A Match for Celia

Celia hurried to support him as he swayed on his feet. She was afraid he was about to crash back down to the floor, and she worried that she wouldn’t be able to catch him if he did.

He brushed her off impatiently. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Damn it, Celia, if you’re in on this, I’ll—”

“Of course I’m not in on this!” she interrupted indignantly. “I was trying to rescue you when Bennett caught me and threw me in here with you. How could you even think I had anything to do with this?”

She was genuinely offended, conveniently forgetting for the moment that she had suspected Reed of everything from fooling around with the mystery redhead to illegal gunrunning.

Reed studied her face for a moment, then relaxed and nodded. The movement made him wince and put a hand to the back of his head. It came away smeared with red.

He looked at his gory palm for a moment without expression, then turned back to Celia. “You were following me?”

“Not at the beginning,” she assured him. “I lost a scarf my grandmother gave me and I was going out to look for it. Then I heard Novotny and some other man talking about artillery—and then I saw you—and then Bennett hit you—and then when I tried to run for help, Bennett caught me and threw me in here with you.”

He seemed to follow the broken story with only a minor effort. He grunted, and she took that to mean that he understood at least most of her explanation.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She hid her abraded hands behind her back. “I’m fine. But what about you? You’re bleeding, and you’re so pale. Shouldn’t you sit down? What if you have a concussion?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he muttered, moving toward the door. He looked at the latch, then tested it. It was still securely locked from the outside. “Damn.”

“Do you think these boxes have guns in them?” Celia asked him in an exaggerated whisper. “Are they the artillery Chuck was talking about?”

He flicked a glance around the tiny room. “Yeah.”

It seemed to her that Bennett had made a big mistake locking them in a room full of weapons. “Maybe we could use one of the guns to get out of here. We could fire it in the air and someone might hear. Better yet, we could shoot the lock off the door,” she exclaimed on a sudden inspiration.

Reed rolled his eyes. “You’ve been watching too many action movies,” he said. “These aren’t harmless little pellet guns, Celia. You don’t fire an AK-47 in an eight-by-eight concrete room.”

“An AK-47?” Celia repeated, looking warily at the boxes. “Is that as bad as it sounds?”

“Not as bad as what Novotny had hoped to find in here. But bad enough. Be quiet.”

She opened her mouth to protest the summary command, then closed it with a snap when she heard the noise that had caught his attention. Someone was standing outside, talking. Bennett and Perrelli?

Celia tensed, turning to Reed. What would they do now? Shouldn’t they at least try to defend themselves? Why didn’t Reed look more nervous? And how did he seem to know what was going on even though she still hadn’t told him everything she’d heard?

“Shouldn’t we get one of the guns or something?” she whispered, moving as far as possible away from the voices. As though that slight distance would protect her.

Reed ignored her. He straightened his shoulders, pushed his hair off his forehead and moved to one side of the door. “Scream,” he said.

She frowned, utterly baffled by the order. “What?”

“Scream,” he repeated, giving her a sharp look. “Now!”

He spoke that with such forceful command that Celia found herself obeying without further hesitation.

She screamed.

Celia’s scream was still echoing in the tiny room when the door burst open and Bennett rushed through. “Would you shut up?” he demanded, glaring at her. “You—”

She watched in utter disbelief as Reed, wounded and half Bennett’s size, proceeded to knock the man senseless, using nothing but one swinging foot and the back of one downward-slicing hand.

Bennett fell with a heavy thud. He didn’t move again.

Celia stared at the inert body, then back up at Reed. “How did—?”

Perrelli came in swinging. Reed ducked, turned, kicked out and followed with the now familiar slash of his hand.