Ten seconds.
I struggled to pull the doors open.
Five seconds.
Four seconds.
Three seconds.
The doors opened a foot. I dove through them and rolled. As they slammed shut behind me, I heard the elevator car settle into its berth.
Standing up, I shoved the machete into my sheath and sprinted across the lobby.
I heard a dinging noise followed by the sound of angry shouts. Ignoring them, I grabbed my pistol and took aim at the glass doors separating me from the streets.
I squeezed the trigger. The glass cracked as bullets collided with its smooth surface. Ducking my head, I leapt forward.
As I soared through the doors, they shattered into a million pieces. I felt a surge of adrenaline.
I was exhausted. I was bleeding like a stuck pig. And I was sore as hell.
But I was alive.
Sorry, Reaper. Maybe next time.
Chapter 37
Rain stung my neck and shoulders as my momentum carried me onto the sidewalk. I didn’t want to do a face plant but there was no time to tuck and roll. With no other alternative, I curved my legs downward and bent my knees, hoping to somehow land on my feet.
My right leg crunched on impact and I heard a pop. Somehow, I managed to kick off the sidewalk, tuck my head, and roll.
As I stood up again, my leg buckled underneath me. Gritting my teeth, I tried to run through the pain but came up limping. It didn’t feel broken. But that didn’t improve my mood.
Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. My lungs gasped for air but my throat refused to abide. Dimly, I became aware of a thin, wiry arm. It wrapped around my neck and started to squeeze the life out of me.
“Remember me?”
It took me a moment to place the harsh voice whispering into my ear. Then, I recalled the Town Car that picked me up at the airport.
“Walker?” I gasped.
“In the flesh.”
The driver? I escaped that hellhole only to get caught by Chase’s personal driver? That’s just embarrassing.
I struggled to escape. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Do you know how much trouble you got me in? I was just doing my job, minding my business. Next thing, I know you’re running away and I’m getting my ass reamed out.”
“It wasn’t…”
His arm muscle tightened. “Mr. Chase docked me a month’s pay for that little stunt of yours. Now, it’s your turn to suffer.”
I clawed at his arm but it didn’t budge. Blinking my eyes, I saw Chase, Standish, and several guards running toward me.
I gulped in a few breaths of air and gathered my strength. Abruptly, I pushed out with my good leg. Stumbling backward, I fell.
With a jolt, I collided with Walker. He collided with the sidewalk.
The grip around my neck loosened.
Gasping for air, I spun around. Walker lay crumpled on the ground next to his Lincoln Town Car. I reached into his pocket and removed a ring of five keys.
Car keys.
Sorry, Walker. You’re about to get docked another month’s pay.
As I stood up, I glanced over my shoulder. Chase, Standish, and the others were almost at the doors. I began ramming the keys into the lock.
I tried one key.
And then another.
A loud pop filled the air. Instinctively, I ducked. The driver’s side window exploded, sending shards of glass flying into my face.
I dove headfirst through the broken window. Jagged edges slashed my sides, drawing blood. They hurt like hell.
I slid into the footwell beneath the steering wheel, praying that the sides held up to the firestorm. Reaching up, I placed the third key into the ignition. It didn’t fit.
Tiny pings flicked against my back as bullets dented the door.
I tried the fourth key.
No dice.
Pounding footsteps caught my attention. They were close and getting closer. That meant one thing. Chase and his men were closing in for a direct shot.
A kill shot.
My fingers trembled as I stuck the fifth key into the ignition. Unbelievably, it slid in. Quickly, I turned it.
But it didn’t move.
Desperately, I jiggled it and tried again.
This time, it turned. The engine roared to life. Releasing the emergency brake, I stomped on the gas.
As the car shot forward, I climbed out of the footwell, keeping one foot on the accelerator and one hand on the steering wheel.
The rear window exploded. Shards of glass sailed through the car’s interior, embedding deep into the fabric.
I ducked my head and then looked in the rear view mirror. Chase and Standish stood in the center of the street, flanked by three other men.
Pressing down on the accelerator, I spun the wheel, sending the Town Car lurching onto another street. I let out a long breath.
Well, that could’ve gone better.
At least I was free. But even as that welcome thought passed through my brain, another disturbing one popped up to take its place. Chase was way too motivated to stop now. He wouldn’t give up until he had his hands on Hartek’s journal. And since I’d escaped, he’d turn his attention to the one person he knew could get me to give it up.
Diane.
The Town Car hit a puddle and skidded. For a few seconds, I nearly lost control of the vehicle. But I managed to slide through the turn.
It was hard to believe that I still cared for Diane after all of these years. Maybe it was just a passing phase. Maybe not. Either way, even thinking about her brought a smile to my face. That had to count for something.
Keeping one bleeding, aching hand on the wheel, I felt around the immediate area, searching for a phone. Finding nothing, I opened the glove compartment and rummaged through its contents. Still, no phone.
I turned my attention back to the street. A phone wouldn’t have helped much anyway. It’s not like I had her phone number. And after what Beverly told me about Chase’s influence, calling the police seemed like a fool’s errand.
Three minutes. As far as I could figure, that was the length of time it would take me to reach Diane’s apartment. It would take another few minutes to convince her to come with me. If that failed, I’d drag her out by her hair.
Caveman-style.
Thanks to the late hour, lockout-related traffic was limited and the streets were largely clear. I drove as fast as I dared on the soaked, mist-covered streets.
The Town Car hit another puddle. Tapping the brakes, I gripped the wheel to maneuver my way out of the slide.
My body jerked like a puppet on strings. The engine cut off and the air bag deployed, smashing into my face with a vengeance.
Clouds filled my brain and I felt my tongue loll out of my mouth. Somehow, I managed to squeeze my hand toward my side.
Grabbing the machete, I punctured the bag. It deflated a bit and I used the opportunity to poke a few more holes in it. After a few deep breaths, I returned the machete to its sheath and pressed down on the bag, driving the rest of the air out.
Sluggishly, I stared out the window. The front of the Town Car was completely crushed up against a streetlight. The light hung loosely in the air, bent at a crazy forty-five degree angle.
Glad I’m not paying for that.
I turned the ignition off, then on. But the engine stayed quiet. I frowned and tried again. Still, the engine failed to sputter to life.
I tried yet again.
Nothing.
Cursing, I slammed my hand against the steering wheel.
Can this day get any worse?
I forced the door open into a roaring wind. Rain flew at me from an almost horizontal direction. It was like an endless cloud of bullets, attacking my arms and splattering against my face.