Exit Strategy (46 page)

I was convinced it was him, but I could leave no chance I would, in my eagerness, shoot an innocent man.

The man I’d seen could have been a random pervert or mugger, more than willing to follow a woman into an alley. It might not be the man I’d spotted, but Jack or Evelyn or a cop seeing me turn into the alley and following. Or it could be some drunken student who’d slipped from the parade for a piss break. And if it was the latter, then I sincerely apologized for what I was about to do, and hoped his full bladder could withstand it.

When I reached that next junction, I’d round the corner, then get up against the wall and wait, gun drawn. Wilkes would turn—

I hit the corner…and found no corner to turn. What I’d thought was the junction of another alley was a doorway—with a recess so shallow I couldn’t even duck in and hide. As I slowed, my gaze swung forward again, looking for a second option. Ahead, less than a dozen feet away, a real alley intersection, one I could see from this angle wasn’t another dead end. But Wilkes was too close. He’d never let me get that far. My only option was to break into a run and escape.

Run and he’d know he’d been made. And, like any good hitman, he would back off.

Run and I’d lose him.

I stared at that intersection and knew I should do it. Escape and try again later. But everything in me rebelled at the very thought.

Run like a coward? Like a helpless thirteen-year-old girl? Run and let him kill someone else, sacrifice another life for mine?
Never
again.

I saw my chances, knew they were far from perfect, maybe even far from good, and I made the only choice I could.

I slowed down.

Gravel crunched behind me. Right behind me. I spun and saw Wilkes closer than I’d expected. Saw the wire raised above my head. My gaze met his and, for a split second, I saw his surprise and dismay.

He twisted behind me again, and the wire swung down. For one second, as the metal flashed, something inside me went wild with fear, seeing not a wire, but a knife. Then my hand tightened around the Glock and the feel of it jolted me back. I started to raise the gun, but my brain screamed “too late,” and I let it drop inside my pocket. Both my hands shot up, palms up, just in time to block my throat as the wire came down.

The wire sliced into my palms and I let out a soft gasp. Instinctively I pushed it away, but it only bit in harder. For a second, we just stood locked in indecision, our hands occupied, unable to let go. My first urge was to kick backward. But I stopped myself before my foot left the ground. Kick and I’d lose my balance. Lose my balance, and I risked letting go of this wire, and the second I did that, it was through my windpipe and into my carotid artery.

I unclenched my right, releasing a stream of blood down the inside of my wrist. With the slick blood, my hand slid free. Then the wire jerked up. If I wasn’t going to lose my balance, he’d do it for me. I swung my hand forward, then drove my elbow into his gut.

My elbow made contact just as he kneed me again and my legs gave way. I let them give way. Let myself crumple forward onto the wire just as he stumbled back from my blow, grunting, as if I’d hit him harder than I thought. He released the wire and I pitched face-first to the ground.

“Hey!”

The shout rang down the alley, followed by the pound of running footsteps. Young male voices. Multiple running footsteps. I ignored them and flipped over, my hand going to my pocket for my gun. As I rolled, I saw Wilkes poised over me. But he’d frozen in place, head up, hearing the approaching voices and footsteps. Our eyes met. His filled with rage and frustration and, again, I drank it in.

He wheeled. I pulled out the gun. Swung it toward his fleeing back. Smiled as I watched him trying to run, but faltering, as if still feeling that blow to the gut. Such an easy target. I allowed myself one delicious shudder. Then, finger on the trigger—

A pair of legs jumped into the way, running out from a side alley.

“Whoa!”

My rescuer backpedaled, but stayed in my line of fire…and Wilkes disappeared around the next corner. I flew to my feet, but hands grabbed me.

“He’s gone. It’s okay. He’s gone.”

I turned, snarling, ready to shove this kid out of my way and tear off after Wilkes. But then I saw the boy’s face, eyes wide with terror—innocent—and it was like a bucket of ice water. I’d missed my opportunity. Now I was on the ground, a gun in my hands, blood streaming down my arms, surrounded by a bunch of college kids who thought they’d just saved me from a killer.

I had to play it out, get away safely, then go after Wilkes. Find him again and catch him before he killed someone else in my place.

I looked at my gun and widened my eyes, as if surprised to see it there. Then I backed against the wall, hands going around my knees, feigning shock while making sure all my blood went on my pants, not on the ground where a crime scene team could find it.

One of the kids dropped down beside me, his hand going to my shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” he said. “We called the cops. They’ll be here in a minute.”

My head shot up, and I didn’t need to fake my reaction. My brain scrambled for an excuse and latched onto the first one it came across.

“No,” I said, pushing to my feet. “No—no cops. I’m—My dealer. I was here meeting my dealer. I’m carrying. I can’t—”

“It’s okay,” the boy said. “They won’t care about that.”

“Oh, God, I can’t—I have to go. If my husband finds out—”

They tried to calm me, but then someone called from the end of the alley, asking whether we needed an ambulance, and in the ensuing confusion, I shoved the garrote wire in my pocket, gave a last scan for evidence, pushed to my feet and bolted.

I followed the same path Wilkes had taken, praying he’d hit a dead end or run into a crowd and would circle back for another escape route. I’d just rounded the first corner when I heard feet on gravel. Behind me? In front of me? I couldn’t tell and was about to look when a pebble pinged off the top of my head.

