Her expression is pure confusion, just as mine is. What the fuck is happening?
The last thing I hear before I sprint out of the alley on the opposite side from the newcomer is“Hello, D—.”and as curious as I am to see who saved my life, I don’t have time for it.
Whoever fired that shot? Good for them. But I’m not about to stick around and say thank you, so I just turn and run.
I can feel my heart in my throat, blood rushing in my ears. I have to,again,change the original plan. An echo of the cleaners padding down the way behind me reverberates through the air. At least the job is gone.
Fifteen seconds to file the report. One hour to check out. Two hours to vanish into the airport crowd. Then—done. Done with this fucking city and with Toronto and with Canada.
It would have been nice if I hadn’t seen someone following me
“Fuck. Alex.”
“Yes.”
“Someone’s following me.”
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds pass.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
“Alex, fucking answer.”
Still nothing.
My blood runs cold. The fucking bastard is after me, probably trying to kill me as well, and I have no support. Did someone put a target on me?
“Alex,” I hiss through my teeth, “you better pray I don’t survive this.”
This is absolutelynotthe forty-fiveI wanted, and I’m pretty sure I can’t even count it as mine, but now I have bigger problems than my math.
At this point, the only real strategy I have is to do whatever I have to, to stay alive.
My car is maybe twenty feet away, and I’m moving as soon as I get in. I’m weaving through the streets like a lunatic, cutting through traffic, taking random turns, trying anything to get some distance. Nine miles in, I swear I’ve lost the person. But then my rearview mirror proves me wrong.
The motherfucker is catching up and I must admit, it looks pretty cool. I’ve never been involved in a car chase, and the follower is really performing.
I grip the wheel until my hands hurt and bury the pedal in the floor. The engine protests but it’s not my fault I got a normal car, I didn’t know this would happen. Mental note: get better rentals next time.
The car drop-off point passed ten miles ago.
I glance to the left—too much traffic. Right—I know there will be a dead end. Think, think, think. Oh, right! Thank you, Toronto guy.
“Plan B.” I mutter into the mic, hoping he can at least hear me.
“You don’t have a Plan B for this,” Alex screams back.
Now he answers?
“Now I do.”
This Toronto guy has made me walk around the city so many times, I basically know every remote place suitable for getting lost in. The Thirty-Six location is perfect. Three miles ahead, there is a path that leads straight to the middle of the forest, making it absolutely impossible to see more than ten feet in front of you. Downside? Driving over fifty miles per hour is like driving on a trampoline.
The road comes into sight, and without a second thought, I turn the wheel, the car angrily following my direction. The fucker is still behind me, way closer than I want him to be, but not impossible to lose.
If they follow, I’ll have to stop the car in the meadow anyway. Once fully stopped, based on his speed, I will have a maximum of five seconds to take my gun, get in position, and wait for them to come after me.
The road narrows into darkness, trees on both sides, and gravel crunches beneath my tires. I push it until the last possible second.