five

Kayden doesn’t look pleased about my detour for the journal, but I pretend not to notice, walking with him to the door, where he holds up a hand stop-sign fashion, opening the door to peer outside. I wait, the reality of what we’re about to do hitting me, nerves fluttering in my belly. Too soon, and not soon enough, he’s pulling me in front of him, his body framing mine. “Remember the plan,” he whispers near my ear. “I’ll be right behind you.”

I don’t even try to find my voice, giving him a nod while the flutter of nerves in my belly turns into an explosion radiating straight to the back of my skull. But there is no time for weakness or mending my body as Kayden orders, “Go now.”

I inhale, shoving aside my pain and forcing myself to step directly into a half-moon-shaped waiting area with only three other doors indicating rooms. Thankfully no one is in sight. Taking advantage of the clear path, I double-step, hurrying while I can, and push through a door that buzzes with my exit.

On the other side I find a long hallway, doors lining my path as I continue onward, passing several rooms. A nurse exits one of them, while a man in street clothes enters another. The nurse walks past me, and I manage a smile and a wave without making full eye contact, only to have yet another nurse come out of yet another room. Again, I smile and wave, nervously noting a security guard monitoring a bank of elevators, worried he will ask questions I won’t know how to answer. I’m relieved when I spy a sign indicating the stairwell that avoids that problem altogether.

Resisting the urge to bolt for it, I count my footsteps for no reason but to calm my mind. One. Two. Three. Four. All the way to twenty, and finally, I am at the door I need, pushing it open and entering the stairwell. The instant I’m sealed inside the small corridor, I face the door and shove it closed, holding it like it might pop open when I’m certain that I saw a security panel that won’t allow entry from this side. Inhaling steadily to calm myself, I turn and collapse against the steel surface, one part relieved, one part listening for any activity around me. There appears to be no up level, and a good number of stairs to reach the bottom level, but with the increased security on this floor, I reassure myself that no one can enter this area from anywhere but the door at my back. Which is why I need to get away from it!

Dashing forward, I grab the railing with a frustrating sway. “Not now, please,” I whisper, fairly certain I’ve overexerted myself. I’m ready to be over this damnable concussion already. Giving myself another beat to recover, I push forward, traveling down one flight of steps, then two; I estimate there are another eight to go. I make it three more when the door above me opens and the rumble of Gallo’s voice speaking Italian stops me in my tracks. No. No. No. This can’t be happening. It can’t be coincidental that I’m here and so is he. Someone must have recognized me and told him I left through the stairwell.

Another voice sounds with Gallo’s, and I about fall over at the idea that it’s me against not one, but two men. My only relief is the certainty that they aren’t moving. But I need to be. Fighting the inclination to run at the risk of the noise it would create, I force myself to tiptoe forward. I’ve made it one level when the voices stop, the door slams shut, as if it was being held open, and footsteps come briskly at me. Fight-or-flight overcomes me and I start to run, every step a blur. Every second is laced with the fear and adrenaline that rockets me to the door I yank open.

I exit the corridor directly into the parking garage. Cold air blasts me, and I eye the rows of cars in front of me. Fearing the open space between me and them, I cut left toward a row nestled behind the stairwell, rounding the corner at the same instant the door opens. Heart in my throat, I take shelter behind a bumper, squatting and holding my breath. Footsteps sound, and then I hear Gallo talking to someone in Italian, this time on the phone, I think. Time ticks by, each second a bullet that is too near, the cold air tormenting my cheeks. Cautiously, I shift my purse to the front of me, debating the idea of digging for the cell phone to contact Kayden, but instead begin to panic at the idea it will ring any moment.

Anxiously, I open my purse and search for it, shivering as I grab the iPhone. Finding the ringer setting, I quickly switch it to vibrate. Task complete, I hear Gallo still talking away, and I decide I have to warn Kayden, searching the phone for the auto-dial number he said he entered. Bingo. I click the message option to text him.

I start to type, pausing as I realize Gallo’s voice has gone silent, and I’m ready to shout for joy as I hear his footsteps moving away from me. Tension zips from my body, but I don’t kid myself into being too overjoyed. Gallo could return at any moment and Kayden hasn’t called. I refocus on typing a message to him, when his voice echoes from just in front of the stairwell. Assuming he’s on the phone, I pop to my feet to go to him, stunned when another man starts speaking. Since there was no one else involved in our plan, I am officially worried. I stuff the phone back in my purse and, not for the first time, I wish I spoke Italian, and, also not for the first time, I wonder if I do, and just can’t remember it. Kayden and the man go back and forth, and I listen, hoping the words will ring some bells with me, frustrated when they don’t.

Deciding I need to assess their body language, I stand and lean against the wall framing the stairs, peeking around the corner, bringing a tall man with curly black hair into view, shaken to the core to realize I don’t know how or why, but I know him. And I don’t like him. I jerk back, flattening against the wall, trying to calm my heart, which has decided it wants to jump out of my chest. Where do I know him from? Why do I know him? And why is he with Kayden? Most importantly, why do I fear him? And I do. I fear that man. A memory flickers, an image of that man leaning against a wall, but the image is gone a second later. What wall? Where?

Worried I’ll be seen, I squat down between the lines of cars, trying to decide what to do. Stay? Run? Listen, when I can’t understand anything being said? And why isn’t Kayden worried about me right now? He has to know I’m not in the stairwell because I’d already have exited. Another image flickers in my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing answers to come to me, and am transported back to the night Kayden found me.

I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets, nervously walking the deserted sidewalk, hoping I’m going to find help ahead and fighting the urge to look over my shoulder. Afraid to look and alert anyone following me—I know that they are there—but just as afraid not to look. So I do it, and I discover two men trailing me by half a block at most. It could be innocent, but it doesn’t feel innocent at all, and I turn back around, hurrying my pace without breaking into an outright run. Please don’t let them be after me. Please don’t let them be after me. I double-step and look over my shoulder again, and they are closer. Much closer now, and my heart wrenches with the certainty that I am in trouble and have no option but to run.

“Ella. Ella.”

I open my eyes, shocked to find Kayden squatting in front of me, those blue eyes meeting mine, and I flicker back to an image of me lying in that alleyway, and him staring down at me. I woke up. I saw him there. “I told you to wait inside, damn it,” he scolds.

“Gallo was in the stairwell. Who was that man you were talking to?”

“He’s a friend.”

“A friend?” I ask, terrified that I’m about to discover he and that man were the two men following me. “What kind of friend?”