I glanced up to see Jack on the roof two stories above. He motioned to the nearest fire escape. I shook my head and kept going, on the trail, after Wilkes, so absorbed in my task that I saw Jack swing down the fire escape, moving fast, but didn’t comprehend the meaning of it until I was passing the bottom, and he grabbed my arm.

Fingers so tight they’d leave bruises, he hauled me up the ladder. Too confused to struggle, I followed as best I could, my feet fumbling for purchase on the rungs, barely touching one before being dragged up to the next. At the top, he yanked me over the edge.

I tripped and sprawled onto the gravel.

“Wilkes,” I managed gasping for breath. “I—”

“I saw.”

“I need to get—”

“He’s gone.”

“But I can find him,” I said, still gasping, my pounding heart not letting me relax enough to catch my breath. “Before he takes someone else, before he escapes.”

I started to rise.

Jack planted his foot on my stomach, then leaned over. “He’s gone. I followed. Lost him. Think I’d be here otherwise?”

“You don’t understand, I need—”

“Too fucking bad, Nadia. This isn’t about what you need.”

The fury in his eyes made the hair on the back of my neck rise and I almost backed down. But then I imagined Wilkes below, running, escaping. Jack was wrong. He didn’t understand, and I wasn’t going to sit here and take this, even from him.

I pretended to relax, as if giving in, then shoved Jack’s foot off. I started scrambling up, then saw something metallic flash in front of my face and looked up to see a gun pointing down.

Had there been anything in my bladder, I think I would have lost it, not because I was staring down the barrel of a gun, but because of who I saw on the other end. Jack. Pointing a gun in my face. For one horrible moment, I thought I’d been tricked, that Jack was involved, that he was working with Wilkes—

“It’s too late, Nadia. Listen.”

“I’ve listened to you enough—”

“No,” he growled. “Not me.
Listen
.”

The distant sound of voices carried up to the roof, but I couldn’t make out any words. Then the distinct sound of a cop shouting orders.

“You staying?” he said.

I nodded.

He lowered the gun.

I swallowed. Got my thoughts under control. “I’m sorry. About leaving my post. Believe me, Jack, I didn’t try going after him myself and leave you out there unprotected.”

“I know. Evelyn told me.”

“I heard someone on my floor and I had to leave the window, then when I got back, you were gone and Evelyn wanted me to come down—”

“Doesn’t matter. Had to change plans. That’s fine. But this—” He jerked his chin toward the alley. “Leading him in? No backup—?”

“There wasn’t time for that. I got his attention, Jack. I didn’t mean to—I certainly wasn’t trying to. I was looking for you and he saw me, and I—”

“Where’s your gear?”

I told him.

“Stay here.” He headed for the ladder, then paused and looked back at me. “I mean it. You leave? You go after him? Pull this shit again?”

He didn’t finish, gaze dipping from mine, rage retreating.

“I’ll stay,” I said. “I promise.”

He nodded, then disappeared down the ladder.

Jack returned with a change of clothing—a full campus-gear outfit of sweatshirt, khakis, ball cap and knapsack. As I dressed, he stuffed my clothes and wig into the knapsack. We wouldn’t keep them, but we had to dispose of them outside the city. I battered my cap in the gravel a bit, so it didn’t look so new. Then I cleaned the rest of the grease-paint off my face and wiped my hands as best I could.

Through it all, Jack said not a word. I could feel his temper smoldering, waiting only for a spark from me to ignite. So I was keeping my mouth shut. It was only when I was cleaning my hands that he acknowledged I was there, walking over and yanking my hand, none too gently, for a closer look.

“Keep them clean,” he said. “Needs a first-aid kit. Might be awhile.”

“That’s okay.” I paused, then decided to risk it. I’d done something wrong—very wrong—and I needed to know what it was. “I don’t think I left any trace. Well, there might be a few drops of blood if they look hard enough…”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re after him. Not you.”

“Is it the witnesses? They didn’t get a good look at me. I kept my face down and—”

“You were in disguise.”

“No one would have made me for a pro, if that’s what you’re worrying about. Not Wilkes and not those college kids. Wilkes just got a victim who fought back. He never saw the gun. The kids did, but not in any way that would seem like anything other than a victim defending—”

“I saw. Looked fine.”

“Then what—?”

“Evelyn got your gear. We’ll head straight to the car. Merge with the crowd. Stay beside me. You see a cop—”

“Act normal,” I said. “Don’t avoid him, keep my gaze up, maybe look curious, wondering what’s going on, but act like everyone else seeing cops swarming around.”

He hefted my knapsack and started across the roof, leaving me to catch up.

FORTY-FIVE

When the Feds learned that Wilkes had tried to take a victim—and left a missing witness—they’d probably erect roadblocks. But if they had, we didn’t see them. We did see cops, fanning out to search the crowds leaving the parade route, but our back-street path kept us—and probably Wilkes—out of their way.

When we reached the car, Evelyn was already there, with my gear in the trunk. As we approached, she got out of the driver’s side. She looked from me to Jack, and waved me to the passenger seat, then reached for the back door. I shook my head and crawled in the back.

Jack got into the driver’s side, leaned over Evelyn and opened the glove box. He pulled out the napkins and hand wipes we’d stashed in there after lunch.

“Clean your hands,” he said, tossing them over the seat at me.

“I’ve already—”

“Clean them again.”

As he started the car, Evelyn twisted and caught sight of my cut hands.

“Christ, what happened to you?”

I glanced at Jack.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” she said. “Just came over to where I was supposed to meet you two, threw me the keys, told me where your gear was and stalked off.”