Page 70 of I Will Find You

I hop up. He is moving, groaning, which both scares and relieves me. I’m tempted to hit him again, but I don’t think there’s a need. Not if I move fast.

As I rush toward Sixth Avenue, I take off my blazer and wipe the blood off my face. I toss the blazer and my baseball hat into the shrubbery and keep moving.

When I reach the street, I try to slow my breath.

Keep moving, I tell myself again.

A crowd has formed. Most stop to watch for a few seconds. Some stand to see how it all plays out. I lower my head and let myself blend in with the onlookers. My pulse is back under control now. I start whistling as I walk east, trying so hard to look casual and inconspicuous that I feel like I stick out like a cigarette at a fitness club.

A few blocks later, I risk glancing behind me. No one is following me. No one is chasing me. I start whistling louder now, and a smile, a real live smile, comes to my face.

I’m free.

Chapter

20

When Rachel finally got to her front door, bone-weary exhausted in a way she had never experienced before, her sister Cheryl was pacing on the front stoop.

“What the hell, Rachel?”

“Let me just get inside, okay?”

“You helped David escape?”

Rachel opened her mouth, closed it. “Just come inside.”

“Rachel—”

“Inside.”

She pulled her keys out of her purse. Rachel lived in what was generously dubbed a “garden apartment.” She’d recently applied for a job with a free local paper, a job for which she was immensely overqualified—but hey, beggars can’t be choosy. The editor, Kathy Corbera, one of her favorite journalism professors, had advocated for her, but in the end, the publisher knew about her past and wanted to avoid even the slightest whiff of scandal. Understandable in today’s climate.

Rachel pushed open the door and headed straight for the kitchen. Cheryl was close behind her.

“Rachel?”

She didn’t bother to respond. Every part of her ached and begged for numb. Rachel had never needed a drink so badly. The Woodford Reserve was in the cabinet next to the refrigerator. She grabbed the bottle.

“You want one?”

Cheryl frowned. “Uh, I’m pregnant, remember?”

“One won’t hurt,” she said, pulling down a glass from the cabinet. “I read that somewhere.”

“Are you for real?”

“You’re sure you don’t want some?”

Cheryl just stared daggers. “What the actual fuck, Rachel?”

Rachel filled the glass with ice and poured. “It’s not what you think.”

“You call me all mysterious yesterday. You say you’re visiting David, just like that, out of the blue. You say we need to talk when you get back home and now…?”

Rachel sucked down a sip.

“Was this what you wanted to tell me?” Cheryl continued. “That you were going to help him escape?”

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