Exit Strategy (Nadia Stafford 1)

I had to play it out, get away safely, then go after Wilkes. Find him again and catch him before he killed someone else in my place.

I looked at my gun and widened my eyes, as if surprised to see it there. Then I backed against the wall, hands going around my knees, feigning shock while making sure all my blood went on my pants, not on the ground where a crime scene team could find it.

One of the kids dropped down beside me, his hand going to my shoulder.

"You're safe now," he said. "We called the cops. They'll be here in a minute."

My head shot up, and I didn't need to fake my reaction. My brain scrambled for an excuse and latched onto the first one it came across.

"No," I said, pushing to my feet. "No--no cops. I'm--My dealer. I was here meeting my dealer. I'm carrying. I can't--"

"It's okay," the boy said. "They won't care about that."

"Oh, God, I can't--I have to go. If my husband finds out--"

They tried to calm me, but then someone called from the end of the alley, asking whether we needed an ambulance, and in the ensuing confusion, I shoved the garrote wire in my pocket, gave a last scan for evidence, pushed to my feet and bolted.

I followed the same path Wilkes had taken, praying he'd hit a dead end or run into a crowd and would circle back for another escape route. I'd just rounded the first corner when I heard feet on gravel. Behind me? In front of me? I couldn't tell and was about to look when a pebble pinged off the top of my head.

I glanced up to see Jack on the roof two stories above. He motioned to the nearest fire escape. I shook my head and kept going, on the trail, after Wilkes, so absorbed in my task that I saw Jack swing down the fire escape, moving fast, but didn't comprehend the meaning of it until I was passing the bottom, and he grabbed my arm.

Fingers so tight they'd leave bruises, he hauled me up the ladder. Too confused to struggle, I followed as best I could, my feet fumbling for purchase on the rungs, barely touching one before being dragged up to the next. At the top, he yanked me over the edge.

I tripped and sprawled onto the gravel.

"Wilkes," I managed gasping for breath. "I--"

"I saw."

"I need to get--"

"He's gone."

"But I can find him," I said, still gasping, my pounding heart not letting me relax enough to catch my breath. "Before he takes someone else, before he escapes."

I started to rise.

Jack planted his foot on my stomach, then leaned over. "He's gone. I followed. Lost him. Think I'd be here otherwise?"

"You don't understand, I need--"

"Too fucking bad, Nadia. This isn't about what you need."

The fury in his eyes made the hair on the back of my neck rise and I almost backed down. But then I imagined Wilkes below, running, escaping. Jack was wrong. He didn't understand, and I wasn't going to sit here and take this, even from him.

I pretended to relax, as if giving in, then shoved Jack's foot off. I started scrambling up, then saw something metallic flash in front of my face and looked up to see a gun pointing down.

Had there been anything in my bladder, I think I would have lost it, not because I was staring down the barrel of a gun, but because of who I saw on the other end. Jack. Pointing a gun in my face. For one horrible moment, I thought I'd been tricked, that Jack was involved, that he was working with Wilkes--

"It's too late, Nadia. Listen."

"I've listened to you enough--"

"No," he growled. "Not me. Listen."

The distant sound of voices carried up to the roof, but I couldn't make out any words. Then the distinct sound of a cop shouting orders.

"You staying?" he said.