38. Ellie #2
"I'd love to see the baseline metrics for the Reformation pathways," I say, leaning closer to the glass. I can see my reflection: Dr. Williams looks impressed. Ellie looks like she’s ready to burn it all down.
"How far you can push dissolution before the subject shatters completely? That's what keeps me up at night."
Mercer chuckles. "A woman after my own heart. Let me pull up the executive dashboard."
He logs in, his fingers dancing over the terminal. I watch his reflection in the glass, memorizing the keystrokes. In my ear, Jackson's voice is a sharp whisper. "I'm in his peripheral. Sixty seconds on that terminal and I can pull everything they have."
"Fascinating," I murmur, moving to stand beside him. I accidentally drop my leather portfolio, the papers spilling across the floor near the main server rack.
"Oh, how clumsy of me," I say, and the embarrassment in my voice is a masterclass in deception.
Mercer, the gentleman-monster, bends down to help me. It’s the opening I need. While he’s focused on the floor, I slide the modified USB from my sleeve and jam it into the maintenance port behind his monitor.
"Got it," Jackson breathes. "Feeding the package now."
I straighten up right as Mercer hands me my papers, his smile never wavering. "No harm done, Doctor. Now, where were we?"
The building alarm starts a high-pitched drone before he can finish the thought.
"Done," Jackson whispers in my ear. "Pull it."
Mercer's head snaps toward the door, his body turning away from me. I don't hesitate. My hand shoots behind the monitor, fingers finding the USB drive. I yank it free and palm it in one motion, my heart hammering.
He turns back, his expression shifting from pride to irritation. "Another system test. They really need to coordinate these better."
"Testing the fire alarms?" I ask, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Security sweep," he corrects, his voice losing its warmth. "Code seven. We need to clear the floor."
"Of course," I say, my hand drifting to my waist, feeling the slight bump of the transmitter. "Safety first."
Staff members move quickly toward the doors. They've done this before. I let myself get swept along in the evacuation, the USB drive still hidden in my palm.
"Ellie, listen to me," Gabriel’s voice is in my ear. "Something’s wrong. They’ve locked down the east foyer. You need to turn back to the service exit. Now."
I don't reply. I can't. My throat is too tight.
I try to blend in, to be another scientist annoyed by a drill, but a man is suddenly standing in my path. He’s broad-shouldered, wearing a suit that cost more than my first car, and his eyes are the color of stagnant water.
"Dr. Williams, a moment of your time." It’s not a request.
I stop, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I’m afraid I’m in the middle of an evacuation, Mr...?"
"Harmon," he says, stepping into my space. He doesn't touch me, but he doesn't have to. I can feel the threat coming off him. "We have a slight discrepancy in your security clearance. If you’ll follow me to the side office, we can clear this up. It won't take a moment."
Jackson’s voice is a hiss in my ear. "Trap. Ellie, he knows. Killian is moving, but he’s three minutes out."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck
"Of course," I say, my voice steady enough to surprise me. I let him lead me into a small, windowless room. The door clicks shut, and the sound is like a gunshot.
The room is all monitors and grey plastic. Harmon doesn't sit. He glares at me, his arms crossed. "You’re very good, Doctor. The credentials are perfect. But Dr. Mercer is a fool. He didn't notice that your work in Germany coincidentally matches a series of data breaches we had six months ago."
I look at the monitors. One of them shows a grainy image of the hallway. Killian is a shadow moving through the side corridors, and I know he's coming.
"I'm not sure what you're implying, Mr Harmon," I say, my fingers finding the panic button on my watch. I press it once. Twice. Three times. Danger.
Harmon moves fast. His fingers lock around my wrist like a shackle, and the basement floods back — the restraints, the table, Reed's hands holding me down. The grey walls start to turn into white tiles. I can feel the straps.
"I'm implying that you’re going to stay here until we find out who sent you."
No.
I look at his hand on my wrist. It’s not Reed’s hand. It’s a man in a suit. And I am not a patient.
I drive the heel of my palm into his chin, the impact jarring up my arm. He grunts, his head snapping back, and I follow it with a brutal, sharp knee to his groin, a desperate strike fueled by months of rage.
He doubles over, gasping for air. I don't waste a second.
I grab the heavy glass paperweight from the desk and drive it into the side of his skull.
The sound reverberates. Bone on bone. I hear his teeth crack together.
He hits the floor with a heavy thud. For a second, the silence in the room is deafening.
"Package delivered," I wheeze into the mic. "Moving to exit."
"Go, Ell's! Go!" Jackson screams.
I burst out of the office, my heels clicking a frantic tempo on the tile. Dr. Williams is long gone. Now I'm a woman running for her life.
I hit the service corridor, the red emergency lights making the walls look like they’re bleeding. A guard rounds the corner, his hand going for his holster.
"Stop!" he yells.
I don't stop. I don't even slow down. Killian’s voice is suddenly there, loud and real. "Stay low, Ellie!"
A muffled pop. The guard’s head snaps back, slamming into the glass of a directory map on the wall. It shatters. I keep going, stepping over the sprawl of his legs,
Killian is a silhouette in the red light, stepping out from a doorway.
He’s covered in tactical gear, his eyes two burning coals of silver.
He stays silent, putting his index finger over his lips to warn me to do the same.
He grabs my hand and hauls me toward the service entrance, my heels clattering on the tile.
We burst out into the fresh Colorado air. It’s cold and sharp, and I take huge gulps into my burning lungs.
Killian shoves me into the back of the sedan and dives in after me, slamming the door as Jackson peels away.
I collapse against the leather, my lungs heaving.
Killian is already twisted around to watch the rear window.
In the front, Gabriel has his rifle leveled through the windshield while Jackson takes the first corner on screaming tires.
"Did you get it?" Killian asks from beside me, his voice a rough vibration that grounds me.
I reach into my portfolio and pull out the USB drive. "The fuck I did."
I catch a glance of my sleeve, Harmon's blood is a dark, drying streak on my silk cuff. I watch it, waiting for the buzz in my ears to stop.
"We did well," I whisper.
Killian turns his head toward me, the hardness in his eyes softening for a split second. He doesn't say anything, but his hand finds mine, his grip solid and grounding as he interlaces his fingers with mine.
"You did amazing," he says. "You did exactly what you needed to."
The drive to Centennial Airport is a blur of high-speed turns and Jackson’s silent focus.
The jet is already idling on the tarmac, its engines a low, impatient whine.
The crew has been on standby since we landed, and they’d turned it around for a quick extraction the second they saw the Denver facility go into lockdown.
We board the steps in silence. The cabin is cool and smells of expensive leather. A flight attendant with slicked brunette hair and a silver necktie meets us with a tray of glasses. Her black pencil skirt and crisp shirt are spotless, a sharp contrast to the blood smeared on my sleeve.
"Can I get you anything, Ma'am?" she asks. "Bourbon, or maybe coffee?"
"Water, please." I say, my throat too dry for anything more, but offer her a smile in appreciation.