“Really?” I frown.

“Hurry.” He closes his eyes and tenses. I don’t hesitate, widening my stance and throwing my sore shoulder into the jab, barreling the heel of my hand up, right at the underside of his nose, the connection of my hand and the delicate belly of his nose loud, bloody, and delicious. He staggers, a hand going to his nose as he swears loudly.

I don’t wait for a recovery, I see the green light hit the exit door and I step forward, yanking at the clip on his shirt, his identification coming off in my hand, a quick thank you whispered. I start, then stop, digging my nails into the guard of his holster, the pop of metal sharp and beautiful, my hand wrapping around the textured grip and pulling. Goliath doesn’t like that, he drops his head and hand and spins, reaching for me, but I am sprinting down the hall, the push on the door yielding me my first cool and perfect kiss of freedom. I spin and shove against the door and hear the slam of his head against the metal, his face bloody and furious in the thin window. I mouth an apology and then rip away from the door and into the freedom of the night.

The sky is clear, the parking lot small, our slice of prison surrounded by the buildings of the city. I jog down a set of steps, sliding the gun into my sweatshirt’s pocket, an unfamiliar unease stealing over me. A gun wasn’t on the list, wasn’t on my directions, but in this moment, I have nothing. No cash, no connections, no phone. I am free yet hunted, the night air terrifying in its openness. I zigzag through a line of cars, the bright lights of the parking lot shining down. And then, like clockwork, they all turn off. Mike. I look up and manage a smile, a wave of endorphins pushing through my system in the newly created dark. I am not alone. I can do this. I can force my life back into order, find my way back to good. I reach the gate and hesitate for a moment, staring at the bars before me, the one last guard between me and the outside world. Then, the photo of Jeremy’s battered face coming to mind, I swipe Ned Millstone’s card through the reader and jog on silent feet through the crack of the opening gate. I need to, in this final chance at freedom, at least find the truth.

Step 4: Go five blocks west to the McDonald’s and wait by the pay phone.

I flip the hood up on my sweatshirt and begin to jog, the weight of the gun slapping a hard and tempting beat against the knot in my stomach.

CHAPTER 78

Present

WHEN A PHONE rings in the night, you answer it. Especially if you’re on the force. Especially if you’re a mother with kids. Especially if you have thirty seconds before your husband will wake and any spousal love will go to shit.

Brenda sits up in bed and hunches forward, over the cell, the BLOCKED screen familiar and, at the same time, depressing. She’ll have to get up, go somewhere, do something. Probably uncover a dead body and knock on some mother’s door. “Hello.” She whispers the word.

“Boles, this is Eva Aransoti, dispatch number one eighty-nine. There’s been an incident at the Fourth Street booking station.” The crisp female voice is that of someone fully awake, with no regard or sympathy for anyone soundly sleeping.

Fourth Street. Deanna Madden. The case that won’t stop giving. She slides out of bed and walks to the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind her. This woman was a disaster. Lock her up and she was assaulting every person in sight. “I thought Madden was in solitary.” Maybe she won’t have to go anywhere. Maybe she could knock out this chat and then crawl back into bed. Still three good hours of sleep left before breakfasts and showers and lunch money and backpacks.

“She was. Something happened at the station and all of the inmates were released.”

Her eyes fully open. “All of them?” What kind of thing releases an entire pod of criminals?

“We need you and Reuber there.”

“Okay. I’m fifteen minutes out.” She feels along the wall and flips the light’s switch. “Wait.” She rubs her forehead. “Why me and Reuber?”

“Deanna Madden is the only one who escaped the booking compound. The others were redetained.”

“But Madden is free.”

“Yes. You can review the footage at the station.”

“I realize that.” Brenda stands, yanking down flannel pajama pants and digging through the dirty clothes basket for yesterday’s khakis. “Thanks,” she adds as a polite afterthought, before hanging up the phone, flipping the light off, and tiptoeing into the dark bedroom.

In the car, without coffee or a breath mint, she calls David. “Did you hear?”

“Yep. I’m walking out right now. Think she’ll head to the hospital?”

“I’m gonna call them next and have a plainclothes posted by his room. See if she shows.”

“All right. I’ll be at the station in ten.”

“See you there.” Reaching down, she flips on her lights and pulls out onto the quiet street.

CHAPTER 79

Present

THE GRIM REALITY of my situation looms larger as I run. I have nothing. My weapons, shipped to Mike. My apartment will have a new lock on it, crime scene tape stretched across its front. I cannot go to see the man I love, for I am a fugitive, with a name I can’t use, money I can’t access, and no one nearby to call on for help.

He was pushed out the window.

He was stabbed six times.

He was left to die.

Jeremy is my person; I only have two of them in the world. You do not fuck with my people; I will fight you to your death to protect them, I will climb buildings to kill you slowly over a drop of their blood. Jeremy’s blood was a flood that has gone unpunished, and I feel the hot prickle of vengeance push at my psyche, a tempting chorus I stop midsong, my hands covering useless ears, my breath hard and fast when I stop running and break, wheezing out a few exhales. I cannot do this. I cannot go red, not when everything else is falling apart.

I hear a siren and sink into a doorway. Stand in its shadows as a cop car, then a second, screams past. Then, my heart thumping in my chest, I step out and run farther. One more block. I see the golden arches ahead of me. They haven’t changed much in four years. Same fluorescent yellow, same billions served. I see the pay phone, installed against the building’s exterior brick, and slow to a walk. I don’t like it. Too brightly lit, exposed to anyone who drives by. I stop on the opposite curb, seventy-five feet from the phone. Debate Mike’s instructions, though I have nothing else to follow.

Against the restaurant, the phone begins to ring. I hesitate, the sole of my tennis shoe bending over the curved edge of the curb, then step forward, rolling off and across the asphalt and into the bright light.

“Hello.”

“Hey, babe.”

I have to smile at his tone, so warm and relaxed, like we didn’t just break a dozen laws together. “Hey. Talk quick, this pay phone has a freaking spotlight on it.”

“There’s an Uber car in the back of the parking lot. It’s a red Taurus. I paid with a credit card, the driver will take you wherever you need to go.”

I grip the phone. “Any change in Jeremy?”

“No.” His voice drops. “I’m sorry, Dee.”

I nod without speaking. It’s been too long, too many days. If he doesn’t come back… I try to refocus, bits of my psyche floating loose like flaking skin. “Thanks for getting me out. I don’t know how you did it, but I appreciate it.”