Page 80 of All The Pretty Little Lies

“I think he’ll show. I left it vague enough that he probably thinks Natasha is bringing Vesper back to him. As much money as she just made The Collector, he’ll be too tempted not to take the bait.”

I nod, scanning the street for any signs of movement. The night is quiet, almost unnaturally so, as if the city itself is holding its breath in anticipation. The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, creating pockets of darkness where anything or anyone could be lurking.

Suddenly, a sleek black SUV glides into view, its tinted windows reflecting the dim streetlights. My pulse quickens as it turns down the alley beside the clinic, disappearing from sight. A moment later, a faint glow emanates from the front window of the building, barely visible but unmistakable.

"Showtime," I mutter, my voice low and tense.

I pull out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen as I type out a quick message to Oz: "Target's here. Moving in." I hit send, then turn to Alex. "You ready?"

He nods, his face set in grim determination. "Cameras are down.”

“How about our friend from the other night?”

“They’re occupied,” he assures me. “I downloaded a scanner app. There’s an accident off the highway. The New York State Police called in our friend and his buddies to manage the traffic. We’re clear for a couple of hours at least.”

“Won’t that be a problem for us to get the fuck out of here?”

“It’s west of our exit. It’s fine.”

We exit the car silently, our movements fluid and practiced. The cool night air hits my face, carrying with it the scent of rain and asphalt. My senses are on high alert, every nerve ending crackling with anticipation.

As we approach the building, I can't help but think of Vesper. Her face flashes in my mind; determined, fierce, beautiful. I push the thought away and focus on the task at hand. There'll be time for that later, I promise myself. Right now, we have a job to do.

We stick to the shadows, our footsteps barely audible on the damp pavement. The alley looms before us, a dark maw ready to swallow us whole. I can feel the weight of my gun against my hip, a cold comfort in the face of what's to come.

Alex takes point, his lean frame melting into the darkness ahead of me. I follow close behind, my eyes darting from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement. The faint glow from the clinic's window grows stronger as we near the back entrance.

My heart pounds in my chest, a steady rhythm matching our cautious steps. The air feels thick with tension, charged with the impending violence. As we reach the door, I meet Alex's eyes.A silent understanding passes between us. Whatever happens next, we're in this together.

With a deep breath, I reach for the handle, ready to step into whatever awaits us inside. The metal is cool against my palm, a stark contrast to the fire burning in my veins. This is it, I think. No turning back now.

I turn the handle slowly, wincing at the faint creak as the door swings open. We slip inside, the darkness enveloping us like a second skin. The air is thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic, undercut by something darker, more metallic. My eyes adjust quickly, picking out the shapes of medical equipment and shadowy corridors.

A voice cuts through the silence, making my heart leap into my throat. "Natasha? Is that you?" It's male’s voice, smooth as silk, but with an edge that sends a chill down my spine. "I'm all set up in exam room three. Bring her in."

Alex and I exchange a look. This is our chance. We move silently down the hallway, our footsteps muffled by the worn linoleum. The sound of rustling papers and clinking instruments grows louder as we approach the open doorway of exam room three.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come. With a nod to Alex, we step into the doorway, blocking the exit.

The man inside freezes, his hands hovering over a tray of gleaming surgical tools. He's younger than I expected, maybe early thirties, with a shock of dark hair and eyes so dark they're almost black. Built like a linebacker, he towers over the exam table, his white coat stretched tight across his broad shoulders.

For a moment, time stands still. I can see the realization dawning in his eyes, quickly followed by panic. Then, like a coiled spring suddenly released, he lunges for the far side of the room.

We're on him in an instant. I dive low, tackling his legs while Alex goes high, wrapping his arms around the man's torso. The force of our combined weight sends us crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and curses.

He fights like a cornered animal, all desperation and raw strength. An elbow catches me in the ribs, knocking the wind out of me, but I hold on, gritting my teeth against the pain. Alex grunts as a fist connects with his jaw, but he doesn't let go.

Together, we wrestle him towards the hospital bed. It's like trying to subdue a bear, all muscle and fury. Sweat beads on my forehead, my muscles straining with the effort. But we have the advantage of numbers and surprise.

With a final heave, we manage to flip him onto the bed. I grab a leather strap hanging from the side, quickly securing one of his wrists while Alex does the same on the other side and then adds a strap across his midsection. The man bucks and thrashes, but the straps hold firm.

Panting, I step back, wiping the sweat from my brow. The man on the bed continues to struggle, his eyes wild with fear and rage. "Who the fuck are you?" he spits, chest heaving. "Where's Natasha?"

I ignore him, turning to Alex. "You okay?"

He nods.

“Natasha didn’t call you. We did, asshole.”

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