bradford had worked her way across the too-small bed and settled on top of him, her soft, toasty body pinning his legs and chest to the mattress.

      Nestled against him, she was killing him with every curve, every inch of flesh. Her warm, even breath burned a hole in his chest. Her brown hair, luxurious to the touch, cascaded over his shoulder. The clean soap and hint of lilac lotion she favored danced a seduction on his senses.

      Just one small movement of