“And what makes you think I will?” I ask.
“Because you are overpowered, and I am reckless enough to risk everything.”
I scoff in disbelief.
“Your grandiosity will be your downfall,” I say through gritted teeth.
She laughs.
It is wild laughter, almost maniacal.
“Goodbye, Special Agent Shaw,” she says, lets go of the headlock, grasps my head from behind, and slams my head into the glass wall.
The pain surges through my head, and my vision blurs.
I sink to the ground and squint my eyes as I search for my gun on the floor, crawling.
A stabbing pain shoots through my head.
Then I find it.
I grasp it.
I aim without aiming, and shoot blindly towards the elevator.
I hear a scream.
A scream of pure panic.
A scream that suddenly clears all my senses.
I run towards the elevator, and I see Avery Zayne holding herself onto the metal elevator rails inside the shaft, leading twenty-three floors down into sure death.
The rope dangles on the elevator, out of her reach.
She looks up at me, panic in her eyes.
It’s the first time I’m seeing her up close.
My head is pounding, and it takes me a second to react.
I put away my gun, squat down while holding myself with one arm to the open door.
“Take my hand,” I say.
She is struggling.
“I can’t let go,” she finally says through gritted teeth. “I can barely hold myself with both hands.”
“I’m going to grab your wrist,” I say. The good thing is, I am very trained. I hit the gym six times a week, train in martial arts with several friends from the Marine Corps, and I am not fragile. I’m muscular. And I wouldn’t do it if I were not certain I could hold her weight with one arm.
“You sure you can hold me?” she asks in a mistrustful, even derogatory tone and slightly pursed lips.
“I guess we’ll find out,” I snap at her. “But I can leave you to it if you prefer it; good luck surviving,” I say and get up, aiming to walk away.
“Wait,” she calls after me.
I stop.