wouldn’t give to be able to go home and throw on a pair of my own jeans. And a pair of heels that hadn’t starred in Internet porn.
The last grip had just filtered out of 6G, but already my feet were starting to go numb from all the crouching. I thanked the weather gods that the night was clear and not too cold as I hugged Marco’s leather jacket against me.
And then I heard it. Footsteps.
I froze, adrenaline surging through my veins so hard I was sure that it was audible. I held my breath, watching the door to Mia’s trailer as they grew closer. Closer. Then stopped.
Damn.
From behind the cart I could clearly see the door to Mia’s trailer, but I had to admit that without giving away my hiding place, my vision was limited to just that. Where had the footsteps come from? And, more importantly, where had they stopped?
I bit my lip, willing myself to be silent as I strained against the night air to hear more.
Nothing.
I did a one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi count, then, ever so slowly so as not to rustle my leather pants, stretched my legs and craned my neck to peek around the hood of the golf cart.
That was when I saw him.
A dark figure, all in black, wearing baggy clothes, with a low baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.
I sat back down, my pulse hammering in my ears, my fingers fumbling with the walkie-talkie. I hit the talk button, but nothing happened. Damn. I hit it again, listening for the telltale static to show that it was working, my eyes whipping wildly from it to the door of Mia’s trailer. No dark, menacing figure filling the doorway.
Yet.
“Come on, come on, ” I whispered, banging it against my hand.
Then it crackled to life.
I was so relieved I almost cried out. I hit the talk button, static filling the silence, and was about to tell them that we had a serious code two-fifteen and needed backup, like, now!
But I never got the chance.
Just as my finger hit the button, something thick and rough wrapped around my throat, pulling tight.
Choking off my air.
Chapter 19
Instinctively I dropped the walkie-talkie, my hands flying up to my neck. I gasped for breath. In vain, I might add, as the pressure on my throat tightened. I tried to call out, but made no sound. Just a sickening gurgle of air being squeezed out of my lungs.
I fought to keep the world from going fuzzy, my vision blurring as the pressure behind my eyes built, stronger and stronger until I thought they’d bulge right out of my head. I kicked my legs wildly, coming up against a whole lot of empty space. My lungs burned, my stomach spasming, begging for oxygen. The lot began to fade from my vision, a big black nothingness slowly wrapping around my brain. In another two seconds, I knew I’d be a goner. I had to do something. Fast.
I closed my eyes, summoning up what strength I had left, and channeled Dana, doing the one move I’d remembered from the aerobic kickboxing class she’d dragged me to last fall. I moved my leg back in a swift motion, kicking back like a donkey in the region I hoped contained my attacker’s family jewels.
I heard a soft grunt behind me, his grip loosening momentarily. That was all I needed. I clawed at the strap around my neck, pulling just enough slack to slip it over my head. I bolted forward, tripping on my heels in the attempt. Marco’s leather pants scratched against the pavement as I fell on all fours, scraping the palms of my hands. But I barely felt it. My entire body was so grateful for air that I was taking huge, thirsty gulps of the stuff as I scrambled back up to my feet and took off running like a shot.
But apparently my kickboxing was a little rusty, as my attacker was quickly on my heels. I heard his footsteps echoing through the nearly empty lot behind me. But I didn’t turn around to look. I couldn’t. I was too freaked out. He was gaining on me-no small surprise, considering that my lungs still felt like I’d been inhaling Tabasco sauce.
I bolted past 6G, weaving through the maze of warehouses until I turned a corner and found myself in New York. The city streets were eerily still in the nighttime, dark in a way the real New York never was. I barreled through the Bronx and Manhattan, turning a corner and finding myself in San Francisco. I tripped once on the hilly terrain, but quickly scrambled to my feet as the steady pounding of footsteps behind grew closer.
I barreled on, turning the corner and curving back down a hill lined with fake Victorians. My throat hurt, my head hurt, my thighs burned, my entire body protesting that this was the hardest workout I’d had since Dana made me try a Billy Blanks Tae Bo video with her. I’d almost died of exhaustion then.
Only this time if I pooped out, I really would be dead.
I surged forward, running on pure adrenaline. I hit the bottom of the hill and rounded another corner into the Central Park section of the lot. I could feel him gaining on me, my heart racing as I wove between the trees. He was so close I could hear his breath coming hard and fast behind me, warning me that an out-of-shape shoe designer was no match for a determined killer.
And then I saw it. The metal detector.
Abandoned at this time of night, but the blinking red light over the archway indicated it was on. I prayed it was hooked up to a remote monitor somewhere in the security office. If I could make it to the metal detector, my shoes were sure to set it off-hadn’t they always?-and security would come running. I surged forward, new hope spurring me on. I felt my legs pumping so hard it was like running on overcooked spaghetti. My arms were shooting back and forth like pistons, my entire body leaning forward, urging me on despite the ever-present footsteps hovering just behind me.
I was so close, only a few more feet. I could see the gate beyond the metal detector, closed and locked now, of course. A sole overhead lamp illuminated the ugly plastic frame. Only right now, it looked like heaven to me.
I closed my eyes and pumped with all my might, visualizing myself as Flo-Jo, crossing the Olympic finish line. I was close; I could make it…
But on my steady diet of Top Ramen and takeout, it was clear I was no Olympic athlete. And as I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder, it became clear I wasn’t going to make my finish line.
I felt his hot breath on my neck as he spun me around. Hard.
“Unh.” The force threw me to the ground. I landed on my butt, facing the menacing figure in black. I crab- walked backward, whimpering as he hovered above me.
Then he stepped into the light and my breath caught in my throat, my paralyzing fear for a moment converted into pure shock.
“You!” I found myself saying, like some victim in a bad detective film.
She snorted, her perfectly manicured brows drawing together over familiar green eyes. “Surprised?” Mia asked. Then she threw her head back and laughed, tendrils of blonde hair escaping from the cap on her head. “Some detective you are, huh?”
I shook my head. “I…I don’t understand.”
“That’s not surprising; you’re not exactly a rocket scientist.”
Hey!
I ripped my gaze from her eyes-which were wide and slightly unbalanced, I now noticed-and let it travel down to her hands. One was twisting a brown leather belt. The other held a gun.
I gulped.
“You killed Veronika?” I squeaked out.
“Don’t pass judgment on me, you little twit, ” she said, pointing the gun at my nose. “If you saw what Veronika was doing, you wouldn’t think she was such an innocent victim. She was blackmailing someone, all right. Me!”
My head was spinning, partly from the lack of oxygen, but mostly with bits and pieces of information that had been swirling in my brain for days. And suddenly, as if by magic, they were falling into place.
