Chapter 15 Lena
LENA
I hurry in the direction Bruce is pushing us but can’t stop myself from turning back, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s happening over his shoulder. I can’t get a good look, but I don’t see a gunman in the cafe. Don’t hear any shots coming our way.
“The premises hasn’t been compromised. The threat is on the street.
We’re evacuating from the rear.” Bruce might look thick, but he obviously knows what he’s doing.
He doesn’t waste any time getting me and Bianca out the entrance we came in, back into a service corridor that was built behind the historic buildings, giving direct access to the loading dock and a private parking lot below.
Bruce bypasses the elevator and pushes open a heavy door, shoving us into a corner as he steps into the stairwell and confirms no one is inside.
“Clear,” he barks, hauling us in behind him.
He’s holding a gun now, ordering us to stay behind him as he leads us down the staircase, his head on a constant pivot as he watches for threats above and below.
The stairwell is quiet, our footsteps the only sound. We’re moving fast and one of Bianca’s heels snags on the steps. I grab her hand, catching her before she falls.
She squeezes my fingers, giving me a tight smile as we follow close behind Bruce. Two flights down and we reach the door to the parking garage. Bianca’s bodyguard puts one hand on the door, looking back at us before he pushes it open. “Stay close, but don’t come out until I say clear. Understand?”
We both nod and hold our breath as Bruce props the door open with one foot, his gun held in front of him as he scans the garage. It’s well-lit, the florescent lights humming above us. I strain my ears, trying to pick up anything beyond the ambient sound. No car engines. No footsteps. No gunshots.
Bruce waits a beat, scanning the parked cars for any suspicious movement.
When he’s sure we’re in the clear, he moves into the garage, keeping us bracketed between him and the concrete wall as we sidestep our way toward the car.
We stay on his heels, cowering behind his bulk exactly as he told us to.
If someone shoots in our direction, he’ll get hit first.
We don’t have far to go. Bruce parked in the third spot closest to the entrance. He wanted closer but there were delivery vans already occupying the other two spots. We move quickly. As quickly as three people shoved between the grill of a van and a wall can move.
It’s only been minutes since we left our cozy table at the cafe.
Maybe fewer than five. But my heart is caught in my throat and my palm is sweaty where it meets Bianca’s.
After the last thirty-six hours I would’ve thought I’d be less freaked out in a crisis, but it’s taking every ounce of self-control I have to not fall into complete panic.
“We’re almost there,” Bianca whispers, trying to reassure me. “We’ll be safe in the car in seconds.”
Five more steps and we’re at Bianca’s Mercedes. “Crouch down,” Bruce orders. “Go past the door, I’ll open it, you get in. Keep your heads down no matter what.”
We do exactly as Bruce says. Bianca and I crouch, moving as fast as we can along the side of the sedan.
As soon as we clear the rear door, Bruce pulls it open.
We’re a heartbeat away from scrambling in when I hear a sick thud above our heads.
I glance up just in time to see Bruce go down, his eyes rolling back as his knees buckle and he drops to the ground like a rock.
A man takes his place. He’s dressed in black from head to toe. A balaclava is pulled over his face. His eyes are shadowed. One arm is raised, a heavily tattooed hand pointing a gun straight at us.
My first thought is that Bianca is pregnant.
My second is that we have to run.
If we get into the car, we’re sitting ducks. Even if we can get in without getting shot, I’m pretty sure Bruce has the keys.
I have to get Bianca away from the gunman and give us a chance, no matter how slim, of getting away. A very, very imperfect plan takes shape.
I push Bianca toward the back seat. “Get in and go out the other side,” I whisper, hoping she understands. “Go, go!” I hear her scurrying behind me, feel the shake of the car as she crawls inside.
The man in front of me doesn’t blink. His gun doesn’t move, either. The muzzle is still trained on me, and I realize that he isn’t here for Bianca.
He’s here for me.
A second realization barrels into me just as fast: Bianca and her unborn baby could get hurt because of me.
That fear, greater than anything I could feel for myself, spurs me into action.
Still crouched low, I grab the inside of the open car door, pull it toward me and then shove it back hard.
It can only be pure luck that the top of the door catches the gunman right under his outstretched arm, scrapping along the bottom of his arm and forcing it upward just as he pulls the trigger.
He shoots high, the bullet flying above my head.
He shouts, but I’m already across the back seat and out the other side of the car before he’s gotten around the open door.
“Run, Bianca. Run!” I push her ahead of me and we take off across the parking garage.
Our heeled boots make a racket on the hard floor, the heavy sound of the gunman’s steps getting closer together as he catches up. He’s faster, but we’re smaller. I push us into a tiny gap between a support pillar and another delivery van parked near the exit ramp.
A bullet bites into the concrete just above our heads and I muffle a scream as we careen around the van.
It’s one of a fleet of delivery vehicles all parked in a row.
Just past them on the right is the ramp leading to the top floor of the garage.
On the left is a sign for a different pedestrian exit to the street.
“That way!” I hiss in Bianca’s ear, pointing at the pedestrian exit. If we’re able to make it there, we should end up in a vestibule that has elevators up to the ground level. Not ideal, but at least it puts several commercial-strength doors between us and the man with the gun.
