CHAPTER 77

Present

I SIT ON my bed, my back against the wall, and stare at the clock. Occasionally, my eyes drop. Two or three times, my head snaps down and I catch it, bringing my chin back up. Some minutes disappear but for the most part, I am vigilant. Mike will come through. Mike will help. Mike can do anything and everything.

If he could protect Deanna Madden and make her untraceable, he can get me out of here.

If he could track down a guy from his IP address and send me a digital copy of the guy’s hard drive, he can get me out of here.

If he could steal a million bucks from me, give it away, then steal it back, he can get me out of here.

If he really cares for me despite knowing all that he does, he will get me out of here.

I hear the slow pat of the next round, a guard approaching, steps moving closer, then a slight pause at my door, one that has me leaning forward, my back leaving the wall, and through the dark I see movement along my floor. I am off the bed in a breath and on my knees on the floor, my hands catching the index card as it slides along the floor into my space.

It’s a layout of the building, printed on paper and taped onto the card. The map looks to be from an outside source, the handwriting across its surface Mike’s. On the left side, in tiny writing, a list of instructions. I start with the first instruction and examine the lines and arrows drawn on the map, corresponding times in clear print next to each X on the map.

I finish my initial read, then glance at the clock. Forty-two minutes. I read the instructions again. And again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. I read the list until I can close my eyes and see the building’s layout. I read the list until I have mentally walked through every piece, every pause, every step. Three minutes. I fold the paper into a tiny square and stuff it into my pocket. If I have to, if this plan fails and I am again arrested, I’ll eat the damn thing.

I stand before the door and take a deep breath.

One minute.

Step 1: Your door will open. Head to #2. 6 mins left.

The door pops open with a quiet click and I step outside, not pausing as I turn right and walk through the dim hall, the red lights in the hall bathing the entire area in blood. The third door I pass, I see the man, out of the corner of my eye, standing in the dark, behind the open door, like a boogeyman of my childhood dreams. He is shirtless and I stop, looking into his cell, his face in the shadows, and it takes a full heartbeat for my mind to catch up and to realize that my cell is not the only that Mike has opened. This will be interesting. I continue forward, seconds counting down, the map in my head, the steps on the list, pushing me on.

Forward, then left, then down, then right. I stop at a door, a lit office to my left, its chair empty and turning slowly, the crawl of movement creepy. I don’t touch the door’s handle, I wait. Behind me, like the foul odor of an exhaust, a presence. I turn and see the bare-chested man, his face pale red from the lights, his eyes on me. “Hey,” he says.

“You fuck with me or fuck this up, I will kill you.”

He smiles and there is a black hole where a front tooth belongs. “I’m getting out tomorrow anyway,” he says. “Just along for the ride.”

I hear his sentence but all it says to me is that he is stupid. It doesn’t matter. Stupid is easier to control.

Step 2: The lock will turn green. Move through it and the next door, then hurry to #3.

Like a maze. A simple maze. Except now I step through the door and I’m in the booking area. I move quickly, my new toy following behind, and see three officers in the open room, two at their desks, one at a Coca-Cola machine to my right. The soda buyer—my large and friendly Ms. KeepYourHeadDownAndColor, glances up, then down at the machine, then her head jerks back up, her feet in motion as her mouth opens wide, a scream of hell-raisin’ bellowing out. And here I thought we’d become friends. I jerk forward, hearing the screech of chairs against linoleum, a man two desks over falling as he lunges for my shirt. But I am quick, I am ready, I came prepared, and they are off guard and all I have to do is get across this room and into the next, all I have to do is shut that door behind me and Mike will lock its mechanisms, and these three will be locked in, captives. It’s humorous, really. I dart around a seating area and shove on the door, its keypad already green, and I glance up at a security cam as I slam my back against the door and lock all of them, including my new toothless friend, behind me.

Except the door doesn’t lock. It hits a hand, the collision of bone and muscles and gristle, a hand that moves and flexes, a hand attached to a voice, one that barks in pain. I lift off, then come back down, my feet planted on the floor, my body turned sideways, shoulder against the door as I use every muscle I have to break through the appendage. It flexes, shakes, and in the moment it jerks back, I slam my shoulder again, the door moving past the place where the hand had been and clicking into place.

The door will lock behind you. I will be watching.

LOCK. The lock turns red a second before a chorus of unknowns attack its surface. And just like that, I lose my human pet. I take a deep breath and push my shoulder off the door, wincing slightly. Sometime, I’ll need to ice it. Once all the ass kicking is over and precious seconds are in greater supply. I roll the shoulder and turn. Before me, a long hallway, one final sprint, the exit door before me in full metal glory, the red sign above it a beacon to my fate. Only one issue stands before me, his legs spread in a fighter’s stance, halfway between me and the hallway’s end… a hulking giant of a man. I don’t move, I don’t advance. I just stand, my breath heavy as it breaks from my chest, and I stare.

I have fought many men in my lifetime. If I ever get through this moment, through this chapter in my life, if I ever avenge Jeremy and escape a prison sentence, I will learn how to do it properly. Because although I have fought many men in my lifetime, I have won very few times. And never without a gun or a knife, a weapon or an advantage. And right now, in this interaction right here, I have only one card to play and it is Mike’s instructions, and I square my shoulders and put all of my trust into the man I have never met.

Step 3: Fight. Take the keycard attached to his shirt.

That was the whole step. The map stopped at this hallway with its X, then continued out to the parking lot, the gate which I would open with the keycard. Why Mike could unlock every internal door yet needed me to fight this heap of muscle to get out of the parking lot made no sense to me. Should I survive this, I’ll be sure to give him a piece of my mind.

I stop dicking around and step toward the man. A few feet from him, I stop, the fluorescent light above our heads beaming down on the man’s features, his face hard and set, his hands raised and already clenched. I sneak a peek at his fists and my confidence withers. Muscular and strong. I have to lift my chin to look up at him. Maybe sexuality will work. I pull at the bottom of my sweatshirt, pulling the material up my stomach and over my breasts. When his eyes drop, I lift my knee and go for his balls.

Weak. Cowardly. I know. But you stand face-to-face with Goliath and see if you fight fair. Besides, any morality issues dissolve when one of his big meat hooks blocks my knee, his balls effectively protected, my sneak attack card gone, just like that.

“Not there,” he grumbles. He points, and my eyes wander up his outstretched finger, to his face. “Here.” Our eyes meet and his are blue.