Detained

He kept Darcy behind him and the wall behind her, and moved them to the first door. Locked. The second, locked. The third door opened under his hand. He took a breath and turned to peer inside. An office, a desk, a filing cabinet. Empty. Dry. He went through the door pulling Darcy in behind him. Slammed it, locked it. Braced his back against it, took another breath and shut his eyes. His heart was hammering in his throat. The siren suddenly stopped, the silence exquisitely deafening.

“Will!”

She was backed up against the desk, her face shock-white, her hair coming out of its up do. She was drowned, she was shaking. She was his. He took two strides towards her and wrapped her in his arms, lifting her off her feet. He was shaking too. He couldn’t hold her close enough. She smelled of wet wool and fear and hope. He stroked her back until he could feel her breathing settle, sat her on the desk, and brushed the hair out of her eyes.

He had to clear his throat to get it working. “Darcy, baby, what are you doing here?”

“I came for you.”

“That’s madness. Madness. You shouldn’t be here.” He felt like he needed to walk around, move about to digest what was happening, but he wasn’t leaving her side for a single second.

She had her head tipped up to look at him, her face so pale, her pale eyes so big. He might never kiss another woman again. His woman. He cupped her head and touched his lips to hers, felt her sigh as she brought her hands to his shoulders then his head. He deepened the kiss, and her fingers dug into his scalp. He touched her tongue; her mouth sweet. The kiss got harder, more intense, and he was losing himself in her, like he did in his dreams.

Noise in the corridor was slow to register, and when it did he was shocked he’d put them in danger again.

“Fuck, woman you...” He couldn’t finish the sentence, too many directions to take with it—shouldn’t be here, have to get out of here, are essential to me. And this wasn’t any office, it was a doctor’s consulting room. There was a gurney by the wall, there’d be drugs or the possibility of them. They weren’t safe here. He had to find somewhere else to hole up.

He put his knuckles against her cheek, and she leaned into his hand. “Darcy, I want you to wait here. I need to find somewhere safer. You lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for any reason other than me. Don’t leave this room for any reason. If you hear noise in the corridor, lock yourself in Doc’s bathroom. I’m coming back for you.”

“Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”

“It’s not safe. They’ll come here looking for drugs, medical records, weapons. We can’t stay here.”

She was trying not to panic. Trying hard to hold on. He pulled her to his chest again, put his lips in her hair. “I’m comin

g back for you.”

At the door he stopped to listen, turned the latch, cracked the seal so he could put one eye in the gap. All quiet. No movement. The sprinklers still running. She was behind him, her hands on his back. He said, “Lock the door, Darcy,” and slipped through it, waited until he heard the tumblers click, surveying the corridor.

The injured guard was gone. The interview room door was lying in the corridor. He went in the opposite direction, to the next closest door, locked, the next one locked. He could break in but a hidey-hole without a lock was more or less defeating the point. He was running out of options, this end of the corridor a dead end. He’d have to go back. Find another part of the admin wing to hide in. He spied that last door. Jammed against the wall, it was more cupboard than office. It opened. A uniform supply closet. Floor to ceiling shelving, space on the floor to sit. It was dry and there was a key on the inside. He’d found their safety.

He sloshed back up the corridor and called Darcy through the door. She had bottles of electrolyte wrapped in a towel. Takeaway—prison riot style. He put her behind him and walked them down the corridor to their bolthole.

Locked inside it was soothingly dark. He leaned against the wall, not out of breath, but needing to catch it anyway. When his eyes adjusted, he realised water was seeping under the door. Wouldn’t do to drown in their new home. He wedged the towel against the gap in the bottom of the door. Then there was only one more thing he could do for them.

He felt his way along the shelving. Uniforms for guards, cooks, administrative staff, not the prisoners. He found medical scrubs, elastic waist pants and tunic tops. They’d do.

“We should get out of our wet gear. We might be here for a while.”

They rumbled about finding stuff that felt like the right size and he went back to the door to change, throwing his wet gear on the floor in the corner. He could hear Darcy, at the other end of the aisle, the slide of wet fabric, the soft thud as she ditched her shoes, the splat as she dropped the jacket or the skirt. She must have been scared out of her head. He was for her.

When she’d stopped moving around, he turned to her. His eyes had adjusted fully now, he could see her perfectly. She smoothed a tunic over her hips and looked over at him.

“That fits way too well,” he said, then cleared his throat. The sight of her, the knowledge that he was alone with her, and they were safe, momentarily overwhelming his senses.

“I hope that suit survives,” she said, the most conversational thing out of her lovely mouth since they’d come together. “That brother of yours, pushy, but he knows quality. He said my stuff wasn’t appropriate if we wanted to pass me off as his legal associate. I love that suit.”

Music started playing through the intercom. Cantopop—maudlin love ballads that could rot your teeth. The siren might’ve been less annoying. The rioters had made it to the control room. Whoever was orchestrating this might have a plan, even if they had no musical taste. Will moved up the aisle towards Darcy. He had no plan, but to be near her, to keep her secure. To get hurt if he had to doing it. Or worse.

“You can have as many new suits as you want.” He stood too close. Couldn’t help it. “I’ll have them sent to you.” He’d make it a provision in his will, Pete would have to comply. He wanted to kiss her again. Feel her body through those too tight scrubs, but she was shy, turned away from him. Those earlier kisses might only have been the result of fear for her. She was studying her toes.

“Do I look that bad?”

Her head came up, but she didn’t look at him. He grazed his little finger against hers. She didn’t pull her hand away. Her breathing was audible. He could see a pulse in her throat jumping. She closed her eyes. Was she frightened of him or...God, was she as aroused as he was? This was insane.

“Are you all right?”

She moved into him. Pressing full-length against him, tucking her head into his neck, wrapping her arms around his back. He gripped her equally as hard. If he died today or tomorrow or in five years, he’d have this last moment to take with him, and to sustain him in the endless day that was night in Quingpu.