Behind us, our attacker’s footsteps slow. He’s trying to figure out which van we’re hiding behind. The more shots he fires without hitting his target, the more likely it is the cops show up before the job’s done. It’s the only reason I can think of for why he’s holding fire.
I’m about to nudge Bianca forward, wild with fear that he’s going to find us at any second, when she points down at her boots. “Off,” she mouths.
She’s not wrong. Our footsteps give us away. But we lose seconds slipping the zippers down and sliding the boots off our feet. I’m still holding one of mine when I give her a little shove. “We have to move.”
Bianca nods, her jaw set with determination. We slide along the wall, keeping to the shadows as best we can. The vans are large, parked with their rears to the wall. The sideview mirrors all point away from the gunman so he can’t catch our reflection.
Only a small mercy, it turns out. Bianca and I have snuck past the third van, just halfway to where we need to escape to the left, when I hear a curse and a loud thud.
The vehicle we’ve just passed shakes. Metal crunches. Boots crack on glass.
“He’s climbing to the top of the vans,” I whisper in Bianca’s ear. “We have to run, go!”
We run as fast and as quietly as possible. Sweat is pouring down my spine, pain jarring through my heels as my stocking feet slam into the pavement.
Bianca is quick. She clears the corner to the left, vanishing behind the wall just as the gunman jumps to the roof of the final van.
I’m two steps behind her. He shouts. I duck, covering my head with my hands, my boot hitting the back of my neck as I hear the gun cock behind me.
I make the hard left, skimming my shoulder against the concrete corner just as a bullet whizzes over my head. I swear I can smell gunpowder as I chase Bianca through the glass doors into the vestibule.
My feet hit cold marble. Bianca grabs my arm and hauls me through. I trip, my knees crashing into the ground as Bianca slams the door shut behind us.
From the corner of my eye, I see the flash of metal. The glass door shakes and Bianca curses.
“What—?” I’m panting, terrified, out of breath.
“Shhh,” she says, voice tense. She’s holding something in her hand. It’s a…knife. Small, but the point is wicked looking. She jams it into the door’s lock then twists. I hear the deadbolt slam home. “Your boot!”
I don’t think, I just throw. Bianca grabs it out of the air and brings it down on the knife as hard as she can.
The gunman appears on the other side of the glass. Even through the barrier we can hear the click of the hammer.
“Lena! The elevator!” Bianca’s screaming, all reason to be quiet gone.
I scramble forward, reach up and hit the elevator button as Bianca slams my boot into the knife again.
She gets in one more strike before the bullet cracks the window.
She jumps back, dropping my boot. But she’s done it. The knife blade is bent, jamming the door locked.
“Go, go!” she screams, pointing at the elevator as the doors slide open.
The gunman is slamming the butt of his gun into the door. The bullet made a crack and it’s getting bigger and bigger with every hit.
I hear glass hit the floor just as the doors of the elevator close behind us.
Bianca presses the street level button repeatedly. We kneel beneath the control panel, as tucked into the corner of the elevator as we can get. Arms wrapped around each other, we keep the other upright.
With painstaking slowness, the elevator starts to rise. We only have two floors to go. Is that few enough to escape in time? Or too many at this slow pace, enabling the gunman to catch up?
I really don’t know. I’ve never done assassin math before. A giggle starts to tickle the back of my throat and I swallow. I know if I lose my control now, I’ll never get it back again. “You okay?” I ask Bianca.
“Yeah, you?”
I nod, my chin bumping into her shoulder. “You sacrificed our only weapon.”
“Nah,” she says in a shockingly calm voice. “Just buying us time until the real weapons get here.”
I want to ask what she means, but just before the elevator reaches our floor, Bianca untangles herself from me and pushes the emergency stop button. The car comes to a jerking halt. “What are you doing?!”
In answer, Bianca hits the red fire button. In only seconds the emergency operator comes through. Bianca doesn’t let him ask any questions before she shouts, “Help! There’s a fire! We’re stuck in the elevator and there’s a fire!”
I watch, speechless, as Bianca answers the man’s questions and tells him how much smoke she sees and gives him a very convincing cough to boot. He promises that the fire department is already on its way. We just need to keep our chests to the ground, our breathing slow, and try not to panic.
Ha. I’d like to see him try not to panic.
He’s still talking when Bianca hits the button again, disconnecting him.
“Sorry,” she says, dropping back onto her heels.
“I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m just trying to get as many people here as fast as possible.
A fire is the fastest way. And all the flashing lights will act like a flare when Johnny gets here. ”
Adrenaline is making me lightheaded. My feet are numb against the elevator’s smooth floor. My brain is sluggish, trying to keep up with what Bianca is saying. “Johnny knows where we are?”
“Bruce would’ve sent him a 911 before clearing us from the building.
There’s no way he doesn’t know what’s going on.
It’s just a question of how far away he was when he got Bruce’s message and how fast he’s able to get here.
And how many cops are blocking the entrance after all those shots fired.
So now we have to wait and see.” Bianca wraps her arms around her stomach.
She shivers. It’s tiny, but I catch it. She might be putting up a calm front, but she’s just a scared as I am.
“Wait and see what?”
“Who is on the other side of the door when it finally opens.” She doesn’t need to continue for me to understand the options.
The fire department.
Johnny. Maybe Rem.
Or the man trying to kill me.