Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I pretended to read the warrant while I thought. I’d gone light-headed with panic, the room spinning around me. I was being set up. They’d tried to kill me last night but failed, so now they’d found another way to take me out of the game.
We’d had it all wrong. Someone wasn’t trying to take out Gennadiy; they were trying to take out me.
Halifax’s face softened, and he looked genuinely concerned. “Alison, talk to me!”
Fuck. What do I do? If he wasn’t behind this, I should tell him everything. But if he was, I’d just be showing my hand.
One of the agents was slashing open my couch cushions. I could hear another one rooting through my bedroom. No one had gone into the bathroom yet, but as soon as they did…
I had to make a decision fast. If they took me in, I’d be questioned and charged. Once I was locked in a cell, it’d be next to impossible to get anyone to listen to me, let alone convince them I was innocent. And I didn’t like my chances in jail, once the other inmates found out I used to be FBI. But the alternative wasn’t any better. If I ran, I’d be a fugitive.
An agent walked into the bathroom. Fuck.
Halifax turned away for a second. I started to back towards the sliding glass door that led to the balcony.
I heard the sound of a screw hitting the tiled floor. I pressed up against the glass door, feeling for the handle…
The sound of plastic wobbling as the panel came off. A low whistle from the agent in the bathroom. “Found it!”
Halifax whirled around, frowning accusingly...and saw me standing at the door. I turned the key, wrenched the handle down, and shoved the door open. Then I was out onto the balcony.
“Alison, stop!” yelled Halifax. Then, “Get her, she’s running!” into his radio. I could hear him sprinting towards me.
I climbed over the balcony’s railing, dangled for a second and then dropped down to the parking lot. It was only one floor, but when I hit the concrete, the jolt still rattled my teeth. There was no time to shake it off: cops were already running towards me. I swung my leg over my bike, hit the starter, and shot forward, weaving between them and twisting away when one of them got his hand on my shoulder. Then I was out of the parking lot and roaring down the street.
Almost immediately, sirens wailed behind me and red and blue lights lit up the night. I turned left, right, trying to throw them off, but after a few seconds, the glow behind me returned, relentless. Is this what it’s like for Gennadiy when I’m tailing him?
The panic had taken hold, clawing at my insides. I knew that by now, Halifax would have called it in. Cop cars would be scrambling to head me off. Roadblocks would appear. They’d get a helicopter up and pin me with a searchlight. I darted down side street after side street, but I couldn’t shake them, and the closer the lights behind me got, the more my breathing tightened.
I turned into the next street. Think! I could feel I was close to hyperventilating, my breath fogging my visor. I had to be calm, I had to be calm right now because if I kept panicking, I was toast. How do I lose them? I thought about procedures, search patterns, everything I knew about how a search like this was conducted.
I had to lose my beloved bike.
I turned into the next alley, then into another, narrower one, too narrow for the cop cars to follow me. They screeched to a stop, and I knew they’d be radioing ahead, getting the alley blocked at the far end to trap me.
Except...I wasn’t going to the other end. I ditched my bike behind a dumpster, pulled off my helmet, and ran, slipping between two buildings and sprinting until I hit the street. I was in luck: it was a busy road with plenty of people strolling between bars. I stripped off my leather jacket and tossed it away, then walked casually, trying to blend in. Cop car after cop car tore past me, still looking for a woman on a motorcycle. I walked on, fighting the urge to look back. And finally, the sirens faded behind me.
I walked until I reached a skate park, still and eerie in the darkness, and slumped down on one of the ramps. What the fuck am I going to do?
I had nothing. I didn’t have my passport, money, or transport. I had no way to run and nowhere to run to.
I needed help.
I pulled out my phone: thank God that had been in my pocket, at least. Calahan? My thumb hovered over his name. The FBI weren’t stupid; Calahan would be the first person they’d question. If he was caught harboring a fugitive, his career would be over, and I couldn’t do that to him. And the same went for Caroline, and Kate...all my friends were in law enforcement, and they’d be screwed if they helped me. Hailey? She might be able to help, but she and Konstantin were in Europe for a month.